Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Historia gets the first call at approximately 1:34 in the morning.

Like any sane person would, she ignores it. Because it could just be spam. Or a scammer, for that matter, and she really doesn’t have the energy to make up some stupid response that she and Armin can laugh about in the morning. Also, she’s tired, it’s three days until school starts again after winter break, and all she wants to do is sleep.

A minute passes, the ringing stops, and she tucks a little smile into her pillow as she closes her eyes, feeling that beautiful ache of slumber begin to take over her consciousness again. Then it starts up a second time, the ear-piercing screeches of her ringtone sending throbs to the base of her skull. She groans and pulls the covers over her head. Who the fuck is awake at this hour? Who in their right mind would pick up their phone, open it, scroll to her contact, and then willingly press the call button—

Wait.

Her eyes fly open. That fucking bitch.

She scrambles out of bed immediately, nearly tripping over the sheets that fall off the edge, but the pure, unbridled rage coursing through her veins makes it hard to care. Her phone is on the bedside table, still vibrating, and she clutches the shitty little thing between her hands, squeezes so tightly she’s sure the screen will crack, presses the green answer button and puts it to her ear. That bitch, that bitch, that bitch—

“So help me God, Jeager, if you don’t give me one good fucking reason for this—”

Eren’s laugh echoes through the speaker, and she almost screams. He has the nerve to laugh. He’s laughing, while she’s so tired her eyes are already beginning to droop. “Jeager.”

“I’m sorry,” he wheezes, “I thought you’d be up, seriously—”

“Why the fuck would I be up?”

“Uhhh, cause it’s winter break?” She hears him click his tongue. “Anyways, that doesn’t matter.”

“It does, actually, because it’s almost two in the morning.”

“This is more important than that, Tori. It’s a life or death situation. You’re really gonna let me die in cold blood, hmmm?”

She rolls her eyes and hopes the gesture is clear in her voice. “If it’s so life changing, can you just spit it out already? I don’t have time for your bullshit.”

He giggles like a little girl, and Historia almost laughs at the sheer patheticness of it, but restrains herself. It’s one thing that she’s indulging him at almost two in the morning—it would be another if she gave him the impression that he was somehow funny. Which he could be. Sometimes. When he wasn’t being a total idiot and doing the dumbest things imaginable, like calling her when she was supposed to be sleeping. 

“You sound so mad right now, it’s hilarious.”

“I’ll hang up,” she threatens. “And I’ll put my phone on silent and ignore you for the rest of the break. Do I sound like I’m kidding?”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. Are you happy now?”

“No.”

“Whatever,” he grumbles. “Um, so. The reason I called—”

“Mhm.”

“—I need a favor.”

“Here we go,” she sighs. “Did you almost get arrested again?”

“Wha—okay, that was one fucking time.”

“Three, actually.”

“You were with me, though, so I don’t know why you’re even talking right now.”

“But I didn’t get caught,” she grins, and she hears him tsk. 

“Uh huh. Because you used me as a decoy, and that’s all I am to you, apparently.”

“I’m glad you’re catching on.”

“Just admit you’d be insanely bored if it weren’t for me.”

“Hmmmm. I guess,” she says. As annoying as he can be sometimes—exhibit A being the whole Phone Call Thing—being best friends with someone like Eren means there’s never a dull moment with him. Even their first meeting in the fifth grade was far from dull; she’d found him trying to scale the school wall using the spots in-between the bricks, his face smudged with dirt and his hair sticking up in all greasy directions, and when she’d asked why, he’d simply responded with: “I’m breaking out.” She’d joined him because she was bored, and they made it almost halfway before they were caught by one of the teachers on break and given joint detention for two weeks. To think that was mild compared to some of the other stunts they’ve pulled. It’s a wonder they haven’t gone to jail at least once in seven years.

“Good. Now can you just let me talk instead of gloating about all that dumb shit?”

“I think I have a right, Eren. You woke me up.”

“Fair.” He clears his throat. “So, about that favor—don’t laugh.”

“Do you hear me laughing right now?”

“No. But I know you’re gonna laugh at me.”

“Yeah, I am, so you should just get it over with.”

“Fuck you,” he mutters. “Okay, um—I need you to come with me to a wedding.”

She blinks, too taken aback to find it funny. “You need me to do what?”

“I said,” he repeats slowly, like she’s incompetent. “I need you to come with me to a wedding. You know, when two people who love each other—”

“I know what a wedding is, Jeager,” she hisses. “You’re so insufferable.”

“I take that as a compliment.”

She rubs her forehead. “Why the hell do you need me to come with you to a wedding, now? So help me if it’s a date thing—”

“Oh my God, no, ew,” he retches. “I’d rather die.”

“The feeling’s very much mutual.” And it’s true. First of all, she’s a lesbian; second, even if she wasn’t—which wouldn’t ever be the case in any universe, but, still—she would never in a million years so much as look in his direction. Scratch that, if the options were to either date Eren or jump off a cliff, she would gladly pick jumping off a cliff. No hesitation whatsoever. 

“So if you don’t need a fake date, then why do you want me to go?”

He stays silent for a few moments, which is weird, since he was so fucking enthusiastic a second ago. She raises a brow. “Helloooo? You still alive?”

“Yeah, I’m here,” he says finally, though she notices his voice sounds a bit off. “Um, Historia?”

“Mhm?”

“There’s also… another reason. Why I called.”

A beat. When he doesn’t elaborate, she says, “Which is…?”

She hears him suck in a breath. “It’s Ymir.”

Historia freezes at that name. Feels her heart quicken just a tad. “What the hell do you mean, ‘it’s Ymir’?”

“I mean, like, it’s Ymir. She’s here.”

Oh. 

Historia has to sit on the edge of her now messy bed, her knees embarrassingly wobbling a bit. Where does she even start with this? A part of her wants to grab Eren through the phone and shake him until he spills everything at once, but the other part of her wants to scream into her pillow so loudly her vocal cords will disintegrate. Because, really, what the fuck?

Ymir is Eren’s cousin on his mom’s side, but Historia’s actually known her far longer than him—well, she knew her. They were in the same class all the way from preschool to grade school, but they didn’t properly talk until Eren had introduced them midway through fifth grade during one of the snowball fights they had at recess. Ymir had looked her up and down, brown eyes sparkling, and had said, “your beanie’s crooked.” Then she threw a handful of snow at Historia’s face, and it was safe to say her twelve-year-old self was then promptly introduced to the fact that, yes, girls were definitely her type, specifically ones with millions of freckles scattered across their cheeks, tan skin, and a rebellious streak. 

That’s when they actually became friends, real friends, and Historia’s little crush had only grown over the next six months of pure, naive bliss. But then, the day before their summer break, Ymir just disappeared—no warning, phone call, text, nothing. It was Eren who’d ultimately broken the news to her: Ymir had moved away with their nana out of state, and he had absolutely no idea when she was coming back. He’d offered to give Historia her number in an attempt to have them reconnect, but she, in all her gut-wrenchingly-sad fury, had refused, and had spent that entire summer moping around in her bedroom and scribbling pages and pages of unsent letters—still shoved underneath her bed to this day—with no address to send them to.

Maybe she’d been overreacting a bit; they’d only known each other for half a year, after all. But still. It’s been six years since she’s heard her name, and even now, at eighteen years old and almost graduating, that’s still enough to make her stomach twist in knots. The way she’d just left things so carelessly messed her up, more than she’d care to admit, but above all else, she just wishes Ymir had said goodbye properly. Had made the effort to see her one last time. Jesus, she's pathetic.

Also, Eren has no idea about any of this, and she’s sure as hell not going to blow her whole cover now by acting all stuttery and nervous. But that’s a whole different story.

“Oh,” she says after what feels like hours. “That’s—huh.”

“Yup,” he coughs. “I only found out today, though, when my mom told me she was, uh, flying in for this thing. So.”

“She’s gonna be there?”

“Not anymore,” he mutters, and the bitterness is clear in his voice. Historia isn’t the only one Ymir had just completely ghosted—she hadn’t told Eren, either, not until her nana had forced her to talk to him on the phone, but even then, he’d said she was just clipped and barely conversational, acting as if they hadn’t been close at all. The whole thing is such a sore subject for him she’s shocked he’s even mentioned it in the first place. “And I don’t wanna go to this thing alone, but my mom said it’d be rude if I didn’t, so I asked if I could ask you, and now here we are.”

“But Gabi’s gonna be there.”

“You think I wanna be babysitting my sister all day? She’s the reason I didn’t wanna go in the first place.”

Historia snorts. Gabi can be a bit of a menace, sometimes. But Eren has a lot of nerve, acting like his attitude wasn’t ten times worse when he was her age. “That sucks.”

“No shit. So can you come?”

She worries her bottom lip with her teeth. “You’re sure it won’t be weird? I mean, I don’t even know whose wedding it is.”

“Nah. You know how Mom’s side of the family is. Literally anyone’s welcome so long as they have some sort of tie to any of us. I kid you not, one time my aunt literally plucked three random people off the street and just let them join the party for no reason other than because. It’ll be fine.”

She ponders for a moment. Their winter break is ending soon—other than spending new years with her family, she doesn’t have anything crazy planned before that, so it’s do-able. And Eren sounds pretty desperate, calling her at this hour knowing that she would probably strangle him for it. Besides, she’s never the one to say no to a party, and Eren’s not kidding about his Mom’s family being on the wilder side; she’d been to a family gathering of his once, and had come out of it nearly deaf from the volume of the music alone. 

And if Ymir’s not there, maybe it’ll be enjoyable. Maybe.

So, it doesn’t take long for her to answer, “Fine, I’ll go.”

“Holy shit, thanks,” he breathes, sounding so relieved that Historia shakes her head in amusement. “I owe you one.”

“Yeah, you do.”

“Mhm, mhm. And you can also, you know, bring Armin.” He clears his throat. “And Mikasa, of course. The more people the better.”

“You’re really that desperate?” she says. “I mean, I’ll ask. Mikasa might say yes, but you know how my brother is. He gets antsy when there’s a bunch of people around.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know,” Eren coughs. “But just—uh, just ask.”

She raises a brow. “Why are you stuttering?”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Shut up. I’m going to sleep,” he declares. “Be ready by like, four-ish. I’ll pick you guys up.”

“Whatever, Jeager,” she says, and he blows a raspberry before ending the call.

જ⁀➴♡

“Well, you’re up early.”

“Unfortunately,” Historia mutters, dragging herself into the kitchen where Armin is sitting on the counter, scrolling on his phone. Her mouth feels like it’s been stuffed with lead, and she’s sure her blonde hair is the equivalent of a rat’s nest right now. “Eren fucking called me in the middle of the night, that bitch.”

“Ah. That explains the screaming.”

“I wasn’t screaming.”

He cocks his head, round glasses slightly tilting on the bridge of his nose. His wispy bangs sit against his forehead, a little messy, and the rest of his golden hair is tied into what Historia likes to call a “bunny-tail”; too short to be a proper ponytail, but not so short that he can’t put it up. 

“Screeching, then.”

“I wasn’t screeching, either.”

“Mhmmm. I could hear you all the way from downstairs.”

She furrows her brows. “What were you doing downstairs at one in the morning?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he shrugs. She tries not to look troubled, but she knows she’s failing by the way his eyes intentionally flick back to his phone screen, avoiding her gaze. He’s always had really bad insomnia, even when they were kids, but she’d thought it was getting better after his doctor had prescribed him with those disgusting melatonin gummies. Apparently not. 

“Did something specific cause it?”

He shrugs again, tense. “I don’t know. School’s starting up again soon, so maybe it’s just that.”

“Okay,” she says carefully, hoisting herself up onto the space beside him. As much as she wants to pry, she knows he hates being coddled. If he wants to tell her something, he’ll come to her on his own. That’s just how he’s always been. 

He gives her a look. Eyes her suspiciously before he says, “Something’s wrong.”

“What—”

“You’re doing the little pout thing you do when you’re upset.” He nudges her shoulder. “Did you and Eren have a fight again? And when I say fight, I mean like the one you had during summer before eighth grade.”

Historia shudders, memories of their screaming matches and the stitches both of them had to get after she’d jumped him on the sidewalk coming to her in flashes. She has no idea what had been in the air back then, but they’d suddenly gotten to a point where they couldn’t even be in the same room as each other without getting fussy. Those three months were probably the worst of her life—Eren’s annoying most of the time, yeah, but not having him as a friend is like leaving a gaping hole in her side, as much as she hates to admit it. Thankfully, they’d made up right before school started after a much needed intervention from the rest of their friends, and here they are, still going strong. 

“No, we didn’t fight. He didn’t do anything at all, surprisingly.”

“That’s a first.”

“I know.” She picks at the hangnail that’s been bothering her for a few days, wincing when she pulls it out a bit too far and is greeted with a spot of blood. “He told me Ymir’s back. So.”

Armin blinks. “What?”

“Yep.”

“That’s…” he trails off. “I don’t even know what to say. When did she—?”

“Yesterday, apparently,” Historia mutters. 

“And how are you feeling about it?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. I mean, I’m not really mad anymore, if that makes sense? But I am at the same time,” she exhales. “I don’t know.”

He gently pats her shoulder. “I get it, Tori, really. It’s okay not to know.”

“Yeah,” she murmurs, and he thankfully doesn’t comment any further. That’s why she loves talking to her brother about this stuff—he always knows when to just stop, instead of prodding at her until she explodes. “By the way, before I forget—Eren wants us to go to a wedding.”

Confusion is written all over Armin’s face. “Huh?”

“I know. Apparently someone in his family’s getting married, and Ymir isn’t going even though she’s here, so he wants us to go to keep him company so he doesn’t have to babysit.”

“Us, or you?”

“He asked me first. Then he asked if I could ask you.”

Maybe Historia’s so tired she’s making things up, but she swears she sees a dash of pink skitter across his cheeks. “He asked for me specifically?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“Oh.” Armin looks back at his phone, but there’s definitely no mistaking the small smile playing on his lips. “I mean, I don’t have anything planned today, so…”

Historia resists the urge to roll her eyes. Look, she’s not stupid—as much as Armin will try to deny it every time she points it out, she knows he’s had a thing for Eren since the fifth grade. It’s not exactly a crush, but it’s definitely some sort of intense infatuation. Obviously, she can’t even bother to try and understand it, because why anyone would ever like Eren, of all people, is beyond her, but it doesn’t matter. They’ll never get together, and both Historia and Eren had made sure of that seven years ago.

The Pact is probably the only real “rule” they’ve ever established in their friendship. Most of the time, Historia doesn’t get the purpose of friendship rules; things like “only sharing each other’s ice cream,” or “being each other’s only partner in crime” just sounds stupid, tacky, and also kind of controlling. She and Eren have never proposed anything like that, and never will for the rest of their lives. What they did propose—well, more like Historia proposed—was that dating any of each other’s relatives was completely off limits. No brothers, sisters, cousins, second-cousins—under any circumstances. Ninety-nine percent of the reason was just to prevent any unnecessary drama; neither of them want to have to be forced to take sides and ruin everything. But a tiny part of Historia doesn’t fully trust him with her brother. Or her sister, Mikasa, for that matter. 

Eren is unpredictable, most of the time. He’s moody. He’s probably the most loyal person Historia has ever met. And he’s an idiot that lashes out sometimes without realizing the consequences until it’s too late. That particular side of him has almost cost him their friendship multiple times, and although he’s sincerely apologized after every one of their real fights, the last thing she wants is her siblings having to deal with that on top of the whole romance thing. She’d warned Mikasa in the ninth grade when she’d found out about her little crush on him (which has since then, to her relief, faded away. She’s now dating Sasha, one of their friends, and Historia wouldn’t be surprised if they ended up getting married after graduation), and she’s been constantly warning Armin, too, because his thing for Eren has stubbornly refused to leave him in peace. But Eren would never actually try anything, though—as far as she knows, he doesn’t like Armin like that—and Armin will never make a move so long as he knows the Pact is still intact. So. That’s probably at the bottom of the list of things she’s most stressed about, at the moment.

“Do you think Mikasa would wanna go?” Historia asks quickly, snapping Armin out of his little Eren-induced trance. He shrugs.

“I don’t know. She was telling me about some date Sasha’s going to take her on yesterday, but we can still ask.”

Speaking of the devil, a yawning Mikasa stumbles into the kitchen a moment later, her eyes blinking slowly like a cat’s. Her dark hair is practically flying around her head, and a red pillow mark is etched into her cheek. “Wh’the fuck?”

“Morning, Miks,” Armin grins. “You slept okay?”

She yawns again and makes her way over to where they’re sitting, flinging her arms around his shoulders. Historia smiles. All three of them are insanely close, but those two have been attached at the hip since they were babies. Especially Mikasa. Seeing them apart at any point is a pretty rare occasion. 

“Fine. It’s so early.”

“Go back to sleep,” Historia tells her. She pulls away from Armin, shakes her head, wraps her arms around Historia’s shoulders. 

“You guys are too loud.”

“We’ve literally been whispering this entire time.”

“Your version of whispering is very different to what it should actually sound like.”

“Sure, ‘Kasa.” She pats her back. “Hey, are you up for a wedding later?”

Mikasa draws away with a puzzled look. “Excuse me?”

“Eren invited us to a wedding.”

“...Whose wedding?”

“Some uncle of his, I don’t know.”

“And he wants us to go, why?”

“So he doesn’t have to babysit his sister,” Armin chimes in. Mikasa sighs, exasperated but not surprised in the slightest.

“What time?”

By four, all three of them are ready and waiting for Eren’s car. Historia hadn’t known how fancy they were supposed to dress, so she’d opted for a gray dress reaching her thighs, a large light brown coat with stylish black buttons down its middle, long black boots, and a black handbag to match. Mikasa looks a little more casual, wearing an off-shoulder dark sweater with black stockings and boots, but Armin went down a much more stylish route than usual; a black, long-sleeved turtleneck with brown-colored baggy pants and the white sneakers Historia had gotten him for their birthday a month ago. His hair is tied half-up half-down, neater than it had been in the morning. He’s even put on jewelry and makeup, for God’s sake. A hint of Mikasa’s red lip-gloss, the slightest amount of mascara, and a silver, circular necklace that rests against his chest. She gives him a look, knowing he’s just trying to impress Eren, and he pretends not to notice it.

“You’re not subtle, ‘Min,” Mikasa says suddenly, voicing Historia’s thoughts aloud. He bristles, but quickly looks in the other direction.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

She narrows her eyes. “Is that my lipgloss?”

“Again, no idea what you’re talking about,” he replies, yet his cheeks turn rosy. “I think I see Eren’s car coming.”

“Yup. There he is,” Historia says, spotting his mother’s sleek black car in the near distance. Ever since Eren had crashed his car like an idiot two months ago (he’ll deny it was his fault, but Historia was in the car with him, and it had been the bastard’s fault for not backing out of his space properly), his mother, Carla, had downright refused to get it fixed for him and instead loaned him her car for the time being as her way of teaching him a lesson. Being the complete and pathetic mama’s boy that he is, Eren has since then forbidden himself from resorting back to his maniac driving and, surprisingly, hasn’t managed to get even one microscopic scratch on the paint. Really, Carla's a blessing in disguise, because Historia hasn’t felt this much ease at being with Eren in a car since he somehow passed his driving test two years ago.

An ear-piercing honk sounds as he pulls up beside the sidewalk, and Historia grimaces. Armin, on the other hand, looks like he’s going to pass out, and she would have laughed if not for the fact that it was absolutely disgusting.

“Do you really have to do that every fucking time?” she yells. Eren smirks as he gets out from his side of the car.

“Yup,” he says. The window on the passenger’s side rolls down, and his sister, Gabi, peeks out with a mischievous grin. It’s honestly eerie how much she looks like Eren when she does that; combined with their shared brown hair, tan skin, and sharp features, you’d think they were twins if she wasn’t seven years younger than him. The only difference between them is their eye colors.

“You guys are really gonna regret coming to this thing, y’know,” she sings.

“Can you shut up, please?” Eren asks, the tiredness in his voice making it obvious that he’s had this conversation with her multiple times today already. “Go back to playing with your dolls, or whatever.”

She sticks her tongue out at him. “I haven’t played with dolls since I was six, idiot.”

“Don’t eight year olds still play with dolls?”

“I’m turning twelve in four months.”

“Same thing.”

“Says the one who pretended to be emo for almost three years.”

“You know what—” he opens his door, presses a button that rolls Gabi’s window up, closes the door again, then presses the lock button on his keys. She starts screaming and banging at the glass, but he doesn’t so much as look in her direction. “Finally. Peace and fucking quiet.”

“How long are we gonna have to drive with her again?” Historia asks innocently, and he shudders.

“Don’t even start, please. My head’s gonna explode.”

Historia doesn’t even realize he’s moving until he stops in front of the sidewalk and leans back against the car, Gabi still relentlessly banging at the glass. He crosses his arms and flips his growing hair back like he’s trying to look cooler than he actually is; it’s at that awkward stage where it’s almost reaching past his chin, but he makes it work with a few thin hair clips in the front. His eyes then flicker to Armin, and his throat bobs. 

“Hi, Armin.”

“Hi,” Armin says, a hint of red blooming on his nose. They stare at each other for a moment, and before Historia can try to even comprehend whatever the hell is going on, Mikasa speaks up.

“So, are we going to get going, or…?”

Eren seems to snap out of it and clears his throat. “Right, yeah.” He fumbles for his keys and quickly presses the unlock button. “There. You can just—uh.”

“Why the hell are you suddenly acting so weird?” Historia asks as they pile into the car; she and Mikasa are sitting on either side of Armin, who’s in the middle. Gabi’s stopped her screaming, just glaring at Eren while he stares straight ahead and starts backing out of his makeshift parking space.

“I’m not acting weird,” Eren says breezily. “Everything’s all good.”

“Your face is red,” Gabi tells him, and he takes a deep breath.

“No it’s not.”

“She’s right, actually, it is,” Historia cuts in, her voice dripping with suspicion. Eren turns even redder, but refuses to look away from the road.

“The next person who talks about my face is getting thrown out.”

“Oh, I’m soooo scared,” Historia says, deadpan, and he shoots one arm out behind him and whacks her in the face. “You fucking—”

“Can we maybe save the fighting for the wedding and not the road?” Armin grimaces. Eren mutters a few apologies, but Historia continues staring daggers at him, that bitch.

Historia’s surprised they even survive the entire thirty-minute car ride to the venue, what with the absolutely atrocious playlists Eren subjects them to, Gabi’s occasional screams at oncoming cars, and the one time she grabbed the steering wheel and almost hurdled them off the road, but they somehow make it to Eren’s great-aunt’s house completely intact. For some reason, Eren makes a show of grabbing Armin’s hand and helping him out of the car after Historia, and Gabi immediately starts clinging to Armin’s side. He lets her do so with a small laugh and ruffle to her hair. She’s always liked him best out of all Eren’s friends, and Historia’s never really cared enough to question exactly why. 

“Okay, so, the whole party’s being held in my aunt’s backyard,” Eren explains as he leads them through the house. Historia glances warily at all the antique things placed everywhere, afraid she’ll accidentally trip and smash one of them to bits. “And it’s not like a traditional wedding—just the after party, if that makes sense? The whole ceremony thing was yesterday, and that was the only time people outside the family weren’t allowed.”

“And how many people are gonna be here?” Armin asks, furrowing his brows as the sounds of music and people laughing get louder the further Eren takes them through the maze of old stuff. 

“A billion. I dunno.”

“Sounds fun,” Armin mutters. Historia frowns and squeezes his hand, and he squeezes back. He’s never really liked large spaces with crowds of people, especially strangers. He’ll tolerate it, sure, but she knows all the talking and introductions make him anxious, even if he’ll never actually verbalize it. 

“But it won’t be bad,” Eren says quickly, obviously noticing Armin’s disdain. “Don’t worry, my whole family’s really welcoming and stuff. They’ll treat you like they’ve known you for a million years even if you’ve just met.”

Armin smiles at him, dimples showing and all, and Historia blinks, realizing it’s actually genuine and not one of the ones he puts up just to make people feel better. Huh. 

Just as Eren said, the backyard is practically crawling with people when they enter; she can feel the music coming from the speakers thrumming through her feet. Gabi shouts something unintelligible and runs straight into the fray. Eren waves to someone on the right, then beckons for Historia, Armin, and Mikasa to follow him.

“The food’s over there,” he says, pointing to the many tables lined up and filled with treats on the far left. “The dance floor’s just behind that, and then all the circular tables over there are for dinner—do not go to the rainbow one, that’s for the kids…”

After Eren gives them a full tour of the backyard and introduces them to practically every person he’s related to—and Historia means all of them—they finally catch a break at their assigned table in the corner. Historia thinks her arm’s going to fall off from how many people’s hands she’s shaken in the past hour; Armin and Mikasa look like their social batteries have already seeped out to the brim. But Eren seems more content now than she’s seen him all day, probably just glad he was able to get through the niceties without having to deal with any of the five-year-olds throwing up all over his pants. 

“Your family’s actually really pleasant, Eren,” Armin tells him, and Eren immediately freezes like a deer in headlights. “I thought you were over-exaggerating about the whole welcome thing.”

“Well—yeah,” he coughs, looking anywhere but Armin’s face. What the hell?  “My mom’s side is at least. Dad’s is a different story.”

“I remember when I went to your house for a barbecue, like, two years ago,” Historia muses. “And Eren—”

“If you even start,” he threatens, and she grins slyly. “I have blackmail, Historia. Files and files worth of screenshots. Don’t fucking try me.”

“I have screenshots, videos, and audio recordings, though. So if you wanna play that game, we can play.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re batshit crazy.”

“So you admit I’ve one-upped you.”

“Do you guys ever shut up?” Mikasa sighs, rubbing the sides of her head. “I swear, you always argue like children.”

“‘Cause Eren’s the equivalent of a rabid, three-year-old chihuahua in the body of a human. It’s just in his nature.”

“You’re worse than him, actually.”

Historia gasps, and Eren shoots her a smirk in triumph. “You’re taking his side?”

“I’m not taking any sides,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Both of you are bad. But you’re the one who starts it ninety-nine percent of the time.”

“I’m disowning you,” Historia declares, and Armin giggles. “Don’t fucking talk to me. We’re done.”

“Mhmmm. Tell that to me the next time you come into my room at midnight asking for snacks.”

“Whatever,” Historia grumbles. Eren then asks Armin something she can’t hear, and he starts going on and on about it while Mikasa pulls out her phone and starts mindlessly scrolling. Historia’s about to do the same, because when Armin gets started on anything, it takes a lot to shut him up, but her eyes then land on a sight not too far away that promptly has her lungs seizing up.

A girl, most probably about her age, is walking towards their table. The first thing she notices is the freckles; even in the lowering light of the sunset, there are so many spread across tan skin that Historia’s convinced they’re copied from the constellations in the sky. A small, golden stud glistens on the left side of her nose. Her hair is fluffy, styled in a short wolf cut that has Historia’s heart beating so quickly she might go into cardiac arrest. She’s tall, too, way taller than average, and has an aura about her that feels like piercing sunrays; harsh, yes, but Historia’s unable to look away.

She’s also pretty. Really pretty.

But it’s when golden brown eyes meet hers that realization smacks Historia in the face.

That’s Ymir. As in, Eren’s cousin Ymir, her first crush, Ymir. 

Ymir is here.

Ymir is here?

Historia feels her jaw go slack, then forces her gaze to the floor, her cheeks reddening and her stomach starting to flutter. Shit, shit, shit. She’d definitely seen her staring. Dammit. Historia tries appearing as normal as possible, grabbing the cup of water Mikasa brought with her and sipping out of it despite the fact that it’s nearly empty, but nothing is enough to cool down the heat in her face. Mikasa glances up from her phone, brows raised, and Historia gives her a look that says, just go with it.

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Eren suddenly gasps, cutting off Armin’s flow of words. He raises a brow.

“What’s wrong?”

“That fucking—oh my God,” Eren hisses, standing up and looking so furious Historia thinks he’s on the verge of popping a vein. Armin looks at Historia with an expression that asks, what’s going on? And she mouths, just ignore him, it’s a normal occurrence.

Him standing up and screaming at a wedding?

Yup. You get used to it.

Armin just shrugs.

“Hey, Eren,” calls a slightly husky voice, and Historia thinks she’s going to die. “I didn’t think you’d actually show up after I said I wasn’t coming.”

Historia peeks up from Mikasa’s drink then, sees that Ymir has stopped right next to the only empty seat left at their table. Ymir’s gaze flickers to her, eyes widening slightly, and Historia gives the biggest glare she can muster, because that’s all she can really do without exploding on the spot.

She’s right there, she’s right there—

Eren rolls his eyes. “Everyone expects you not to come, Ymir. It’s different with me, and you know it.”

“Wait a minute—” Mikasa gasps. “Ymir?”

“The one and only,” Ymir sighs, like she’d rather be anywhere but here. The fluttering nerves coursing through Historia are replaced with pure, white-hot anger. What the hell is her problem? The fucking nerve—

“Charming, as usual,” Mikasa says flatly. Her and Ymir hadn’t really been close, but Historia being so heartbroken about her leaving had gotten Mikasa absolutely pissed on her behalf. And Mikasa’s not the type to let something like that go so easily whatsoever.

Armin, ever the peace-keeper, clears his throat in an attempt to settle the tension flowing through the air in waves. Smiles tightly at Ymir. “It’s nice to see you, Ymir.”

“Not nice, actually, because I thought you were ditching,” Eren interrupts. Ymir waves her hand.

“Ditching is one way to put it. I just said I might not be coming because of a little inconvenience—”

“Inconvenience, she says,” Eren mutters.

“—And that you shouldn’t get your hopes up. That’s not really ditching, in my opinion.”

“That’s quite literally ditching, Ymir.”

She rests her elbow against his shoulder; he’s only about four inches taller than her, so it doesn’t take her a lot of effort. Historia blinks, not quite sure how to feel about that. Ymir had always been taller than him when they were kids. This is just weird.

“Aw, Eren, you could’ve just said you missed having your big cousin around—”

“First of all, you’re only two months older than me. Second, I’d rather kill myself than actually miss you. So.”

Historia can tell he’s bluffing by the way his ears go bright red, and Ymir must notice it too, because her grin widens. “You guys see that, right?”

She looks at Historia specifically, but she doesn’t say a single word, making a show of clenching her jaw and crossing her arms. Ymir’s little facade falters, just for a moment—Historia can see it in the way her shoulders tense, cursing at herself for even being able to read that—before Eren brushes her elbow off him.

“Shut up. You’re so fucking annoying, man.”

“I think he’s hangry,” Ymir faux-cooes, and Eren actually looks like he’s going to kill himself, at this point. “Don’t you guys think he’s hangry?”

“I hope you die,” he says dryly, patting off the non-existent dust from his pants and looking at Armin. “Anyways. You can come with me to get food, if you want. I was gonna ask before she showed up.”

Hangry, Ymir mouths, and Eren thankfully doesn’t notice, too caught up in staring expectedly at Armin for an answer. 

“I’d love to,” Armin says, standing with a small smile and tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. 

“See you guys later,” Eren calls, giving one last nasty look in Ymir’s direction before Armin joins him on the way to the food tables, their arms linked together. Mikasa glances between Historia and Ymir, mutters something that sounds suspiciously like I wish Sasha had come, then stands, too, despite Historia’s many desperate looks in her direction to please stay, ‘Kasa, I’m going to die.

“I’m gonna go,” she says bluntly, not even bothering to try and make up an excuse. She follows Eren and Armin, leaving them in silence. 

The air is so thick Historia’s sure she can reach out and touch it. Finally, Ymir gives her a small smile, the kind she used to do whenever she was about to make a joke, or do something that made Historia laugh. It makes her chest clench painfully.

“Hi, Blondie,” Ymir says, and even though Historia’s so mad at her she can barely think, she has to fight a laugh at the nickname. How utterly relieved she is to hear it coming from Ymir’s mouth.

“You do know that you being gone for six years isn’t gonna change the fact that I still hate when you call me that, right?”

Ymir shakes her head, the smile widening on her face. “Eh. Worth a shot.”

“What are you doing here?” Historia asks curtly, expecting Ymir to look hurt, or sympathetic, or something, anything, but all she does is snort.

“Of course, always the one to get straight to the point.”

Historia’s face warms. “I mean, you did leave, Ymir.”

Ymir’s smile falters at that. “Yeah.”

Silence again. “That’s it?” Historia tries not to let the disappointment show on her face. “‘Yeah?’”

Ymir sighs. “Historia—”

“I’m not talking to you,” she mutters, beginning to stand, but Ymir surges forward and places a hand on her shoulder, steadying. The touch is almost burning, sparking against Historia’s skin despite the layers of fabric between them, and she has to force herself not to crumble immediately.

Six years and almost nothing has changed, huh? she thinks faintly. Ymir’s brows pull together, and Historia notices her eyes have a sort of desperate shine to them, like she’s on the verge of begging her to stay. It's a little pathetic, but still satisfying nonetheless. 

“I’m sorry,” Ymir says quietly, and Historia blinks, warmth trickling into her chest. Ymir rarely apologizes to anyone, let alone so softly, vulnerable, and not in the sarcastic way she used to do whenever she'd pissed someone off and Historia had to be the one to play peacemaker. 

But Historia’s not about to let her off that easily.

“Sorry for what?”

Ymir flushes and gives her a look that says, really? Historia raises her brows. “Well?”

“I’m sorry for being an ass,” Ymir grits out.

“And?”

“For not saying anything, or whatever,” Ymir mutters, which is probably the most Historia’s going to get, at the moment, so she relents and sits back down, pats the empty seat beside her. 

“Thank you,” Historia smiles, sweet as she can muster to the point where it looks fake, and Ymir warily eyes her, then the chair, before sitting down.

“So are you gonna let me speak without looking like you wanna kill me now?”

“Depends on what you say,” Historia says lightly, pretending to pick at her chipped nail polish. She’d have to get Eren to redo them for her at some point. “If it’s stupid, I’ll just leave again.”

“Well, I’m not Eren, so ‘stupid’ isn’t really what you should be worried about.”

Historia gives her a look. “Shit talking your cousin doesn’t exactly help your case, Ymir.”

“Not shit talking when it’s true,” she grins. Historia whacks her forearm. “Ow.”

“Spit it out.”

“Jesus,” Ymir mutters. Historia then expects her to actually start talking, the anticipation coursing through her veins in a flash, but Ymir suddenly reaches into her jacket pocket and pulls out a cigarette pack. Historia’s eyes must be bulging, because she grins slyly. “What, you’ve never seen one before?”

“I have,” Historia huffs, and Ymir laughs. “I just didn’t expect you to take it out in front of everyone.”

“They’re used to it, at this point.”

“And that’s, like, extremely concerning.”

Ymir pops one between her teeth, cups one hand over the end and flicks the lighter. She takes a deep breath, then sighs, smoke coming through her mouth and nostrils. The smell tingles Historia’s nose, and she scrunches her face. “It’s disgusting, but it gets the job done, at least.”

“That being…?”

“Taking the edge off.” Ymir nods her head at the sea of people around them. “Then again, I’ve gotta get used to it at some point, so as soon as this one’s done I’m not getting any more.”

“I mean, I don’t know what you mean by getting used to it, but whatever helps, I guess.”

“Eren didn’t tell you?” Ymir asks, and maybe Historia’s reaching, but she hears a bit of disappointment laced in her voice. “Thought he would with his big ass mouth, but okay.”

Historia stays silent, waiting for her to elaborate, and she takes another long drag before tsking. “I’m moving in with him for the rest of the year.”

Historia’s jaw goes slack. Of course, leave it up to Eren to spare her the most important details, even ones that include her old crush coming back for good after six whole years off the grid.

“You’re coming back here?”

“You don’t have to sound so put off,” Ymir teases, and Historia clamps her mouth shut. 

“I’m not put off. Just, uh, surprised, is all.”

“Sure, Blondie.”

“Don’t call me that.” Historia furrows her brows. “But why now, though? After so long?”

Ymir takes another puff of her cigarette and exhales through her nose. “My nana. Trust me, the last thing I want is to be living with Eren, of all people, but I can’t live with her anymore. So.”

“Is she okay?”

Ymir waves her hand. “Nothing’s wrong. She’s just getting old, y’know? It’s harder for her to do a lot of basic shit, even with my help, so we just decided that it’d be best for her to join all her little old friends and go to the retirement home. And she’s having fun there, so it's all good.”

She’s gone a little tense again, which definitely means she’s not happy about it, and Historia’s not about to make her mood any worse, so all she says is, “At least you’re not completely starting over, right? It’d be worse if you didn’t know anyone.”

“I guess so,” Ymir murmurs. “But everyone’s probably still pissed at me.”

“Oh, they are,” Historia says honestly, because lying won’t do her any good, and Ymir tenses even more. “But I’m sure they’ll forgive you if you’re just honest with them about why the hell you just decided to dip without a single word.”

She gives Ymir a pointed look, and the other girl shakes her head with a smile.

“Way to be subtle.”

“I’m just saying.”

“Mhmmmmm.” Ymir leans back against the chair, looks up at the darkening sky. “I guess I just thought that I wasn’t coming back, so it’d be easier to just disappear.”

Historia tries not to let the hurt show on her face. “You weren’t even planning on visiting?”

“I wanted to,” Ymir coughs, and Historia’s heart may or may not skip a beat. “But I was planning on taking care of my nana till she, you know, so…”

“Oh.” Historia starts fiddling with her fingers. “But you still could’ve called, or something.”

“Yeah, that was stupid,” Ymir admits, and Historia smiles. “I don’t even know what my dumbass was thinking.”

“At least you can admit you were a dumbass.”

“Ha, ha,” Ymir says, deadpan, and Historia giggles behind her hand. “Really fuckin’ funny.”

“You’re the one who said it, not me.”

Ymir looks away then, only a few freckles still visible through her hair. “I know.”

“Yeah,” Historia says softly. Ymir looks at her again, eyes crinkled a bit at the corners, and Historia feels her mouth go dry.

“So are we cool now?” Ymir clears her throat. “Or, cool-er?”

Historia bites her lip, feels her face get warmer with every second Ymir’s looking at her. Are they cool? They’re not exactly on bad terms—sure, Ymir hasn’t explained everything to her yet, but this is all still new. And she seems genuinely sorry about how things had gone between them, which is what matters most to Historia, honestly. If she’s willing to take the first step in rebuilding things, then—

“We’re cool,” Historia tells her. "Cool-er. For now."

Ymir grins, fully this time, and Historia can’t help but do the same.

“Cool.” Ymir squishes her cigarette into the ashtray placed near them on the table and stands, brushing off some of the extra particles on her jeans. “Man, I’m starving. I swear to God if they already finished the punch—”

“That tub is bigger than me, that’s physically impossible.”

Ymir yanks her by the arm, and she almost yelps. “Anything’s possible in this family, Blondie.”

“Apparently,” she says weakly, too flustered to comment on that horrible nickname. Ymir lets go of her when they reach the food table, though, pepping up when she sees that, yes, the giant tub full of punch isn’t finished yet. 

“Auntie Carla never disappoints,” Ymir sighs, gulping down her first glass in seconds and then immediately refilling it when she’s done. 

“Eren’s mom made all this?”

“Yup. I saw her do it yesterday.” Ymir drinks half of her second glass and then relents, handing it to Historia. “Try it.”

Historia puts the cup to her mouth—desperately trying hard not to think about the fact that Ymir’s lips were on it a moment ago—and takes a giant sip, eyes lighting up at the sweet, fruity taste. “Damn.”

“Told you,” Ymir says, snatching back the cup and finishing the rest of it. Historia rolls her eyes in amusement and grabs for one of the other plastic cups on the side, filling it generously. Then Ymir’s gaze lands on the dance floor in front of them, and her eyes widen. “Oh, shit.”

Historia raises a brow as she takes a sip, albeit a lot smaller this time, because her throat is beginning to burn. “What’s wrong?”

But Ymir doesn’t look alarmed at all; quite the opposite, in fact. She gives Historia a sly smirk.

“Look in front of you.”

Weird, but Historia does it anyway. “What am I looking at, exactly?”

“Them.” Ymir nods towards the back of the dance floor, and Historia spots Eren and Armin, hands grasped between them as Armin throws his head back and laughs. “Man, I thought Eren would be a little less pathetic by now, but I guess not.”

Historia peels her eyes away from them and gives Ymir a questioning look. “What do you mean, ‘pathetic?’”

Ymir raises a brow. “You seriously don’t know?”

“Know what?”

Ymir nudges Historia’s shoulder. Nods her head at the other two again. “Look at Eren’s face.”

Historia squints. Eren’s eyes are glued to Armin, slightly widened, but he looks… enamored. Completely and utterly enamored by the sight in front of him, sparkles dancing in his irises. Armin says something to him, still giggling, and Eren gives a soft smile, the softest one Historia has ever seen him give, probably. Armin keeps talking, but Eren subtly pulls him a little closer, sways them to the beat of the music, smiles even wider. Like he—

Historia shrieks. Smacks her hand to her mouth. Ymir is looking at her like she’s crazy, but at this point, she doesn’t even care, too shocked and pissed and thinking what the actual fuck?

What the fuck am I looking at right now?

Suddenly, the puzzle peices begin to fit themselves together in her head. Why Eren was so red in the car earlier, avoiding all her questions. Why he was grabbing Armin’s hands at every chance he got. Why he kept making all these pathetic excuses to talk to him all day. Fuck, she’d been so stupid not to realize it.

Eren likes her brother.

Eren, that bastard, her best friend Eren, likes her brother.

“You good, Historia?” Ymir asks warily. Historia takes a deep breath.

“Ymir?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“Do you still have that pack on you?”

Ymir blinks. Touches her jacket pocket. “You wanna smoke?”

“Pass it to me,” Historia says.

“Are you sure—”

“I said pass it to me, Ymir.”

Ymir swallows, takes out the pack, lights a cigarette up for Historia, then hands it to her. "Just be careful. I don't want you passing out on me, or something."

Without another word, Historia takes the biggest gulp of smoke she can, exhales it, and then almost chokes.

Chapter Text

Historia’s in a little bit of a dilemma, at the moment.

For one, she’s currently on the way to school, trying not to fall asleep in the back of her family’s car while Armin and Mikasa gossip about God knows what with Erwin’s old-people-music blaring in the background, and that’s already a dilemma in itself. But, no—surprisingly, the thought of seeing her incompetent classmates and teachers and smelling the pissy stench of the cafeteria is not the cause of her horrible mood today.

No, it has to do with some other things. Namely Eren fucking Jeager and how hard it’s getting not to smack him senseless every time she sees him.

That’s putting it extremely lightly.

It’s been two days since she’d found out about his little crush on her brother, and she’s honestly proud of how well she’s managed to keep her composure this entire time without imploding in on herself. Mostly because she’s been waiting for the perfect moment to hit Eren (both literally and figuratively) with the news that yes, she knows about his betrayal and the fact that she’s been having to deal with him making googly eyes at Armin (ew) ever since, but also because the stress of seeing Ymir at school again is beginning to outweigh whatever’s going on with him and his dumbassery. 

Like an idiot, she’d forgotten to ask for Ymir’s number at the wedding—even though Ymir should’ve been the one making the first move, but okay—and had only realized once she’d gotten home and the dizziness from the cigarette, combined with the whole Crush Thing, had completely worn off from her senses. That’s when she clocked the fact that she was actually going to have to see Ymir almost every day for the next four months, and had spiraled to the point of secretly practicing what to say to her in front of her bathroom mirror all night. It was embarrassing as hell, but she was genuinely out of ideas, and it wasn’t like she could just drag one of her siblings into her room and practice on them without looking completely and utterly insane.

She’d been kind of confident at the wedding, but that was mostly due to the rush of adrenaline at the fact Ymir was even there at all. Now that they’re supposedly cool—cool-er, as Ymir so graciously put it—she has no idea how to start anything. Being casual would just make things more awkward than they were already bound to be; acting like they’re friends again would also be weird, because Historia can admit that she’s still pissed at how vague Ymir was after everything she’d pulled. So do they just… not talk? Or does Historia wait for Ymir to seek her out and go off from there?

Her head is starting to hurt.

Honestly, she doesn’t even know if Ymir’s going to show up at all. She’d always been such a chronic absentee, piling up tardies like it was nothing, and first days after long breaks weren’t exempt from that. Maybe she’s turned over a new leaf, or something, but Historia seriously doubts it. With the way Ymir was acting at the wedding, it’s almost like she hasn’t changed in the slightest. Just that she’s a little taller, and she smokes, and she’s pretty…

“Tori.”

She blinks. Glances at Armin, who’s frowning. “Huh?”

“Finally. I called your name, like, a million times.”

“And you kept staring out the window like Eren used to do when he tried convincing everyone he was emo,” Mikasa adds. Historia tries not to make a face at his name.

“I wasn’t, but alright. What’s going on?”

Armin and Mikasa share a look, and Historia instantly feels like every cell inside her body is being picked apart piece by piece. Those two have always had a way of speaking with just their eyes, especially when cornering her. The thing is, she doesn’t exactly know what they’re trying to get out of her now, so she has no planned excuses to shoot back at them the second they start talking. Fuck.

“We’re just a bit, uh, concerned,” Armin finally says.

“About what?”

“Ymir,” Mikasa says bluntly, and Armin nods sheepishly. “You’ve been acting off ever since the wedding.”

“Can you keep it down?” Historia hisses, glancing at her parents. Erwin is still pleasantly singing along to the song playing on the radio, and Levi’s giving him this gooey, disgusting look while simultaneously managing to drive. Blegh. “Holy fuck, this is why they always find shit out, you guys never know about environmental intelligence—”

Armin snorts. “Environmental intelligence?”

“Yes! Fucking environmental intelligence, you guys have none of it.”

“Well, you’ve been too busy holed up in your room and talking to yourself in the mirror for the past two days, so excuse us for finally finding the right time to talk to you,” Mikasa sighs. Armin starts laughing, and Historia feels her cheeks heat.

“Mikasa! Were you stalking me—?”

“Nope.” Mikasa taps Historia’s nose, and she furrows her brows. “You’re just loud.”

“Am not.”

“Don’t even try, Tori, you know it’s true.”

“Fuck you—both of you, actually.”

Armin holds his hands in the air. “I didn’t even do anything.”

Oh, you have no idea just what you’ve done, Historia thinks gravely, but all she says is, “You’re indulging her tomfoolery, so I think you did do something, actually.”

“Tomfoolery?”

“Yeah.”

“She’s deflecting,” Mikasa faux-whispers to Armin, and Historia flips her off with both hands. “Just tell us, Tori, and we’ll stop nagging you. Easy peasy.”

“I’m not talking to you about this,” Historia grumbles, looking back out the window. It’s cloudy, not a speck of sunlight in sight, but the rain pattering on the glass had stopped a while ago. “‘Cause there’s nothing to talk about.”

Mikasa sighs. “Historia—”

Historia side-eyes her, and she shuts her mouth. “Leave it, ‘Kasa. Seriously.”

“But—”

“Mikasa.”

Armin pats her shoulder. “We can’t force her to say anything, Miks.”

“Thank you, ‘Min,” Historia says. Mikasa looks like she’s about to say something else, but another nod from Armin eases out the tension in her shoulders. Historia shoots him a grateful look, and he smiles in response. She knows Mikasa’s just worried about her like she always is, but there’s really no way in hell Historia’s going to tell her about something as stupid as this. Or anyone, for that matter.

Erwin abruptly turns to them with a raised brow. “What are you guys doing back there?”

“Nothing,” they all say simultaneously. Historia hears Levi tsk.

“You guys do know you’re not being subtle at all, right?”

“No idea what you’re talking about, Pa,” Armin says cheerfully.

Right then, Historia’s phone buzzes against her thigh, and she opts to tune out Armin and Levi’s back-and-forth comments in favor of opening it. When she sees who’s texted her, however, she automatically wishes she just left it.

Eren aka biggest pain in my ass 🖕(Just now, 7:57 a.m.)

DUDE

WHERE ARE YOU

This idiot’s already at school? Historia thinks as she types out a response.

Historia 

eren

I LITERALLY JUST LEFT MY HOUSE

WTF ARE YOU DOING THERE

Eren aka biggest pain in my ass 🖕

tell me ur joking.

Historia

I’M NOT

Eren aka biggest pain in my ass 🖕

BRO.

THE ONLY OTHER PERSON HERE IS JEAN.

Historia

KSMSDJCNUDFIOD

LMFAOOOOOOOOOO

Eren aka biggest pain in my ass 🖕

IT’S NOT FUCKING FUNNY.

I’M GONNA KMS

Historia

ok do it nobodies stopping you

Eren aka biggest pain in my ass 🖕

fuck u

kys

Historia

💋💋💋💋

Eren aka biggest pain in my ass 🖕

can you please just fucking hurry up i cant take it anymore

Historia

i’m gonna ask levi to slow down just bc of that

Eren aka biggest pain in my ass 🖕

i hate u sm

WHY DIDNT U JUST LET ME PICK U UP.

Historia

because my parents always drive us to school on the first day after break YOU KNOW THIS IDIOT

Eren aka biggest pain in my ass 🖕

okay whatever

hope you crash

Historia

hope jean beats ur ass xx

Eren aka biggest pain in my ass 🖕

🖕

“Historia, I can hear you tapping your phone from here,” Erwin tells her, and she looks up, sticks her tongue at him.

“It’s an important conversation, Dad.”

“You’re going to break it.”

“And I’m not getting you a new one,” Levi adds, cutting off his and Armin’s little fake-argument that’s just turned into Armin spewing random shit and Levi laughing lightly at all the crazy things he says. 

Historia’s close to mimicking what he said in a whiny voice, but bites her tongue. “Uh huh.”

“Someone’s cranky today.”

“Pa.”

Levi relents after that, but she can still see the tiny, amused smile on his face for the rest of the way. 

Two minutes later, Historia, Armin, and Mikasa are dropped off in the school parking lot with many blown kisses from Erwin and reminders from Levi not to get into any trouble. Historia’s about to piss her pants, eyes darting around the sea of bodies to catch any glimpse of Ymir, and Armin must notice she’s a bit tense, because he links their arms together, gently squeezing her hand as the three of them walk through the main entrance and are greeted with the hideous smell of the hallway. She blinks, tears welling up in her eyes at the constant stinging sensation in her nose. Jesus, it’s like she’d never left.

“I already wanna go home,” Historia complains, Armin forcing her forwards and muttering apologies to the people they almost bump into in the process. Mikasa just snickers at her. “Eugh, and my pores were finally starting to get clean.”

“Your pores are fine, Tori.”

“They’re not fine, Armin, I’m gonna be breaking out by tomorrow.”

She almost cries in relief when they step out the door on the other side of campus, the lovely, clean air greeting her again with open arms as they skip down the concrete stairs and onto the grass. Mud squelches underneath her boots, piled up because of the heavy rain last night, but she definitely prefers this over being stuck inside that God-awful building.

Their group’s usual spot is a rickety, old wooden table that sits beneath the school’s big oak tree, probably riddled with all sorts of termites and maggots, but the scenery’s pretty. For a school, at least. Historia immediately makes out Eren, Jean, Connie, and Sasha taking turns eating out of a ginormous chip bag placed in the middle of the table. Eren sees her and visibly sighs in relief. Historia, however, is entering what she likes to call her “Try Not To Scream At Eren” mode. Fortunately for her, she’s had lots of time to practice over the years.

“Finally,” Eren groans as Historia forces herself to take the empty space on his right. Mikasa sits next to Sasha, kisses her in greeting, and Armin sits on Eren’s other side. Then Eren—the fucking bastard—gives him such a sweet, innocent grin that Historia has the sudden urge to barf her insides all over the table. She sees Armin’s cheeks pinken, and that’s what makes her contemplate actually giving in to her desires and drop kicking Eren into the far distance before he continues, “took you guys for-fucking-ever.”

“It’s literally only eight, Eren,” Historia says. “We have another twenty-ish minutes till the bell even rings.”

“Exactly, idiot.”

“Fuck you.”

“Gladly.”

“You disgusting—”

“Why’re you here so early, though?” Armin asks, and Eren clamps his mouth shut. Don’t kick him, don’t kick him, don’t kick him. “I mean, not that I’m complaining or anything, but usually you’d be picking us up in ten minutes.”

Eren glances at Sasha, Connie, and Jean, who’ve stopped the little conversation they’re having to eye him suspiciously, and he swallows. “I just felt like coming early today.”

“Yeah, and the sun’s suddenly shining out of my ass,” Jean says sarcastically.

“Why the fuck are you even talking right now? I’m answering him, not you.”

“You’re talking in front of me, though, so technically—”

Sasha stuffs a handful of chips into Jean’s mouth, and he yelps. “It’s too early for this shit.”

“Thanks, Sash,” Mikasa says, kissing her cheek. Historia grins at the way Sasha’s face basically morphs into a tomato. 

“He started it,” Eren grumbles. Armin pats his arm sympathetically, and Eren stares at the spot where they met contact like it’s been sent to him from heaven itself. “Mhm…”

Don’t kick him, don’t kick him, don’t fucking kick him—

“Hey, Eren?” Historia says a little too loudly, and he flinches like she’s just pulled him out of the void, or something. Christ. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

He gives her a puzzled look, acting like he’s clueless, and she balls her hands into fists. 

“Uh, sure?”

She drags him a little farther behind the oak tree, ignoring the questioning looks thrown in their direction by the others, and stops near a particularly wet patch of grass. He grimaces at the ground, uncomfortably moves from leg to leg in an attempt to minimize the amount of mud on his shoes, and she barely conceals her grin of satisfaction.

“What the hell is it now?” he asks pointedly, crossing his arms. “I swear, you’ve been acting so weird the past few days.”

“Have I?” she asks innocently, and he furrows his brows.

“Now you’re acting weird-er.”

“Hmmm. I don’t know.”

“And you look like you wanna kill me.”

“Where’s Ymir?” Historia asks, because she’s not ready to reveal herself yet. No, that will require a lot more time and planning, and she’s willing to wait on her taste of revenge if it means catching him so off guard he faints, or something.

Okay, maybe not to that extreme, but you get the idea.

“That’s why you brought me all the way to this shit hole?”

She purses her lips. “I didn’t know if you told the others, and I don’t know if she wants anyone knowing yet, so.”

He grins. “Aw, look at you being all considerate. I’m touched.”

“Shut up. Do they know or not?”

Eren glances behind him, then looks back at her sheepishly. “I just—I haven’t found the right time, okay?”

“Eren,” Historia sighs. “What are you gonna do if they see her in the halls—or class, huh? ‘Cause you know it’s gonna happen one way or another.”

He waves his hand carelessly; she notices he’s purposefully avoiding her gaze. “That won’t happen.”

“Now you’re just lying to yourself.”

“I’m not.” He gives a pained look. “She’s skipping today.”

Historia thins her lips in an attempt to stop the frustration from showing on her face, but she knows she’s probably physically deflating by the way Eren’s eyes glaze over in pity. She suddenly feels like punching the mud beneath them and screaming, because she hates being pitied, but also because she’d gotten her hopes up like an idiot and set expectations she knew wouldn’t be met. 

Of course Ymir wouldn’t be coming today. Fucking of course. She’d been in pure denial to think any differently.

“That’s just splendid,” she mutters. “Great way to start off the new year. Really brings me boundless joy.”

“It’s Ymir we’re talking about,” he says, resentment not at all subtle in his voice. “Then again, I have no idea how the hell she convinced my mom to let her stay home, but I think she’s just playing the ‘I miss nana so much I’m dying’ card on her. And of course mom’s falling for it.”

“She’s really dreading seeing us all that badly?” Historia asks softly, and Eren frowns.

“Well, she wants to see you, for some fucking reason. It’s just the others. I know she’d rather die than say it, but she’s definitely nervous.”

Historia tries her best not to take those words to heart, but she feels warmth tingle across every inch of her skin nonetheless. She wants to see me. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter.”

“I mean, it kind of does, considering you dragged me all the way out here to talk about it—”

“And now I’m dragging you back,” she interrupts, pulling his arm and earning a screech.

Her first two classes of the day are History and English, and while History’s so boring she falls asleep without even trying, English isn’t so bad that she’ll want to gauge her eyes out with a pencil. She’s still not looking forward to Ms. Ral dragging on and on about whatever they’re doing, though—poetry or some shit, she hasn’t really been paying attention—and God knows what else. Plus, it’s the only class she has without any of her friends in it, which sucks, but at least that means she’ll get a bit of peace and quiet for an hour.

She sits at her usual desk in the back of the room, and as soon as the bell rings, plops her head down and uses her arms to shield her eyes from the light coming through the window. Ms. Ral starts doing attendance, and Historia’s so exhausted she doesn’t even hear her name being called, but she knows she’ll be marked present anyway; as much as she doesn’t like to participate in class, she does well on all her tests, and Ms. Ral deemed that enough to warrant her the luxury of just sleeping whenever she felt like it. Again, English is seriously not that bad.

It feels like hours of her just lying there, not asleep but not fully awake, either, until her phone buzzes inside her pocket. She doesn’t pay it any mind at first, but it’s after the third and fourth continuous vibrations that she starts to get really irritated.

She slides her phone out of the fabric, careful to keep it hidden underneath the table, and gives it her all not to groan at the message glowing at her on the screen.

Fruity tootie smoothie 🍉🍇🍊🍒🍓👅🍆(wtf connie?? - jean) (Just now, 9:21 a.m.)

WEED SUPPLY WOOO: guys

WEED SUPPLY WOOO: WHY THE FUCK DID I SEE YMIR IN THE OFFICE JUST NOW.

You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me, Historia thinks, resisting the urge to bonk her head against the table. Of all the people that could’ve spotted her, it had to be Connie?

sashy 🐓🍗:  WHAT YBE GUVKXKSNDONQOANAM???????

sashy 🐓🍗: ARE U SURE ITS HER

WEED SUPPLY WOOO: IDK BUT I THINK SO.

WEED SUPPLY WOOO: IT LOOKS LIKE HER

closeted guy #1: bro U CAN'T JUST MAKE AN ASSUMPTION LIKE THAT.

closeted guy #1: WTF.

WEED SUPPLY WOOO: FUCK OFF JEAN

WEED SUPPLY WOOO: I KNOW WHAT I SAW.

closeted guy #2: um.

closeted guy #2: pls say ur joking????????

WEED SUPPLY WOOO: reiner 

WEED SUPPLY WOOO: bro

WEED SUPPLY WOOO: my most beloved darling on this planet earth

closeted guy #2: UM..?

WEED SUPPLY WOOO: i swear on my mother’s hypothetical grave that i’m 99% sure it’s ymir

sashy 🐓🍗: HER HYPOTHETICAL GRAVE LMFAOOOOOOOOO???

WEED SUPPLY WOOO: ya cause she’s not dead yet OBV

closeted guy #1: “yet”

WEED SUPPLY WOOO: jean stfu

WEED SUPPLY WOOO: we have more pressing matters to worry about

closeted guy #1: how did u even see ymir in the office

WEED SUPPLY WOOO: cuz i’m skipping and just happened to pass by

WEED SUPPLY WOOO: WHAT ELSE DO U THINK

closeted guy #1: jesus fucking CHRIST

closeted guy #2: 😭😭😭😭😭

“Historia?”

Her head shoots up from the table. Ms. Ral gives a heavy sigh.

“Are you using your phone or are you just mindlessly staring at the ground?”

Historia swallows and flashes the brightest grin she can muster. “Sorry, Ms. Ral. I was zoned out.”

“Mhm.” Ms. Ral narrows her eyes, then turns back to the whiteboard and continues her lesson. Historia doesn’t pay a single second of attention, though, instead switching out of the group chat and scrolling to find Eren’s contact, which luckily isn’t far. She’s still pissed at him, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Historia (Just now, 9:26 a.m.)

EREN

BITCH

GET OVER HERE RIGHT NOW

SOS

SOS

ISTG

A few seconds pass, Historia nervously tapping her foot against the floor. Then—

Eren aka biggest pain in my ass 🖕

i’m guessing you saw the messages too then.

Historia

NO SHIT

OH MY GODFIJUHVFJIODSVKN

Eren aka biggest pain in my ass 🖕

IM GONNA KMS

GENUINELY

THAT ASSHOLE TOLD ME SHE WAS SKIPPING.

SHE SAID IT TO MY FUCKING FACE

THAT LIAR

Historia

oh my god

SO WHAT THE HELL DO WE DO

Eren aka biggest pain in my ass 🖕

YOU THINK I KNOW???

Historia

SHE’S YOUR COUSIN.

Eren aka biggest pain in my ass 🖕

okay and that matters WHY?????

Historia

do i really have to answer that

Eren aka biggest pain in my ass 🖕

ya

answer me

Historia

bye

Eren aka biggest pain in my ass 🖕

OK NO WAIT

WAIT

IM SORRY

PLS I NEED HELP 

Historia

don’t tell me ur gonna rat her out 

EREN

Eren aka biggest pain in my ass 🖕

WHAT OTHER CHOICE DO I HAVE

maybe 

ok wait hear me out

Historia

good god

Eren aka biggest pain in my ass 🖕

IF we tell them

BIGGGG IF

then maybe we can get prepared

YK

TO AVOID CONFUSION

Historia

but idk if ymir wants them knowing

Eren aka biggest pain in my ass 🖕

ok so what

who cares what she thinks

SHE'S the one that left without telling them 

it’s her fault

they deserve to know what’s going on

Historia

ok but SHE should be the one to tell them

not us

it’ll make her look even worse

Eren aka biggest pain in my ass 🖕

and why does that matter all of a sudden?

Historia’s thumbs hover over the keyboard for a moment. Why does it matter to her suddenly? They’re supposedly cool, but that doesn’t mean she’s cool with the others, too—they hadn’t even known she was here, and Eren’s obviously pissed beyond relief, so why should Historia care? Ymir’s the one who messed up all her friendships, isn’t she? It’s not Historia’s job to be the one that calms things down anymore. She doesn’t owe her that.

But you told her you were cool. And she apologized. Sort of.

“Dammit,” she whispers, praying nobody hears her, and types out a response.

Historia

i mean she apologized to me at the wedding

and she seemed genuinely sorry

Eren aka biggest pain in my ass 🖕

or maybe ur just biased as fuck

Historia

????

wdym biased

Eren aka biggest pain in my ass 🖕

nvm 

i still think we should tell them though

Historia

you can tell them

i have no part in it

Eren aka biggest pain in my ass 🖕

okay fine i won’t tell them rn

but can you at least back me up if it comes to it ☹️

Historia sighs, a twinge of guilt shuddering through her despite herself.

Historia

FINE.

since you insist

Eren aka biggest pain in my ass 🖕

THANK U TORI I LOEV YOUUUUUU😭😭😭💕💞💓💗💖💘

Historia

yeah yeah whatever

Eren aka biggest pain in my ass 🖕

ok bye idiot

focus in class 🤦‍♂️

Historia

WHY ARE YOU

*YOU*

TALKING RIGHT NOW!?!:!/!-!-!

Eren aka biggest pain in my ass 🖕

putting my phone on silent now byeeeeeeeee 😝

Historia

BITCH.

 જ⁀➴♡

Historia has never sprinted so quickly to a class in her entire life.

Her breaths are beginning to come in harsh once she sits down on the table in the corner, and she leans back against the wall, wincing at the cold concrete slightly grazing her neck. Why does Ymir have to be so unpredictable all the time? First it was her sudden arrival at the wedding, and now she just decides to come to school like everything’s all sunshine and rainbows, and Historia has no clue in the world what to do with herself. Seriously, she’s fucked, as in, astronomically fucked. As in, she’s so fucked that she’s considering calling Levi and faking some sort of illness so that he picks her up; her period’s supposed to start in a few days, anyway, so she can just freak him out by saying she has cramps, or something—

“Hi, Blondie.”

Ymir’s suddenly towering over her, a grin plastered on her face, and Historia almost screams, flinching so harshly the back of her head painfully whacks against the wall behind her. 

“What in the—Ymir?”

Ymir blinks, stays silent for a moment, then starts fucking cackling.

No wonder her and Eren are related, Historia thinks with a grimace as Ymir gasps for breath and wipes a stray tear from her eye. Genuinely, what is it with them and laughing at her misery? Between Eren waking her up in the middle of the night two days ago, and now with Ymir’s incoming teases about hitting her head, she’s amazed not even one gray hair has managed to surface yet.

“You can shut up now,” Historia tells her after about thirty seconds, and to both her relief and surprise, Ymir does calm down a bit, though little giggles continue to shake her shoulders.

“The look on your face,” she screeches. “Oh my God, I think I pissed myself, I’m gonna—”

“Eren told me you were skipping today,” Historia hisses, nervously glancing at the door. Bertholdt’s in pre-cal with her, and he’s usually chill most of the time, but Historia has no idea if he’d read Connie’s messages earlier. Then again, anyone she knows would probably be a tad bit dumbfounded seeing Ymir in the flesh after so long, so it’s almost guaranteed he’s going to freak out, whether it be internally or externally.

“Yeah, well, sorry to break it to you, but I lied,” Ymir says, and Historia’s really considering just forgetting about hitting Eren entirely and saving her manpower for his stupid, immature, infuriating cousin instead.

“Why would you lie?”

“‘Cause it’s funny to watch how pissed you guys get.”

“It won’t be funny once the others start catching on. Which they have, by the way,” Historia adds. 

“I don’t care.” Ymir purposely avoids her gaze, which means that she does in fact care. “If they have a problem with me, they can say it to my face instead of acting like a bunch of cowards.”

“Ymir,” Historia sighs, rubbing her forehead. “It’s not that kind of problem. They’re just wondering why you’re here, is all.”

“Again, they can say it to my face,” Ymir says flatly. As if on cue, Bertholdt strides into the classroom a moment later, and Historia watches as his eyes land on them, slowly widening. She tries for a grin and waves, but his jaw just drops in response.

“No sudden movements,” Historia grits through her teeth as Bertholdt starts walking toward them, but of course, Ymir just turns around immediately, shoving her hands in her pockets and leaning back against the table like she used to do whenever she wanted to intimidate someone. Bertholdt’s definitely falling for it, from the way his face goes even paler, but Historia just thinks she looks kind of stupid.

“Hi, Bertholdt,” Historia says brightly. He doesn’t even say anything for a few moments, still gaping at Ymir like he’s contemplating the meaning of life itself, before he shuts his mouth.

“I thought Connie was lying,” he murmurs.

“Sup,” Ymir nods, and Historia points at her.

“Ymir’s back. So. Yeah.”

“Nice to see you too, Berty,” Ymir says. Bertholdt looks at her, then at Historia, and sighs.

“Why am I not surprised, like, at all?”

Historia frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” he says quickly. “I just meant—like, seeing her with you.”

“O-kay? Still don’t get it, but whatever.”

“Where’s Reiner?” Ymir cuts in, a small smirk playing on her face. “Thought you’d still be following him around like a lost puppy.”

Bertholdt’s cheeks redden, and Historia has to physically hold herself back from grabbing Ymir’s shoulders and shaking her senseless. “I didn’t follow him around like a lost puppy.”

“Uh huh.”

“You have a lot of nerve to talk,” Bertholdt grimaces, nodding his head at Historia. She can’t see Ymir’s face, but the tips of her ears turn red beneath her hair. Huh? “Tori, I honest to God have no idea how you haven’t shooed her away yet.”

“It’s just my natural charm,” Ymir says stiffly before Historia can respond. “She happens to appreciate it.”

“Debatable,” Historia yawns, grinning when Ymir turns and glares.

“You shut up.”

“I don’t think I will, actually.”

Bertholdt purses his lips and tugs the strap of his backpack. “Yeah, I’m gonna go. It’s too early for this.”

“Give Reiner a kiss for me!” Ymir yells as he makes his way to the back of the class, ignoring her. She sits on the free seat beside Historia, not even bothering to ask, but Historia finds that she doesn’t really mind. “Okay, but, seriously, does he still have a big fat crush on him? ‘Cause if he does, that’s embarrassing as fuck.”

“They’re dating, Ymir.”

“What?”

Historia snorts at the absolutely dumbfounded look on her face. “It’s really not that much of a surprise.”

“Since when?”

“The end of September, I think. One day they just came to school holding hands, not saying a word, and then Connie started screaming about some money Jean owed him, or something.”

“I called it in middle school, so technically speaking, I should’ve gotten the money, but okay,” Ymir mutters. Historia shakes her head in amusement.

“Connie’ll try to rip your throat out if you say that.”

“That guy is half my size, I could just drop kick him.”

“Well—” 

The bell rings, and Historia groans. “Oh, come on.”

“Man, I knew I should’ve just skipped,” Ymir sighs. Historia shoots her a dirty look. “What?”

“Nothing,” Historia says curtly, turning away, crossing her arms atop the table, and resting her head on them. Thinking of Ymir skipping and not seeing her again sends an uncomfortable, squirmy feeling in the pit of her stomach, and she’d rather not dwell on that if she can help it. 

Historia tries her best to pay attention and look at least a little interested, because she’ll admit she’s been slacking off a bit, but it’s hard when Ymir is sitting only three inches away, chewing the eraser nub of her pencil and tapping her fingers against the table. It also doesn’t help that their pre-cal teacher, Mr. Olulo, is one of the most annoying people Historia’s ever had the displeasure of meeting, and practically spits saliva everywhere each time he opens his mouth. Bile rises in her throat at a particularly thick glob, and she bites the palm of her hand to stop herself from gagging.

“Why the hell does he keep spitting?” Ymir whispers suddenly, and Historia almost chokes. “Some of it got on the desk.”

“Ew,” Historia shudders, scooching closer to the wall. “Oh my God, I’m gonna barf.”

“What if I flick it back at him?” Ymir asks, pretending to inch toward the spot on the far corner of the table, but Historia lightly smacks her arm before she can. “Ow.”

“Don’t be gross, Ymir.”

“I’m not.”

“You were gonna touch his spit!”

“I was obviously kidding—”

“Ahem.”

They freeze, Historia mentally cursing at herself as Mr. Olulo glares at them, crossing his arms. Ymir nudges Historia’s foot underneath the table, and she nudges back, though it’s unintentionally a lot more forceful.

“Do you two have something you’d like to share with the class?”

Ymir opens her mouth, probably planning to grace them all with one of her sarcastic comments, but Historia thankfully beats her to it.

“No, sir. Ymir was just asking me a question about…” she peers at the board. “Rational functions?”

“Well, pay attention next time,” he grumbles, turning back to the board. Ymir snorts, and Historia gives her a questioning look.

“What is it now?”

“He spat again,” Ymir whispers, and Historia has to stifle her own laugh with the back of her hand. Mr. Olulo turns again and stares straight at them, his gaze nothing short of deadly.

“Is something funny, Ms. Smith?”

“No, sir,” Historia tries, but her wobbly voice betrays her. Then Ymir rests her head against the desk, obviously laughing by the way her shoulders begin to violently shake. Mr. Olulo’s face resembles that of an angry little chihuahua, and Historia loses self-control for a split second, exhaling sharply through her nose and then smacking her hand to her mouth. “Uh, sorry?”

He opens his mouth, and she already knows what words are going to come out the second he does. She glances at Ymir, who’s still suffocating herself against the table.

“Lunch detention. Both of you.”

જ⁀➴♡

“I cannot believe you got detention on the first day back, Tori.”

Historia groans as Armin opens his locker and starts attempting to shove his abnormally large biology notebook inside, the nerd. “It’s not my fault! Ymir’s the one who made me laugh.”

“Uh huh.”

“I swear, ‘Min, I didn’t do anything. She wrecked havoc the second she walked into class.”

She’s not technically lying. Things did start going south when Ymir showed up, but that was mostly due to the fact that Historia was being an idiot and indulging her, as always. But it wasn’t necessarily… bad. Unfortunately, Ymir’s just as fun to talk to now as she’d been when they were kids, and Historia doesn’t really know how to feel about that. Or to try and even understand why it makes her all shaky and restless and tingly.

To make matters worse, Mr. Olulo had decided to be an even bigger asshole than usual and made them sit in separate rooms during lunch, so she’d spent the whole thirty minutes just sitting upright in her seat and listening to the unbearable ticking of the clock behind her in silence. She wasn’t even able to rest her head on the table and snooze, because every time she tried, Mr. Olulo would spring into a lecture about how disrespectful she was and how her parents had failed to teach her proper manners. She has no idea who was supervising Ymir, but she assumes her experience couldn't have been much better. 

Armin finally succeeds in getting the notebook in, then takes out his P.E. bag with the little dinosaur keychain that matches the one on her bag, which is currently slung over her shoulder. “All I’m saying is, you really picked the wrong teacher to piss off. Eren had detention with him before winter break and he made him write two pages of just the phrase ‘I will behave in class’ over and over again. He still gives him dirty looks whenever we pass by him in the hallway.”

Historia raises a brow at him, linking their arms together after he closes his locker and starts walking in the direction of the changing rooms. “How do you know about that?”

“He told me.”

“Okay, when?”

Armin flushes. “Why does it matter?”

Because he’s a traitor. “I just wanna know.”

“During winter break. I don’t remember.” She notices he speeds up a bit. “Anyway, are you sure you’re okay?”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m fine. Seriously, you and ‘Kasa are being so weird about this whole thing.”

“You’re the one who’s acting weird.”

“I’m just trying to adjust,” Historia mutters. “It’s been six years since I’ve seen her, ‘Min. Give me a break.”

“I know.” He gently pats her forearm with his free hand. “But it’ll be fine. She doesn’t have P.E. with us, right?”

She frowns. “I dunno. She didn’t show me her schedule.”

“Well, if she does, then we’re kind of screwed, because Connie’s gonna spring on her the second he sees her.”

“Meh. The universe can’t hate us that badly.”

Well, turns out that was a lie, because she’s proven wrong the second they step foot on the field and the sight of Ymir and Eren pacing around with the rest of the class smacks her across the face.

“Literally why?” she whines, wanting to gag when she sees Armin’s face redden. Having Ymir there is already bad enough—now she has to deal with Eren, too? “As if this all couldn’t get any fucking worse.”

“Since when was Eren with us in P.E.?” Armin asks, his voice light. “I thought he had English now.”

She rubs her forehead and blows a raspberry. “He must’ve gotten a schedule change, that bitch. ” 

Armin lightly swats her shoulder. “Don’t call him that, it’s not his fault.”

“What are you, his lawyer?”

“I’m just saying—”

“Hey, guys.”

They scream, which causes Connie to scream, too, even louder than both of them combined. “Holy shit?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Historia screeches, placing a hand on her heart to catch her breath. When did he learn to sneak up on people like that? Usually his footsteps are more like earth-shaking stomps against whatever poor piece of ground he’s decided to walk on. “A little warning, next time?”

“Seriously, Connie, I think I pissed myself,” Armin says warily, looking a little woozy. Connie just grins and crosses his arms.

“Man, I should’ve filmed that. You guys look so scared—” 

Historia leans down, grabs a handful of mud, and flicks some of it at his face. He yelps, smacks his hand to his now mud-covered cheek. “Ow, Tori!”

“Payback,” she winks. He flicks his fingers, some of the mud splashing onto her nose, and she scowls. “You little—”

“What the hell are you guys doing over there?” Eren calls all of a sudden, waving them over. Historia internally groans; she can practically feel the second Armin’s heart stops from the way his eyes widen, just ever so slightly. Really, what is so intriguing about Eren that he has to have a nervous breakdown every time he sees him? He’s just a boy.

“And why does Connie look like he shat himself?” Ymir chimes in, snickering. Connie blinks, most probably realizing that she’s right there, before he gasps so comically loud it’s embarrassing. Then he’s running, Historia and Armin jogging after him, before he stops right in front of her, basically nose to nose; by some miracle, he’s actually an inch taller. Ymir’s visibly taken aback, but she regains her composure just as quickly as she lost it.

“You. I knew I saw you in the fucking office!”

“Sup, Constance. You got taller.”

Connie furrows his brows. “I’m gonna kill you.”

“At least you can actually try now. Seriously, what did you eat?”

He flushes. “Shut up. Why the fuck are you back at school?”

“I thought you’d be able to use your critical thinking skills by now, but guess not,” she sighs. “I moved back, duh.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah. I’m living with Eren now. Not fun, wouldn’t recommend.”

“Fuck you,” Eren spits. “Trust me, I’d kick you out if I could. Being forced to room with you should be some sort of safety hazard.”

Historia snorts before she can stop herself. “You guys are rooming together?”

“Gabi refused to move her gaming setup out of the guest room, so mom decided to torture me and make us share.”

“Awwww.”

“Shut up, Tori.”

“So it’s a permanent thing?” Connie asks suspiciously.

Ymir rolls her eyes. “I just said that, idiot.”

“Okay, well, excuse me for wanting the specifics. You were gone for six whole years without a single word to anyone. ”

“And they were the best six years of my life away from this shithole.”

“Nice to know you’re still annoying as hell,” he sighs, and she blows him a kiss. 

“So, Eren,” Armin starts, and Historia’s this close to stuffing her face in the mud and putting an end to her own misery. “You never told us you got a schedule change.”

Eren clears his throat and looks away, flush not at all subtle on his cheeks. Don’t hit him, don’t hit him, don’t hit him. “I didn’t get my P.E. credit last year, so the counselor told me I’d have to switch some classes up to graduate.”

“So it wasn’t the F’s in practically every class?” Ymir asks innocently, and Eren kicks her shin, smearing the skin there with mud.

“Acting as if you don’t have a sixty percent in math and chemistry—”

Miche’s whistle echoes throughout the field, effectively splitting Historia’s eardrums, and Armin smacks his forehead. “Does he have to do that every time?”

“I think he’s just doing it to piss us off, at this point,” Historia mutters, giving a very direct glare in Miche’s direction as he starts explaining whatever drills they’re doing today. He’s a close friend of their parents, and also has a habit of embarrassing them with the fact every chance he gets because he thinks it’s funny.

“Or Dad just asked him to.”

“Or both.”

“Hey, Armin,” Eren coughs, “wanna be my partner for the warm-up part? I’m not really that good at sit-ups.”

You fucking liar, Historia thinks; Eren’s been chronically exercising since last year to look “buff”—his words, certainly not hers—and he always does at least fifteen sit-ups right before he goes to sleep. She should know, because she’s subjected to it every time they call, and Armin’s seen him do it, but of course the idiot just pretends to be clueless. 

“Sure,” Armin says, trying to act cool, but Historia can see the small smile he tucks behind his hair as Eren grabs his hand and starts pulling him to the little area set up by the rest of the class. “Bye, guys.”

“Bye,” Ymir says flatly, narrowing her eyes. “Way to be fuckin’ subtle.”

“No kidding,” Connie whistles. “Man, those two are getting unbearable. You should’ve seen them this morning, Armin was all like, ‘oooh, Eren, why’re you here so early? It’s so nice to see you, mwah mwah—’”

“Eugh,” Historia retches, shoving him. “Was that really necessary? Eren’s awful attempts at flirting with him weren’t enough?”

“At least you can admit he was flirting. Before you just pretended not to notice anything.”

“I was trying to save the remainder of my sanity, thanks,” she retorts. Which isn’t a total lie. Mostly. She’d just been a little blind, and also made the mistake of giving Eren the benefit of the doubt and thinking he wouldn’t be a total dumbass and break the Pact, but like most things lately, she’d been dead wrong. “How would you like it if you saw your twin brother and best friend making googly eyes at each other all the time, huh?”

“Well, my brother’s five, so I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”

“It was a hypothetical question, idiot.”

“Historia,” Ymir says suddenly. “I need help with the sit-ups, too.”

Historia raises a brow. “What? Why?”

“‘Cause I’m not good at them, either.”

“But,” she swallows, her eyes subconsciously trailing down to Ymir’s toned arms. “You, uh, you look like you work out.” 

She immediately wants to smack herself. What the fuck is wrong with me? There’s no way in hell she just—

“Really, Blondie?” Ymir grins. Historia wants to curl up into a ball and die. “And why’s that?”

“Let’s just do the sit-ups,” she grumbles, yanking Ymir to the rest of the class by the arm. She hears Connie gag behind her.

જ⁀➴♡

By the end of the day, Historia’s officially had enough.

She cracks as they’re walking to Eren’s car; her parents only drop her off at school on the first days after break, and since she still can’t drive without almost crashing the car into anything and everything on the road, he’s been the one dragging her and her siblings everywhere since they were sixteen. Usually, Gabi would be squished with Armin and Mikasa in the back, but today she’s going home with her friend, Falco, and Historia had assumed that Ymir would be the one filling her absence, but she’s apparently choosing to go home by bus, and that just makes Historia’s mood all the more sour.

“Do you wanna go to the gas station after we drop them off?” she asks Eren quietly, walking close to his side so the others can’t hear her, and he has to lean down to even catch what she’s saying. No doubt Armin would make up some excuse to tag along, and Mikasa would come just because Armin’s going. “We can get slushies and sit on the roof for a bit. My treat.”

He raises a brow. “Something you need to talk about?”

About your stupid betrayal. “Yeah.”

“‘Kay, then.”

Historia’s house is only ten minutes away from school, so it’s not long before Eren’s pulling up beside the sidewalk and Armin and Mikasa are piling out of the car. When Historia doesn’t join them, they give her identical questioning looks.

“I’ll be back in a bit,” she says, careful not to sound too stony. “Just tell Pa and Dad I’m out.”

“Alright, then. Bye, Eren,” Armin waves. Mikasa looks like she’s going to start barfing, or something, and Historia can’t blame her one bit.

“Bye,” Eren squeaks, giving an absolutely pathetic attempt of a wave back before Armin and Mikasa are shuffling up the front steps, whispering about one thing or the other. He turns to Historia, whose eyes are trained on the road, never wavering. “Seriously, are you good, Tori?”

“Just drive,” she sighs.

It takes them five minutes to get their slushies—Eren insists on mixing up at least seven flavors every time—and ten after that to haul up the rusty ladder they’d hidden in the alley behind the gas station four years ago, place it against the wall, and carefully help each other onto the roof. It’s a tradition they’d started by accident, when they’d been goofing around in middle school and Historia had dared him to climb to the top of the gas station for a free slushie. It was only after he’d convinced her to join him the second time that they realized it was perfect for a secret hangout spot, and a very effective hiding place for all the candy Eren wanted to hog from his sister on Halloween.

“Holy shit, I think my fingers are gonna freeze off,” he complains as they sit on the edge of the roof; all the stuff they’d left up here last time, including a blanket and two empty water bottles, are shoved underneath the two generators behind them. “How the hell are you not dying right now?”

“That’s ‘cause you’re wearing a T-shirt, idiot. In the middle of winter.”

“Listen, all those winter clothes are so fucking ugly, I’m not about to be caught dead wearing them—”

“You’re gonna be dead if you don’t, but okay. Not like I care.”

He sticks his now bright blue tongue out at her. “Rude ass.”

“I try, thanks.”

“Uh huh.” He bumps their shoulders together. “So, are you gonna tell me what’s going on now instead of stalling?”

“Who said something’s going on?” she asks lightly.

“You.”

“Okay. What do you think is going on?”

“Uhhhh,” he says, looking like he actually doesn’t know, and Historia’s so pissed at him she can barely think clearly. “Is it Ymir, or something? I dunno what else it could be.”

“No. Ymir’s fine, actually.”

“So what the hell is it?”

“Hmmm, I don’t know,” she starts slowly, tracing the condensation around her slushie cup. “Maybe it could be that you thought you could hide the fact that you like my brother from me, but, again, that’s just what I think.”

She looks up then, a sweet smile playing on her lips, and she can see all the color leaving his face in real time, his eyes widening. He takes a breath, but before he can speak, she cuts in with, “Well? Does that give you any ideas?”

“Tori,” he swallows, squeezing his cup so harshly his knuckles whiten. “I—listen, I can explain—”

“You can explain to me why the hell I shouldn’t chuck you off the roof right now,” she says lowly, and he shuts his mouth. “Really, Eren? My brother? Really? Of all the people you could’ve picked?”

“Historia—”

“We made a deal, Eren.” She grits her teeth and swats his arm, earning a yelp. “We made a fucking deal, you promised—”

He curses under his breath and rubs the spot where she hit him. “We’re not dating, Tori, I didn’t break anything!”

“You did! You like him, that’s enough breaking in itself—”

“You know what?” he interrupts, harshly placing his cup on the side. “Fine. Yeah, I like him, okay? But you have a lot of fucking nerve to even act like I’m the only one in the wrong.”

She scoffs. “You quite literally are, but okay.”

“No I’m not. You think you’re being sneaky, but I know you broke the pact, too.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Don’t act dumb with me, Tori, I know you like Ymir.”

She blinks, shock overtaking her for a moment, before she shakes herself. “In fifth grade, Eren,” she hisses, not even bothering to try and piece together how his oblivious ass found out. “That’s so different, we didn’t even make the pact then—”

“Nuh uh, you like her now.”

“We reconnected, like, two days ago! And we’re not even proper friends yet,” she says, doing her best not to think about how empty she feels after saying that. “I swear to God, the way your mind fucking works sometimes—”

“Y’know, I may be an idiot, but I think your face going beet red every time she talks isn’t something that’s hard to miss,” he interrupts, nose scrunching. She feels her jaw drop. “Really, Tori, it’s gross as hell.”

“I don’t—” she stammers, mentally cursing at herself for doing so. “I don’t go beet red. What the hell?”

“Yeah, you do.” The fucker has the audacity to grin at her, like this is something funny. “You’re red right now, and I just mentioned her name.”

“I’m not!” Because she isn’t, she knows she isn’t; Eren’s just being a bitch and trying to throw her off, as usual. And the heat in her face is probably just simmering because of how pissed she is at him. That’s all there is to it. “Anyways, that’s not the point—you’re forgetting the fact that you like my brother, you piece of shit.”

Now Eren’s the one turning red, and Historia’s stomach swirls in satisfaction. “I said I’d explain, but you keep yelling at me like a maniac.”

“And that’s me being generous,” she grimaces. “I should seriously just push you off already. That’d solve, like, half my life problems.”

“Only half?”

“Jeager.”

“Okay, okay. Sorry,” he mutters. “So, uh, about Armin—”

“Mhm. My brother.”

He clears his throat. “Yeah. Look, Tori, I seriously didn’t mean to like him, okay? It just sort of… happened?”

“When?”

“Huh?”

“When did it happen, Eren? I need you to tell me to my face how long you’ve been lying for.”

His eyes widen like saucers, and she swears she can see a bead of sweat roll down the side of his face. “Um.”

“I’m waiting,” Historia says casually, though she makes sure to give him the most murderous look she can muster. 

He gulps, like, seriously gulps, and it would’ve been funny had she not been so rampantly furious. Then his eyes train back to the slushie drink, and he mumbles something incoherent. She raises a brow.

“What was that?”

He flushes again, avoiding her eyes. “Since fifth grade.”

Silence looms over them for a beat. Two. Eren looks like he’s actually going to fling himself off the roof, at this point, and Historia’s more than willing to do it for him, because what the actual fuck?

“You’ve liked my brother since you were twelve?”

“Eleven,” he corrects, like that’s any better, and she has to thread her fingers through her hair and tug to keep herself from losing the already small semblance of control she has left and smacking him across the face. 

“So you were already breaking the stupid Pact before we made it? Seriously?”

“You broke the pact before we made it! Hello!? Are you just deciding to forget the fact that you liked Ymir in fifth grade—”

“I got over it! You still—”

“You didn’t get over shit!” he shrieks. “Oh my God, you didn’t get over shit, you still look at her with these big ass puppy eyes like she’s some celestial being sent from the heavens—”

She feels her cheeks get hot. “I don’t!”

“You do, Tori, you do. Everyone can fucking see it, even Connie. Do you know how obvious you have to be for him to get it?”

Historia opens her mouth, closes it, not really sure how she can even respond to that. To any of this, really. Eren’s crush on Armin was already enough to split her brain in two—now, what, he’s accusing her of liking his cousin? As if they hadn’t just met again for the first time in six years two days ago? Sure, Ymir’s pretty, she’ll admit, and funny and unpredictable in a way that’s sort of endearing, but that doesn’t mean she likes her again. That’s insanity. Just because she’d happened to have a small, insignificant childhood crush on her doesn’t mean that those same feelings can be rekindled as quickly as they’d started back then—

“Since you’ve gone practically speechless, I’m guessing I got it right for once,” he starts, pulling her out of her thoughts. And then, before she can even answer and tell him he’s wrong, the little shit goes:

“Anyways, now that you’ve finally figured it out—if you let me take your brother to prom, I’ll pay you a hundred bucks.”

Historia blinks. Tries to register the words in her brain without it exploding. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

“I mean, I’d even give you two hundred, but it’s gonna take me, like, five more months—”

She smacks his arm, hard, and he screams. “You’re not betting on my brother, Eren!”

“It’s not betting, it’s dealing—”

“That’s even worse.”

“But I’m serious!” And he isn’t joking, because his eyes are shining in the way she knows he’s either thinking up some horrible, absolutely disastrous plan, or he’s about to start bawling on the spot like that’ll make her feel bad enough to agree. Which it won’t. Not in the slightest. “Tori, I swear, he’s like—like brain rot, or something.”

“My brother’s like… brain rot?”

He buries his face in his hands, and Historia hates that she feels a twinge of sympathy for the idiot; he really does look like he’s going to implode any second. “Like—I can’t stop thinking about him. And before it was so much easier, you know, ‘cause we didn’t really talk, but I don’t know what happened or when but after summer break and all the beach days and seeing him, and—and fucking movie nights, the feelings just got even worse—”

“Eugh, okay, I get it, you’re obsessed with him,” Historia complains, shutting him up by slapping her hand against his mouth. If he starts spewing any more shit about Armin—God forbid—she might actually throw up, purple slushie and all. “You don’t have to start waxing poetic about him in front of me. That’s disgusting.”

He furrows his brows, then bites her palm, but she doesn’t relent even though the pain is so intense it shoots up her arm and throbs her shoulder. She cannot give him the liberty of knowing he’s one-upped her somewhat. 

“The fuck are you, a dog?”

“I’m ho’na ki’w yew.”

She smirks. “I dunno what you just said, Eren, I can’t really understand gibberish—”

He bites again, somehow harder this time, and she hisses through her teeth. “Asshole.”

“Le’he go.”

“I’ll only let go if you promise to stop talking.”

He hesitates for a second, then nods, and Historia slowly takes her hand away, wipes off his disgusting spit on his jacket, eyes him suspiciously. After a few moments of quiet, when she’s sure he won’t start blabbering again, she says, “You really are one pathetic ass bitch, dude.”

“I know,” he sighs heavily.

“You really don’t.” She rubs her forehead and smooths her hair back with her hand. “Fuck. How the hell do we even go about this?”

Eren gives her a look. “We could start with you finally admitting that you like my cousin.”

“What in the—” she takes a deep breath. In and out. If she gets suspiciously mad, then he’ll think that she’s getting defensive because he’s right, and she’ll sure as hell die before ever letting that happen. “How many times do I have to say ‘I don’t like her like that’ for you to get it through your thick skull?”

“It’s okay, Tori,” he says solemnly, patting her shoulder like she’s some sad, poor, lost soul. Her brows raise. “Denial’s just the first step. Give it time.”

“Of course you’d know about denial, having a crush on someone for almost seven years and not telling anyone—”

“Hey, I wasn’t in denial. At least I admitted it.”

“After I threatened you, idiot.”

“Okay, other than that.” Eren purses his lips. “But, uh, I wasn’t joking. About the prom thing.”

Historia raises a brow. “You weren’t joking about paying me a hundred bucks?”

“That, and, y’know, the other thing,” he says, clears his throat. “Actually taking him to prom.”

Historia sighs. “Eren—”

“I know you probably think that this is all some sort of phase,” he interrupts, fiddling with his fingers. “But I really like him, Tori. A lot. And it’s killing me to force myself not to do anything, and also having to keep it from you all because of some stupid pact we made in middle school.”

“The pact’s there for a reason, Eren, remember?” Historia says, firm. He clenches his jaw. “What are you gonna do if you get together and then break up, huh? Then I’m gonna get stuck in the middle of it, and then things will just get awkward, and Armin’s gonna act like it’s fine that I’m still hanging out with you but he’ll be lying, because that’s what he does. He lies to calm things down even if it means hurting himself in the process.” She shakes her head, suddenly feeling a little hollow at the thought of Armin acting like that, all depressed and quiet. “I can’t do that, Eren. Not to him.”

“But you’re thinking in a hypothetical sense, Tori,” he argues, and she frowns. “There’s no telling what’ll happen, right? We don’t know anything, not really. Like, I don’t know, maybe we’ll get married, or something.”

She tries to picture that. Eren and her brother. Married. It’s not exactly impossible, but the thought of having Eren as her brother-in-law is both kind of funny and also so weird that she has to shudder away the mental image.

“You’re already thinking that far ahead?”

“I’m just saying,” he mutters, dipping his head and letting his front bangs hide the side of his face, but Historia can still see the redness on his ears peeking through brown locks. “Seriously, Tori, I’m nearing my limit. Every time I’m in the same room as him I feel like I’m gonna burst and just start spilling everything like an idiot.”

“I don’t know…”

“Okay, then. Let me ask you this. When have you ever heard me talk about a crush? Like, seriously?”

She furrows her brows. Ponders for a moment. Now that he’s pointing it out… she never has heard him talk about any sort of crush, has she? Sure, he’ll say offhand comments about some girl or guy in his class and how he liked their hair, or jewelry—things like that—but it’s always been in a sense where he’d wanted to replicate those things on himself. It was never about the actual person. Never once has he actually stated some sort of attraction to anyone, and she’d always assumed that he just didn’t care about that sort of thing. But now that she knows about Armin…

“I don’t remember,” she lies. He rolls his eyes, obviously catching her bluff, but the last thing she needs right now is his ego growing so large his head bursts.

“Never. I never talk about it, because it’s always been him the entire time,” he says softly. “It’s just been him since I was eleven years old. I’ve never felt that way about anyone else.”

“That’s…” Historia says after a bout of excruciating silence. “Huh.”

“Tori, please.” He leans over and shakes her shoulders lightly. “I won’t try anything unless you tell me it’s okay. So please.”

She internally sighs, knowing she’s fucked when the things he’s saying start to make sense. Thinking in hypotheticals is smart and cautious, yeah, but he does have a point about one thing: nothing is ever guaranteed, no matter how many theories or arguments or hypotheses she generates in her head. And Eren’s many things—annoying, emotional, and a bitch, to name a few—but a liar certainly isn’t one of them. If he says he’s serious about Armin, then he means it, means every single word he’s saying, even though his little speech was the most sappy, disgusting thing she’s been forcefully subjected to in her entire life.

On top of that, he’s a horrible liar, so even if he wasn’t the stubborn, loyal idiot that he is, Historia would’ve been able to call him out on his crap immediately. 

Well, shit.

“Eren,” she starts, making a face at how hopeful he looks already. “I’m not saying that I’m… considering it—”

“Mhm, mhm.”

“—But I need you to tell me this one thing.” 

He nods enthusiastically. “Anything.”

She exhales shortly, still not believing that she’s actually willingly endorsing this. “Do you really mean it? All the corny shit you were spewing earlier? Because if this is isn’t a permanent thing—”

“I mean it, Tori, everything,” he says quickly. “I promise. I wouldn’t have confirmed anything if I wasn’t.”

She looks at him for a moment, squints at his shining eyes and the little pout forming on his lips. “Promise?”

“On my life.”

“On your mother’s life?”

“Mom’s, Dad’s, Gabi’s, Ymir’s—”

She waves her hand, cutting him off. “Okay, okay, I get it. Ugh, I can’t even believe I’m fucking saying this—”

“So you’ll let me ask him out?” he asks excitedly, perking up in an instant. She rolls her eyes, shakes her head.

“I didn’t even finish yet, dumbass.”

“Sorry.”

“As I was saying,” she continues, running a hand through her hair. “I’ll let you pursue him, or whatever—”

“Thank God.”

“—But there have to be some rules.” 

“I’m still considering that a win,” he grins, looking so genuinely happy that Historia feels a little sheepish about being so harsh earlier, but this is her brother they’re talking about. Her best friend is only just a small fraction of this whole thing. If Armin gets hurt in the process, if she even hears a speck of melancholy from him, then it’ll be on her conscience, because she allowed it to happen. She’d never be able to forgive herself. 

“And you can also date my cousin, or whatever,” Eren continues. “Even though it’s gross, it won’t be fair if you let me and I don’t—”

“I’m not—I’m not gonna date your cousin,” she sputters, though her pulse rises just a tad. What’s up with him and his sudden obsession about this? Just because he’d kept up a crush on Armin for six years doesn’t mean that she’s capable of the same thing. She’s not, not after Ymir’s been completely out of her reach this entire time. Maybe if she’d stayed…

There’s no use thinking about the what-ifs, she reminds herself, taking a deep breath. “Sorry to burst your bubble, but it’s never gonna happen.”

“Eh. That’s better for me, honestly,” he mutters. “But just in case—”

“Eren, for the love of fuck—”

“I’m just saying! No need to get all fuckin’ crazy with me.”

“Whatever. Just no more mentioning Ymir, okay?” she says, praying that her face isn’t too pink. 

He looks like he’s going to say something else, but to her relief, he just snorts and shakes his head. “Fine. So what are these rules, now?”

Historia stretches out her arms, uses them to push herself back a bit and stand, brushing off the dust from her jeans. “We’re gonna make them.”

“Huh?”

“Just get up, we’re going to my place.”

“Oh,” Eren swallows. “Your place. Where Armin is. That’s totally do-able, no problem—”

He tries to stand, but the idiot almost trips backwards and flies off the roof, and Historia has to spring forward and pull him back right before his foot slips. His slushie gets kicked over in the process, spilling blue, purple, and God knows what else along the side of the wall, and all he has to say for himself is, “Oops.”

Yeah. There’s no way this is going to end well.

Chapter Text

Now, look, Eren’s never really prayed before—or felt the need to, for that matter—but Historia yelling at him back on that rooftop made him realize that there’s definitely a first time for everything.

He glances warily at her where she sits in the passenger’s seat, but she just continues staring straight ahead at the road with her hands clenched in her lap, acting like he doesn’t even exist. You’d think, after being best friends for seven years, that reading her would be as easy as breathing by now, but it’s almost impossible to tell what she’s thinking when she gets all moody like this. He assumes she’s still trying to process the last hour-and-a-half through her puny little brain, but from the way she’s harshly biting the inside of her cheek, she could also very well be plotting out some type of plan for his murder, and honestly, he wouldn’t be surprised in the slightest if he woke up tomorrow with a million venomous snakes placed underneath his pillow, or something.

He parks in front of her place a few minutes later, careful to angle the car as perfectly against the sidewalk as possible—he’s not risking another hour-long lecture from his mother, thank you very much—and clears his throat as they walk up the driveway, because the silence is beginning to make him feel a little twitchy.

“So,” he starts when they make it to the front door, and she finally gives him the liberty of knowing she’s acknowledged his presence. Her eyes barely drift to him as she shoves her key into the lock, but they’re still dripping with the same terrifying venom they’d had on the rooftop. “Uh, how’s this going to work, exactly?”

“You’ll see,” is all she says, the door clicking open. He rolls his eyes; sure, he gets that she’s (rightfully) pissed off at him right now, but the whole mysterious act she’s trying to pull isn’t working on him anymore. It was funny at first, watching her cheeks bloom bright red at having to physically hold herself back from losing her shit, but now he just wants her to spit out her stupid plan already.

As soon as he steps inside, Eren can hear the sound of the TV playing down the end of the hall. Historia grabs his wrist and tugs him so that he matches her pace, and he feels his pulse quicken the second they make it to the living room.

Armin and Mikasa are sitting on the couch, Mikasa shoving pieces of popcorn into her mouth while Armin rests his head on her shoulder, eyes closed, letting out tiny puffs of breath as he snoozes. Blond hair is ruffled atop his head, and his glasses are slightly angled from being pushed against Mikasa’s shoulder, but Eren’s eyes still feel drawn to him like a moth to a flame, completely involuntary, unable to force his gaze away even after he hears the irritated click of Historia’s tongue behind him. God, he needs to get a fucking grip.

As ridiculous as his confession to Historia had sounded, he really wasn’t exaggerating about having a crush on Armin for six years. Hell, he can’t even pinpoint exactly when the stupid feelings had started. He’s sure they’d begun to fester when he was eleven—he’d thought Armin was cute, and he liked his hair, but anyone with a brain would think the same—and since then, they’ve always just been there, lingering, slowly taking over every inch of his very being like some sort of incurable virus. Though, he can recall one moment in particular that was probably when he realized he was absolutely fucked with no point of return. 

It’d been the middle of summer, and he was fourteen, sprawled across Historia’s bedroom floor as they blasted her 90s mix on repeat and gossiped about who they thought would be in their classes next year. He complained that he was thirsty and wanted lemonade, and Historia, being the lazy little shit that she was, didn’t want to get up, so they’d played rock paper scissors to determine which one of them would go downstairs. Of course, she’d fucking won, cackling at him as he shuffled down the stairs. Many curses had been muttered at her under his breath. He was in the midst of preparing to dunk a glass of lemonade on her head as revenge on his way back, before he’d glanced out the sliding door leading to the backyard and felt his breath catch in his throat.

Armin had been sitting outside on the grass, legs crossed, annotating some book with his lips pursed and his eyebrows pinched like he’d found something wrong with the text and was ranting about it on the pages. That day had been so hot and sticky even Eren hadn’t risked going out, so he couldn’t comprehend how Armin had been able to without burning to a crisp, but even from inside, Eren could see how sunburnt his nose was, bright red and already peeling.

That hadn’t deterred him, though, just made him stare like a complete and total idiot even more, along with harboring the sudden, fierce urge to brush his thumb against the spot between Armin’s brows and smooth away the little wrinkle in his skin. It was only after Historia had yelled at him to hurry up that he was able to snap out of it, his heart beating so quickly he’d thought he was going to fall unconscious before taking another step.

After that, he’d purposefully avoided any and all chances of actually talking to Armin for a while—he’s his best friend’s brother, for God’s sake—but this past summer had proved to be a very big Fuck You to every single one of his calculated efforts so far.

Spending all his time at Historia’s house during summer break isn’t something foreign to him. Sometimes he’ll be sleeping over for days, or even weeks at a time, but Armin and Mikasa usually go off to do their own thing, so he never really sees them that much. This time, however, they’d started staying home more and more, even going so far as to hang out with him and Historia on some days, which meant that the more time he spent with her, the more often he was forced into the same proximity as Armin. 

Then, right before school had started up again in mid-August, Historia had suggested that they watch a bunch of horror movies as some sort of “farewell” to their last summer spent together anticipating high school. Eren ended up squished beside Armin in the middle of the couch, because the universe just loved to screw him over at every fucking opportunity. The first twenty minutes were the most awkward of Eren’s entire life, just consisting of him trying his hardest not to touch or look at him in any capacity, but after they screamed and clung to each other during one of the jump-scares, he’d forgotten all the promises he’d made up in his head about staying away and lost himself in the giddy feeling, letting Armin grab his hand or his arm even without anything scary. The morning after, he’d woken up stretched across Armin’s stomach, the blanket they’d been using draped on top of them, caging them in, and things only got more unbearable from there over the next six months.

“It’s late, guys,” Mikasa says, bringing Eren back to the present. “I was getting worried.”

“It’s literally only six, but okay.” Historia frowns at Armin, leans forward against the back of the couch. “What’s up with him?”

Mikasa waves her hand. “He’s just napping. I think waking up early after so long tired the shit out of him.”

“Yeah,” Historia murmurs. She kisses the top of his head, and Eren feels a bit awkward standing there, like he’s intruding on something private. Historia’s never really affectionate with anyone, let alone him, but he knows family’s just different for her, specifically when it comes to her siblings. Mikasa’s a rarer case, since she’s always so on top of everything, but Historia’s been more overprotective of Armin for as long as he can remember. He would think it sweet if it weren’t the cause for her going all batshit crazy on him back on that rooftop. 

“Where are Pa and Dad?”

“Grocery shopping.”

“‘Kay. Me and Eren will be in my room,” she says, and then she’s dragging Eren up the stairs, allowing him a split second to catch one last glance at Armin before he creeps out of view. Historia gives him a look as she closes the door behind her and kicks off her shoes. 

“How the hell was I so blind?”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re a bitch.” She takes her laptop out of her bag, throws it onto the bed, then shrugs the bag off and tosses it onto the floor, which is already messy and covered in various amounts of other clothing. Eren just lets his bag fall beside the door before he plops himself back-first against the bed, sighing and closing his eyes at the pleasant warmth filtering through the walls. The heating in his house has been wonky for a few days, so it’s nice to finally be able to relax without his teeth chattering every two seconds. Or having to deal with Ymir hogging the space heater in the living room.

He refrains from hissing a string of curses. Fucking Ymir. Just thinking about seeing the stupid look on her face when he gets home is enough to put a bad taste in his mouth, which says a lot, because not even Gabi and her temper-tantrums are enough to raise this much pure wrath in the pit of his stomach.

Trying to fathom how his mother even considered the idea of letting that demon live with them for the next six months is something his tiny brain can’t even begin to comprehend, but what’s even worse—other than the fact that she’s just pretending like everything’s suddenly fine between them—is that Historia’s started acting all clumsy and starstruck around her like she used to when they were kids, which is fucking disgusting, and Eren would honestly rather jump off a cliff than ever see anything of the sort again.

Lying and saying he knew about Historia’s crush on her the whole time would be pretty stupid. Even he can admit that it took three years of Connie and Sasha teasing her about fifth grade for him to put two-and-two together. He doesn’t really have a problem with it, though; he thinks the Pact was dumb anyways, and as far as he’s concerned, Historia can like whoever she wants, but he’d just assumed that Ymir’s tendency to be an asshole and the fact that she probably wasn’t going to come back would be enough to squash any feelings she may have still held toward her. How fucking wrong he’d been. Frankly, he thinks Historia’s taste in women is enough to warrant her at least a million therapy sessions in itself—she’d liked Hitch at some point, for fuck’s sake—but that’s just his humble opinion.

“If anyone’s the bitch—” he’s cut off by the hurl of a shirt to his face, and he scowls. “Fuck you.”

“You left that here last time,” she tells him, shuffling through her closet. He picks up the shirt, takes a whiff, and tries not to barf at the sweaty tinge. Yup. Definitely his. “And half the other shit in this thing that’s making my whole room stink.”

“You’re the one who doesn’t throw it away,” he yawns. This time, she throws a pair of pants at him, even smellier than the shirt. “Ow.”

“Where the hell is it?” she murmurs, the closet doors creaking as she pushes further inside. Eren twists a bit to get a look at her, and snorts at the mountain of clothes beginning to pile at her feet. 

“Tori, you’ve seriously gotta clean that thing, it’s getting ridiculous.”

She flips him off without so much as a glance in his direction. “Your room’s worse than mine.”

“Well—”

“How the fuck did it get shoved all the way here?” she screeches, tugging at something in the back. 

“Dude, what are you even looking for?”

“The mattress.”

“Why?”

Historia manages to pull it out from whatever wedge it’s been stuck in, deflated and wrinkly in her hands. “Eren, we both know you’re gonna stay over one way or another, so it’s better to just get this ready from now.”

She’s right, but Eren sure as hell isn’t going to say that to her face. “Who says I’m staying over?”

“You’re telling me you’re gonna have the energy to drive all the way back to your place after we’re done?”

“Well, I don’t even know what we’re doing, so yeah.” He opens his phone and texts his mom anyway, just in case. She’ll say yes like she always does, but he knows she’s gonna freak out if he just goes radio silent for the next twelve hours without coming home.

“I told you, we’re making rules.” She places the deflated mattress underneath her desk and settles down beside him, opening her laptop. He sits up a bit, still laying down, and furrows his brows.

“How many are we talking, now?”

She shrugs. “Depends on how bold you wanna be.”

“Huh?”

“You said you want to take my brother to prom, right?”

The heat in Eren’s face cranks up to an uncomfortably high temperature. “Yeah.”

“Okay, so think of this as like… a guide.”

“A guide. To dating your brother.”

She visibly shudders, and Eren can’t help the amused grin that plays on his lips. “Oh my God, don’t put it like that—”

He takes the laptop from her, earning a shriek. “You’re the one who said it, not me.”

“What the hell are you doing?”

“You’ll see,” he says cheekily, pressing save on the document and entering in a new name. He hears Historia sigh.

“‘E&H: the ultimate guide to dating your best friend’s brother’? Really?”

“Don’t tell me it’s not the most genius thing you’ve ever seen in your entire life.”

“Sure, Eren.” She lightly hits his arm, taking back the laptop, and he chuckles. “Anyways. Point is, I’m not letting you off that easily. If you’re gonna ask him out, it’s gotta be in a way that I approve of. He’s not getting something half-assed.”

“I wasn’t even planning to do it half-assed,” Eren sighs. “The fuck do you take me for?” She opens her mouth, and he immediately says, “Nevermind, don’t answer that.” 

“That’s what I thought.” 

The keyboard clicks as she types out one on the screen. “So, I was thinking of a few on the way here, and I came up with one that I think should just be, like, the base-point. You give it at least a week before starting anything.”

“What—”

“Before you start whining,” she interrupts, “I actually thought of it for your own good, believe it or not.”

“Tori, making me wait even longer isn’t for my own good. I’m gonna fucking die.”

“It gives you time to think.” She flicks the side of his head, and he winces. “This isn’t something you can just impulsively push your way through like everything else. It’s my brother. And it’s also an opportunity for you to, y’know, talk to him.”

Eren frowns. “I do talk to him, though.”

“Yeah, but when have you ever actually hung out with him when I’m not there?”

Eren stops to think for a moment. Huh. They’ve never really hung out like that, but talking to him makes everyone in the room disappear, even when they’re in large groups of people, so maybe his brain had just used that and ran with it. “Not really, but it feels like we have sometimes, though.”

“Trust me, it’s not the same thing,” she mutters, typing out wait one week to make a move, then underneath beside two, actually hang out with him first. “Also, you don’t have his number, do you?”

“No,” Eren mumbles. “I never really needed it, considering I see you, like, every day.”

“‘Kay.” Three, no asking for his number unless he asks first.

Eren gasps. “That’s not a valid rule! What the hell?”

“Maybe not, but it gives you confirmation.”

“Now you’re just making shit up.”

“I’m serious! It lets you know that he’s into you, or whatever. Ew, I cannot believe I just fucking said that.”

Eren presses his lips together, feels his stomach turn a little. “You think he would be?”

“Into you?”

He swallows. “Yeah.”

She shrugs, though he notes it’s a tiny bit stiff. “Dunno. That’s up to how you act with him.”

“So he’s never said anything about me?”

“You think he’d tell me about you?”

“Well, yeah, since you’re his twin.”

“If he told anyone, it’d be Mikasa, and she hasn’t said anything to me, so I’m assuming not,” she says quickly. He raises a brow. “Anyways, the only other rule I’d think fits is you telling me when you’re gonna do it, and other than that, I’ve got nothing.”

That’s definitely a surprise, but a happy one nonetheless. “Damn. I thought you’d have to print out a whole fuckin’ rule-book, or some shit.”

“A rule-book is a stretch,” she snorts. “I just wanna make sure you’re being careful and not fucking up anything. That’s literally it.”

“So you’re not that pissed anymore?”

She stays quiet for a moment, thinking. “Nah, I’m still pissed. But trying to control how you feel about someone is wrong, even if it’s Armin.”

“Tori,” he cooes, grinning at the small splotches of pink forming on her cheeks. “That was so cute, I’m gonna barf.”

“Fuck off.”

“I love you, too.” Historia grabs a pillow and whacks his head with it. “Jesus.”

“You better not mess this shit up,” she mutters, throwing the pillow back behind her. He frowns. “I’m serious, Eren. You hurt him once, and it’s over. No second-chances, nothing.”

“I won’t,” he says quietly. It’s only for a split second, but her expression softens. “Promise. On everything.”

An idea suddenly comes to mind, and he bites the tip of his pinky finger hard, enough to draw blood. He holds it out to her, the dot of red swelling larger with every second, and he’s pleased to see that she has the audacity to laugh at him.

“There’s actually no way you’re trying to make me do a blood pact—”

“Desperate times, Tori. If this is the only way you believe me, so be it.”

“Idiot.” She grabs a pin from her side table— why she even has one there, Eren has no idea—and pricks the top of her pinky finger, lacing it with his. “That’s gross as fuck.”

“Eh. At least it’s binding.”

“So now if you break it, I have full permission to kill you.”

“Jesus, Tori.”

She passes him a few tissues, and he wraps them around his little make-shift wound. “I’ll send you the doc in a bit, in case you have anything to add, but those three rules are the only ones I really care about.”

“Do you actually think that I’m gonna make rules for this shit? Me?”

“Oh my God, I’m just putting it out there.”

They go downstairs after that, because the smell of fried chicken is starting to filter through the house and Eren’s so hungry his head spins. He peeks into the kitchen to give his greetings to Levi and Erwin, who aren’t surprised he’s there in the slightest. Mikasa’s still eating popcorn on the couch. Eren’s disappointed to see that Armin isn’t anywhere to be found.

“He got up to use the bathroom twenty minutes ago,” she tells him after he asks, not bothering to peel her eyes away from the TV. “I’ve no idea where he is now, though.”

“Maybe he’s just taking a long shit,” Historia says bluntly. 

“Ew, Tori.”

Turns out he’s not doing that, thank God, because he steps through the sliding door leading to the backyard a moment later. When his eyes land on Eren, they widen, and his shoulders tense up. Eren doesn’t know if that’s something he should be concerned about or not, but his heart still races nevertheless.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” Armin says weakly, his hands flying up to his hair and smoothing it out, as if there’s some sort of problem with it. Which there isn’t. Eren thinks it looks pretty all the time. 

“Why were you outside?” Historia asks, narrowing her eyes. 

“I was just sitting.” 

“Uh huh.”

Say something, idiot, Eren thinks to himself before clearing his throat. “Your, uh, your hair looks nice.”

Armin’s cheeks go red, and Eren immediately wants to curl up into a ball and scream until his throat is raw. What the actual fuck is wrong with him? Honest to God, why the hell does he always just blurt things out without thinking for one fucking second—

“My hair?”

“I mean,” Eren says quickly, trying not to cringe at the appalled look on Historia’s face. “Hair. Yeah. You have nice hair.”

Armin gives a puzzled look. “I—thank you?”

“Mhm.”

“I’m just gonna—” Armin points in the direction of the kitchen, then scurries past them without another word. Fuck. Historia facepalms, but Mikasa just grins slyly at him. 

“Very smooth.”

“Shut up,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. “I’m just gonna pretend that never happened.”

“You and me both,” Historia grunts.

Dinner is a mostly peaceful affair, save for Eren sitting as far away from Armin as possible and avoiding any sort of eye-contact with him. Erwin and Levi ask him about his mother and his classes—the usual—and Historia starts ranting about Mr. Oulo and how much he spits in class, Mikasa joining in with some horror stories of her own. Eren’s content to sit and listen. Armin doesn’t make a single peep all throughout the meal, though, which is weird, but like Mikasa had said earlier, he’s probably just tired, so Eren doesn’t think much of it.

Afterward, he and Historia retreat back to her room to pump air into the mattress, which takes them a whole hour. It takes them another hour to set it down flat on the floor in spite of the absolute mess surrounding them on all fronts, but once they do, they settle into their usual routine whenever Eren sleeps over; he takes the pajamas he’d left over last time and changes in the bathroom, and once Historia gives him the clear, they brush their teeth and settle into their respective sleeping spots. He’s done this so many times it’s almost muscle memory, which should be concerning, but it is what it is.

“Shit, it’s already eleven,” Historia curses, aggressively pulling at the covers and flopping onto her bed. Eren groans and tries to get comfortable on the mattress, but it’s kind of hard when there’s piles of Historia’s shitty clothes sitting underneath.

“I’m telling you, if you just picked up some of your shit, maybe it wouldn’t have taken us so much time to put this thing on the floor—”

“Do I look like I have time to clean my room?”

“Yeah, actually.”

She flips him off. “I hope you get back problems.”

“And I hope you fall off the bed and break your neck.”

“Your natural charm’s showing,” she says sarcastically, and he sticks his tongue out at her. “Speaking of, what the hell was that downstairs?”

He blushes. “I thought we were pretending that didn’t fucking happen, Tori!”

“Nah, it’s too ridiculous for that. ‘Your hair looks nice’? That’s your best idea of flirting?”

“I’m going to sleep,” he huffs, turning away from her. He hears her giggle.

“‘Kay. Night, idiot.”

“Night,” he yawns, and she clicks off the lamp on her bedside table, coating them in darkness.

Eren doesn’t know whether it’s because of the mattress, his uncomfortable position, or both, but he finds himself tossing and turning for a while, slumber greeting him for a moment after long periods of time, then leaving just instants before he feels himself slipping away. When he can’t physically sit still anymore, he crawls off the mattress, careful not to wake Historia up; she’s started snoring, which means she’s already so deeply asleep it’ll take at least ten hurricanes to wake her up, but he’s still not risking the wrath of her crankiness.

He creeps down the stairs, avoiding all the creaky steps that’d gotten him and Historia in trouble a billion times, and makes a beeline for the kitchen to get a glass of water; his throat is so dry it sends throbs of pain to the roof of his mouth every time he swallows. It’s as he’s making his way back to the staircase that he spots the shadow of a figure sitting outside on the wooden steps, and he realizes with a start that it’s Armin, wisps of blond hair practically gleaming in the moonlight. His legs move like they have a mind of their own, and before he can properly stop and consider what the hell he’s doing, he opens the sliding door, shivering at the cold breeze that tingles his face.

“Armin?”

Armin bristles, meets his eyes, and Eren’s pulse rises to concerning heights.

“Jesus, Eren, you scared the shit out of me,” he hisses, placing a hand on his chest. Eren gives a sheepish grin. “What are you doing up?”

“Sorry. I just, uh—” he lifts his cup, and Armin furrows his brows. “Water. What are you doing out here, though? It’s freezing.”

Armin wipes his cheek, a few droplets of water smudging the skin there, and Eren registers the fact that he must’ve been crying earlier. He feels his heart clench painfully at even the mere thought. “I can’t sleep.”

Ah. Historia’s mentioned that Armin has bad insomnia, but Eren’s never actually seen him up and about at night before. He’d thought maybe it would lessen as he got older, but, like most of the time, his assumptions had been incorrect, because it’s so bad Armin’s crying over it, and although Eren knows he can’t exactly beat up insomnia for making him feel so frustrated, the urge to do so is extremely intense.

 “Shit, Armin, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine. I’m used to it,” Armin mumbles, waving his hand. 

Eren sits beside him, frowning. Their knees just barely graze each other. “Weren’t you taking meds, or something?”

“Literally nothing works.”

“Not even a bit?” Armin shakes his head. “Must be some shitty pills, then.”

Armin snorts, and Eren feels a tiny spasm of satisfaction at making him laugh, even if it’s just a little. “Tastes like shit, too.”

“That fucking sucks.”

“Uh huh.” Armin turns away from him, fiddles with his fingers. “You know you don’t have to sit with me, right? I’m fine.”

Eren clears his throat, hoping his face isn’t that red. “I want to, though.”

“But it’s late,” Armin says quietly. “And cold.”

“Not gonna change the fact that I wanna sit with you.” Eren bumps their shoulders together, relishes the smile that touches Armin’s lips. “Hey, y’know what might make you sleepy?”

“Hm?”

Eren nods up at the sky, twinkling with little bright lights. “Now, I’m no constellations expert, but there’s gotta be at least one up there right now.”

“You want me to talk about… constellations?”

“Mhm. That’d tire the shit out of me if I did it.”

“But you hate anything to do with space stuff,” Armin laughs, so lovely, and Eren’s heart warms at the fact he even remembers. “It’s different.”

“Then make me un- hate it.”

“I dunno…” Armin starts, biting his lip. “I don’t wanna bore you out.”

Never. “You won’t. Trust me.”

“Okay.” Armin hesitantly reaches for his hand, the touch searing away any nerves bundled underneath his skin. He leans a bit closer, his breath lightly tickling Eren’s cheek, and points his hand a little to the south. “You see those four stars over there? The ones that go in a sort of jagged line?”

“I think so? They’re a bit uneven.”

“Right. That’s Caelum.”

Eren wrinkles his nose. “Weird fuckin’ name, but okay.”

“Yeah, well, it’s Latin,” Armin chuckles. 

“And does it also have some, like, sad ass backstory to it, or?”

“Nope. It’s one of the few that doesn’t, actually. It’s just a sculptor’s chisel.”

Eren nods, pretending like he knows every word Armin’s saying. “Cool.”

“You’re totally lost, aren’t you?” Armin muses.

“No I’m not.” He points at one a little up to the North. “What’s that one?”

Armin shakes his head in amusement. “Lepus, the Hare. That one also doesn’t have a backstory, but some people think it’s running away from Orion.”

“...Orion?”

“The constellation right above it.”

“Mhm, mhm. Tell me more.”

Armin’s still a bit hesitant, but a smile of encouragement from Eren is enough to keep him going. Soon enough, Eren thinks they’ve gone over every fucking star there is, but Armin has a way of captivating him with his words, his breath holding with every depressing star-story he explains. At some point, Armin lets his head fall on Eren’s shoulder, and he doesn’t know whether to be happy that Armin’s slowly getting tired, or to scream at the fact that they’re practically cuddling right now, but he manages to keep his cool somehow, focusing on Armin’s voice rather than his warmth.

“Okay, wait, back up,” Eren says, regrettably cutting him off. “That one’s a bear?”

“Named Callisto, yes.”

“What the fuck?”

“Greek myths are strange,” Armin tells him, his voice clouded by a yawn. “Zeus threw her and her son up there to protect them from Hera.”

“...I have no idea who these people are.”

“The king of the Gods and his wife.”

“That’s fucked,” Eren mutters, faintly wondering how Armin’s even able to retain all this shit in his brain without it exploding. His is already throbbing, but maybe that’s because he hasn’t slept all night. “Like, insanely fucked.”

“I know. But do you think it’d be fun up there?” Armin murmurs. “Being a star.”

“Dunno. If I were her, I’d be pissed at him, though.”

“True,” Armin snickers. He yawns again, and Eren nudges his head with his chin.

“You starting to get tired?”

“A bit,” Armin admits, voice scratchy. Eren looks down at him, noticing his eyes are beginning to droop. “Or maybe I’ve just been talking too much.”

“That’s called getting tired, ‘Min,” Eren laughs, not quite sure where the nickname comes from. He's too exhausted to pronounce his full name, which is probably why. But he likes the way it feels on his lips.

“Hmm.” Armin presses a bit closer, and oh, Eren’s heart soars so high he can almost taste it. “That’s nice.”

“Yeah, I think it’s time to go inside,” Eren says, carefully slinging his arm around Armin’s waist for support. He feels him nod against the crook of his neck. 

Leaving his cup on the wooden steps, he uses the last of his strength to lift him and Armin up, allowing the other boy to lean his weight on him as he slowly leads them to the sliding door, opening it as quietly as possible. The stairs are the hardest part, considering all the little creaky sounds they make each time the two take a step. Even in his sleepy state, Armin’s still aware of all the loudest spots, having lived in this house his entire life. 

Eren’s heart stutters in his chest, feeling Armin’s hot breaths hitting his skin. He silently pushes the door to Armin’s bedroom, already open after he’d gone downstairs before, and helps him into his bed, pulling the covers over his body and tucking the ends snugly underneath his chin. Armin opens his eyes slightly, hand peeking out, and grabs Eren’s sleeve.

“Thank you, Eren,” he says, so tender, voice barely above a whisper. Eren swallows, and, stupidly, brushes a strand of Armin’s hair behind his ear. His throat grows thick at the way Armin leans into the touch.

“Goodnight,” Eren murmurs. Armin makes another soft sound, then his breathing eases out. The grip on Eren’s sleeve goes slack. 

His heart is racing, his palms clammy, but he surprisingly manages to make it back to Historia’s room down the end of the hall without tripping. Heavy breaths fill the air as he crawls back to the mattress and buries himself underneath the covers, still trembling slightly from the cold outside. He squeezes his eyes shut, tries to force his mind to go blank, but all he sees is golden strands of hair, ocean blue eyes, and the barest trace of that lovely laugh he adores before he’s taken by sleep.

જ⁀➴♡

“You look like shit.”

Historia grins at the scowl on Eren’s face as he trudges down the stairs, dark circles etched beneath his eyes. She’s been dressed for twenty minutes already, while he’s just gotten out of bed; granted, she’d felt a little bad having to wake him up so early and decided to spare him some sleep, but the sight is still funny to watch.

“Thanks, Tori. Good morning to you, too.”

“Someone’s also being a little bitch.” 

He flips her off, shuffles to the kitchen. She follows behind him. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“And I thought having to deal with one insomniac was enough,” she sighs. The tips of his ears bloom crimson. “Explains why I kept hearing you stomp around all night.”

He stills. “I wasn’t stomping. I just got water, that’s all.”

“You got water for two hours?”

“More like two minutes.” The cupboard above the stove screeches open, his hand rummaging around until he finds a glass cup of his liking. She notices his shoulders are rigid. “And I’m still thirsty as hell.”

He’s not lying; the new cup of water is downed in seconds, yet Historia still senses there’s something he’s not telling her. Her suspicions are confirmed true once they make their way back to the living room, noticing a cup sitting on the wooden steps leading to the backyard. She furrows her brows, gives him a look, but he swiftly hauls himself back up the stairs before she can say anything.

While Eren gets dressed, her siblings tumble downstairs a few moments later, Mikasa yawning and not quite awake yet. Historia expects Armin to be up and alert like he always is in the mornings, but she’s pleasantly surprised to see that he looks just as, if not more tired than Mikasa does. 

“Sleep well?” she asks. He rubs his left eye, yawns.

“Yeah. I think I slept longer than I have in, like, a year.” Brows furrowed, he scans the living room. “Where’s Eren?”

“Changing. Why?”

“No reason,” he says briskly, hurrying into the kitchen. She glances at the cup outside again, suspicion continuing to coil in her gut; no doubt it has something to do with Armin’s unusually cheery mood this morning.

Since Eren has to pick up his sister on the way to school, they leave the house at around 8; the drive to Eren’s is five minutes, and it takes ten more to get to school. Armin and Eren are huddled close together as they walk to Eren’s car, speaking in hushed tones, and a very large part of Historia itches to know what they’re saying. She keeps her mouth shut, though. The first part of accepting the whole Eren Crush Thing is getting used to them being like this; if they ever date, it’s not like she can just barge into their conversations and demand to know whatever the hell it is they’re talking about. As much as she doesn’t want to, she has to trust Eren, and she can’t do that while harboring doubts every time they so much as speak to one another.

“Armin gets shotgun, by the way,” Eren calls out of nowhere. Armin looks like he’s just hung the stars, and Historia feels her jaw go slack.

Yeah, never mind, fuck being okay with this. She should just drop kick him right now and be done with it.

“Excuse me?”

“You’ll survive one day in the back, Tori.”

“But that’s my seat!” she gasps. “I’ve sat there for two years straight! What the fuck?”

“I can just sit in the back,” Armin starts, but Eren cuts him off with his hand. 

“Nah, you’re sitting up front. She just has to deal with it.”

“Kill yourself,” she says bluntly. He shoots her a grin and mouths: you’re the one who wanted me to talk to him.

Pathetic ass bitch, she mouths back. Eren flips her off with one hand, using the other to open the passenger’s door for Armin. 

Historia’s still pouting three minutes into the drive; usually, when she sits in front, she gets the chance to plug her phone into the aux before Eren can get his dirty little hands on it, but because Armin’s just as pathetic as him, he’s letting him play his migraine-inducing playlist. He’s also giving him this stupid lovesick look that, frankly, makes her want to throw herself into incoming traffic. The only relief she has from them is Mikasa, who’s taken to showing her a bunch of different videos Sasha had sent of her cat, Mittens.

“By the way,” Eren starts. Historia looks up from Mikasa’s phone with a frown. “Ymir’s coming with us, too.”

Historia’s heart drops into her stomach. “What?”

“Yup.”

“And you’re just telling me this now?” she screeches, feeling her face grow warm. Fuck, she’s going to strangle him as soon as they get off this thing. Why the hell does he always tell her important shit right before it happens? Every single time, she has no fucking idea how to prepare—

“How the hell are we all going to fit?” Mikasa asks. Historia swallows—compared to Eren’s old car, this one gave them a lot more trouble when it came to squishing a bunch of people in. Trying to sit with Gabi is already a task in itself; adding Ymir to the mix is just asking for all hell to break loose.

Eren shrugs. “We’ll figure it out.”

“It’s your car, dumbass,” Historia says. “There’s no ‘we’ in this.”

“Actually, there is, ‘cause you’re the one that chose to come with me to school. So.”

“I didn’t ask to sit in the back!” 

“Oh my God, will you let it go—”

“Both of you stop,” Armin scolds, and Eren shuts his mouth. Historia sticks her tongue out at him. “I’ll just move to the back when we get there. It’s really not that big of a deal.”

“But I want you in the front,” Eren frowns. 

“It’s just a seat, Eren.”

“That’s next to me.”

“Eugh,” Historia groans, not able to take it any longer. Mikasa’s hiding her laugh behind the back of her hand, acting like this is something funny and not utterly gross. Seriously, she thinks she’s going to vomit. “For fuck’s sake, please shut up.”

“You brought this whole thing up in the first place!” Eren squawks.

“If you stop talking, I’ll stay in the back.”

Armin opens his mouth, but Eren tells him, “Shhhh, don’t say anything.”

“But—”

“Just listen to her, ‘Min, she’s giving us an outlet.”

Armin blushes, most probably at the nickname, and Historia’s brows practically fly to her hairline. She looks at Mikasa, who shrugs, just as confused as she is. 

When the hell did Eren start calling him that?

“I still think this whole thing is stupid, but okay,” Armin murmurs. He stays silent for the next two minutes, though.

The closer they get to Eren’s house, the faster Historia’s heart speeds up; she almost feels dizzy at all the blood rushing to her head. Mikasa’s question keeps replaying in her mind; how the hell are all four of them going to fit? Gabi’s still pretty short, but Ymir’s taller than Mikasa, and that means she’s going to be taking the most space out of all of them. Gabi could sit in one of their laps like she used to do when she was a kid, but Historia knows there’s no way she’d ever willingly agree to that, and even if she did, none of them want to deal with her shit, either. Shoving herself in the trunk is still an option, but Historia would rather not suffocate to death, so that leaves—

“Holy shit, she’s actually outside,” Eren whistles. Fuck. “I thought we’d have to wait, like, twenty minutes.”

True to his word, Ymir is standing on the front porch, a beanie that looks like it had to be wrestled over her hair being the only warm clothing she’s decided to put on in this horrible weather. Gabi’s nestled beside her, a million thick coats and scarves wrapped around her like a blanket, playing some game on her phone. Eren honks the car as he pulls into the driveway, and Ymir flips him off, shouting something Historia can’t hear.

Eren rolls down his window. “What was that?”

“I said, what took you so fuckin’ long?” Ymir meets Historia’s eyes, and she gulps, trying to look unbothered by picking at her nails. It’s definitely not working. “We’ve been standing out here for five minutes.”

“Not my problem,” Eren says breezily. Ymir looks like she’s going to kill him, but before she can do anything else, Gabi rushes to the passenger’s side of the car, tapping on the window until Armin rolls it down.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Gabi,” Eren gasps. Armin just blinks. “Oh my God, leave him alone—”

“You’re supposed to sit in the back with me!” Her bottom lip trembles slightly. “I wanted to show you something.”

“I’m sorry, Gabs,” Armin tells her gently, reaching out of the window to pat her head. “I would, I swear, but your brother keeps insisting that I sit here, so.”

“Just leave.”

“He’s not leaving,” Eren interrupts. Ymir chooses that time to make her way over to them, shooting a grin at Historia, who’s avoiding her gaze at all costs. Fuck, fuck, fuck. The cold has given a slight flush to Ymir’s face, making the millions of freckles scattered across glow a little bit. The tiniest trace of a dimple is carved into her right cheek. Has that always been there? Historia doesn’t really know, but she feels little prickles of heat on every inch of her body at the sight.

“You can’t tell him what to do.”

“Gabs, you can just show me when we get there, okay? Promise,” Armin says, and she huffs, not quite satisfied, but it’ll shut her up for the time being.

“You guys are gonna have to squish in the back,” Eren smirks, glancing at Historia, and she flips him off. Ymir rolls her eyes.

“This car can barely fit four people.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Ymir. Unless you wanna take the bus. Be my fucking guest.”

“Kill yourself.”

“You first.”

Ymir opens the door to Historia’s side, letting Gabi cram past her and sit in the middle. “Hi, Blondie. Can you scooch a bit?”

“Uh,” Historia says stupidly, peeking beside her. Gabi’s already taken up more than half the space by crossing her legs, so she can’t even move if she tries. “I don’t think I can.”

“Huh?” She leans inside to catch a look, so close that Historia gets a whiff of her jacket; pine and a hint of musk, the kind you usually smell in trees. The hell? Was she just frolicking around in the forest behind Eren’s house before they got there? “Gabi, for the love of fuck, just move.”

Gabi sticks her tongue out at her. “No.”

“I’ll get Carla.”

“Unless you wanna wake her up, no can do.”

“Little shit.” 

“The only way this is going to work is if someone sits on someone else’s lap,” Mikasa cuts in, a small smirk playing on her mouth. Ymir immediately looks at Historia, whose eyes widen.

“No,” Historia hisses, feeling her face get hot. “No way. I’m not—”

“It’s the only way, Tori,” Eren crows, and oh, she’s going to kill him. “Chop chop. We’re gonna be late.”

“Stop teasing,” Armin sighs, but even he has a little smile on his face, the fucking traitor. “Tori, it’s only for ten minutes.”

“Yeah, Blondie,” Ymir says, though Historia notices her brows are furrowed slightly. “I’m not gonna bite.”

“Fuck off,” Historia mutters, unfastening her seatbelt and getting out of the car. There’s obviously no way she’s going to get out of this, and it’s just ten minutes . Also, she’s sat on Ymir’s lap a million times before, so this shouldn’t be any fucking different. It’s Ymir. Just Ymir. There’s nothing special about her, and getting worked up about this is stupid. Convenience is the only reason they’re doing this, and they’re likely never going to do it again. It’s fine.

“If you seriously don’t want to—”

“Just get in, Ymir,” Historia huffs. 

“‘Kay, then.” She lowers herself onto the backseat, still giving Historia this look she can’t really understand. Historia inhales, then gingerly takes a seat on her lap, rigid, careful to touch as little of her as possible. Just stay calm, stay calm—

The car lurches back, and Historia shrieks, hearing Ymir hiss out a sound of pain as her back hits her chest. She’s suddenly hyper aware of how high her body temperature is, and she gulps, praying that Ymir can’t feel the quakes of her heart. Shit.

“What the fuck, Eren?”

“Oops.”

“Historia,” Ymir wheezes. Historia tries to get air in her lungs, but it’s like her body’s forgotten how to breathe. “Move—”

“I’m trying!” she says frantically, sitting back up, but another press of the gas from Eren is enough to send her flying backward again. Ymir lets out another groan. “Oh my fucking—”

“Just lean back,” Ymir whispers, her hands hovering over Historia’s sides. “You’re gonna fall off otherwise.”

“Fine,” Historia bites out, staying put, though she makes sure to keep her arms crossed. “I was just worried you’d suffocate, or something.”

Ymir snorts. “I’m fine. You look like you’re gonna implode.”

“Am not!”

“It’s okay, Blondie. Not many can resist my natural charm—” Historia elbows her stomach, and she yelps. “Ow, what the hell?”

“Stop talking.”

“Make me.”

Historia flushes; her thighs ache from having to keep herself upright, thanks to Eren and his fucking turns. “You’re such a pain in the ass, you know that?”

“I try,” Ymir grins. “Now can I put the seatbelt on, or are you gonna yell at me for that, too?”

“Whatever,” Historia mutters. Ymir tugs on the black strap, then pulls it over both her and Historia, fastening it on the other side. They’re practically glued to each other, and if Historia couldn’t breathe before, well, she certainly can’t now. 

“And I thought they were bad,” Gabi says glumly, eyeing her up and down. Historia raises a brow.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You and my brother are idiots.”

“Go back to your stupid game,” Eren says from the front. “Also, don’t group me in with her.”

“But both of you—”

Eren turns the volume of the music up, drowning the rest of her quips out, and Historia’s grateful for it. God only knows what she would’ve started spewing. She glances down at Ymir’s hands, still awkwardly placed on the seat, clenching and unclenching like she doesn’t know what to do with them, and swallows at the idea that sits on the tip of her tongue.

“Ymir,” she says quietly. The others wouldn’t be able to hear her because of the music anyway, but she doesn’t risk it. 

“I thought you wanted me to shut up,” Ymir replies, her breath hot against Historia’s ear. Goosebumps prickle up her arms, and she shudders out a breath.

“Could you stop being so difficult for one second?”

“Nope,” Ymir says, exaggerating the pop of her lips. 

Historia rolls her eyes, steadies herself before gently tapping Ymir’s hand. “What I wanted to say is you can hold onto me, if that’s more comfortable. Not that I care.”

“Is that so?” Ymir wraps her arms snugly around Historia’s waist, and she genuinely thinks her brain is going to short-circuit. “‘Cause I think you do.”

“Shut up,” Historia mutters, shutting her eyes and trying to relax her shoulders. Ymir is warm, despite her reluctance to admit it, and she’d rather bask in her body heat than face the fury of the cold air trickling through the windows. “Go back to being all gloomy and mysterious.”

“Mysterious,” Ymir chuckles. “Whatever the hell that means.”

“You know damn well what I mean.”

“I don’t, but okay.”

“Like—” Historia waves her hand. “The first time I met you, you threw a fucking snowball at my face and didn’t speak a single word to me for a month afterwards. And now you’re back after literally no contact for six years. So. That’s mysterious.”

“You still remember that?” Ymir asks softly. Historia hesitates for a brief instant, then nods.

“I mean, yeah. It’d be kind of hard to forget, since my face was fucking bruised for a week.”

Ymir laughs, so low and familiar it makes Historia’s heart ache. “And you still tried talking to me anyways.”

“I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt. A stupid move on my part.”

“Mhmmmm.” Ymir rests her chin on Historia’s shoulder, sending little sparks all the way to her fingertips. “You know what this reminds me of?”

“Hm?”

“That one time Zeke drove all of us to that stupid waterpark,” she muses, and Historia snorts. “Connie made us sit in the back of Auntie Carla's van with all of Zeke’s weird boxes and shit, and we were so squished we almost suffocated.”

“Y’know, I still think he was hiding weed back there.”

“No fucking shit. It stank.”

“That was probably what gave Connie the idea to start his little business,” Historia says, grinning when she hears Ymir gasp.

“Connie sells weed?”

“Connie does what?” Gabi asks. Mikasa glares at Ymir before ruffling Gabi’s hair.

“Just focus on your game, Gabi. Don’t listen to them.”

“But I wanna know.”

Mikasa covers Gabi’s ears, and she pouts, trying to shake off her hands, but Mikasa’s grip is gentle yet firm. “Why the hell are you guys talking about that in front of a literal child?”

“Historia’s the one that brought it up, not me,” Ymir says.

Historia gaps. “I didn’t even mention anything to do with weed!”

“Who mentioned weed?” Eren yells from up front. Armin heaves a sigh, like he’d rather be anywhere else, and honestly, Historia can’t blame him one bit. 

“Historia’s talking about weed in front of a child,” Ymir tells him, and Historia kicks her shin. “For fucks sake—”

“You two better hope Gabi can’t hear anything right now,” Armin says gravely. Gabi’s now attempting to wiggle free from Mikasa’s grip by sliding down the seat, but Mikasa’s barely phased. “I love her, truly, but she’s a bit of a snitch.”

“More like the biggest fucking snitch there is,” Eren mutters. “I swear, if my mom even gets wind of this—”

“So can we just stop talking about it, please?” Historia asks, exasperated. When none of them say anything else, Mikasa slowly takes back her hands.

“I’m telling mom you’re keeping secrets,” Gabi says to Eren, and he looks like he’s going to pop a vein.

“Gabs,” Armin says sweetly. She narrows her eyes at him. “Snitching isn’t very nice.”

“Hmph.”

“God help me,” Historia sighs. “I haven’t even gotten to school and I wanna go home.”

“And you shame me for skipping,” Ymir murmurs. 

“It’s not okay when you do it.”

“The fuck does that even mean?”

“Oh my God, finally,” Gabi screeches as Eren pulls into the school’s parking lot. “I’m finally fucking free from all you idiots.”

“Language, Gabi,” Eren gasps.

“You swear all the time!”

“And you’re eleven years old. There’s a difference.”

She flips him off. “Whatever. Bye, losers.” Then she climbs over a frankly terrified looking Mikasa, kicks the car door open, and sprints to the middle school building on the south side.

Eren sharply exhales. “To this day, I don’t know why mom never put a leash on her.”

“That’s barbaric,” Armin says, unfastening his seatbelt and getting out of the car.

“C’mon, there’s no way you don’t agree with me.”

“You were worse at eleven, Eren.”

“Was not!”

Finally, Historia’s able to wiggle out of Ymir’s grip once she unfastens their seatbelt, relishing in the ability to actually breathe again. Ymir’s strangely distant when she gets out of the car, though, her hands shoved into her pockets as she stares at the high school building. The breeze has picked up, fluttering through her already messy hair, but Historia finds that she kind of likes it like that, all wild and unkept. She has the sudden urge to run her hand through it, just to feel how soft it is, before she curses herself at the thought. 

“What’s up with you?” she asks, trying for a playful smile. Ymir pulls at the side of her beanie.

“Nothing.” She’s walking away before Historia can say anything. “Bye, Blondie.”

“What the— hey,” Historia yelps, sprinting after her and ignoring Eren’s calls from behind. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Going to class,” Ymir says gruffly. Historia grabs her arm, pulls, and Ymir scowls at her. “Can you let go?”

“Why’re you suddenly so icy?”

Ymir sighs. “Historia, let go.”

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”

Ymir glances back at the entrance, and Historia notices she looks a little spooked. “Nothing’s wrong. I just wanna get inside.”

Understanding hits Historia like a wave. “You don’t wanna run into the others, do you?”

The tip of Ymir’s nose burns red, and that’s how Historia knows she’s right. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

“Fucking coward,” Historia mutters. Ymir’s eyes widen. “That’s what you called them yesterday, yet you’re the one who’s running away. Coward.”

“I’m not a coward,” Ymir sputters. “Excuse me for trying to be a good student. Do you want me to fail class ‘cause of my absences? I already missed one semester.”

“Nuh uh, you’re a coward, Ymir.”

Ymir’s cheeks flush red with what Historia presumes to be anger. “Alright, so what if I don’t wanna see them? It’s none of your fucking business.” 

“It kind of is, actually.”

“Screw you.”

“C’mon, Ymir,” Historia sighs, grabbing her hand and trying not to think about how nice the weight of it feels against her palm. The red on Ymir’s cheeks deepens. “The fact that I have to coddle you into saying hello after six years is pretty embarrassing, but, whatever. It is what it is.”

“I’m not—” Historia starts dragging her forwards, and she lets out a strangled noise. “Historia.”

“This is for your own good,” Historia says, hiding a small smile at how flustered Ymir looks. “The sooner you get it over with, the sooner you won’t have to keep scurrying around the halls like some messed up rat.”

“Did you just compare me to a rat?”

“Yeah.”

In the blink of an eye, they’re walking through the doors on the other side leading to the oak tree. Most of their friends are already at the table, and Historia feels Ymir tense up immediately, glancing back and watching her shoulders hunch like a cat’s.

“You’re not gonna die, Ymir.”

“Is Jean growing a mullet?” Ymir asks, ignoring her. Historia snorts.

“Unfortunately.”

“Ew.”

“You can tell him that when you see him,” Historia says, continuing to lead her to the table.

“Oh, I will, trust me.”

It’s Marco who notices them first, his eyes squinting in faint recognition, then widening as they get closer. He elbows Jean, who pauses whatever conversation he’s having with Sasha to look in their direction, and his jaw practically drops to the floor. She looks even more shocked than him, mirroring his movements. Connie just shakes his head. Reiner turns, looking like he’s going to piss himself, but Bertholdt merely gives them a meek wave in greeting.

“Hi, guys,” Historia greets cheerfully, stopping right in front of the table. Sasha’s eyes land on their entangled hands, practically bulging out of her head, and Connie crosses his arms.

“Look who finally decided to show up.”

“Hi, Constance,” Ymir grins.

“For the love of—”

“Ymir?” Jean gawks. “What in the—”

“Do you fucking believe me now?” Connie sighs. Jean shuts his mouth.

“Nice to see you, too,” Ymir says, trying to play it cool. Historia can feel the slight tremor in her fingers, and she has to fight a smile. 

“What the hell is she doing here?” Reiner hisses, pointing an accusing finger at her. Ymir rolls her eyes.

“Are all of you just dumb, or is it just me?”

“Just you,” Sasha says haughtily.

“Ouch, Sash.”

“Excuse us for being curious about why the hell you’re just suddenly back after six years,” Jean grumbles, seeming to regain his composure. “Jesus. Who the fuck just springs up out of nowhere—”

“I moved back,” Ymir interrupts. “Permanently. So, yeah.”

“Permanently,” Reiner repeats, like that’s the worst news on the planet. “Fucking hell.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not exactly celebrating, either, but it is what it is,” Ymir says stiffly. Historia harshly nudges her side, and she curses under her breath. “The fuck was that for?”

“I think there’s something else you’ve been wanting to say,” Historia says, and Ymir’s eyes flash. “Right, Ymir?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking abo—” Historia stomps on her foot, and she visibly bites her tongue to stop screaming. “Ow.”

“We’re waiting,” Marco says casually. All of them look at her expectantly, and she gives Historia a look that says, I hope you’re fucking happy. Historia blows her a kiss, tries to ignore how her heart skips a beat at the way Ymir’s cheeks pinken.

“I’m—” Ymir takes a deep breath, like this is physically painful for her to say. Jesus. “I’m sorry for disappearing.”

Historia gives her a look. “And?”

Ymir thins her lips. “And for being an asshole and not saying anything.”

Silence. And then—

“Oh, shit,” Bertholdt breathes, his eyes shining. “She got her to apologize.”

“Please tell me you got that shit on camera,” Jean asks Sasha, who groans.

“Fuck, I didn’t have my phone out.”

“Seriously?”

Ymir’s so red Historia’s surprised she hasn’t exploded already. It’s honestly kind of cute. “You guys can shut up now.”

“Ymir,” Connie drawls, and she looks like she’s going to start screaming any second. “That was the sweetest thing you’ve ever said. Really, I’m tearing up.”

“Shut. Up.”

“But does she mean it is the question,” Marco says, eyeing her suspiciously. Ymir huffs out a breath.

“Do you really think I’d say something like that for no reason?”

“Hmm.”

“She has a point,” Reiner grumbles. “The fact that I’m agreeing with her is fucking weird, but she does.”

“I’m not asking you guys to forgive me,” Ymir starts, firing a glare in Reiner’s direction. Historia looks at her, surprised she’s even continuing to say anything at all. “But I had my reasons for not saying anything. It was stupid, and I was an idiot, but I genuinely thought I wasn’t coming back. So. Do with that what you will.”

“Huh,” Sasha whistles after a few more moments of quiet. “That was… weirdly sincere?”

“There you go,” Historia says, clearing her throat. “Thanks, Ymir.”

“Mhm,” she mutters. Connie nudges Jean, who furrows his brows.

“Well,” he begins. “I’m not saying that I forgive you, or anything—”

“Me neither,” Reiner chimes in. Jean glares at him.

“Can you let me finish?”

“I’m just agreeing with you, jeez.”

“Uh huh. Anyways,” Jean continues. “I think I speak for all of us when I say there’s no way we’re letting you off that easily.”

“It’d be kind of dumb if you did,” Ymir admits. 

“At least you’re self aware.”

“Just being honest.”

“You did apologize, though, which is fuckin’ insane, but you still did it.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say the word ‘sorry’ till now,” Marco says. Sasha nods in agreement.

Connie clicks his tongue. “So I guess you can sit with us, or whatever.”

“As long as you don’t start any more shit, we’re good,” Reiner adds. Despite it being the last thing Historia expects her to do, Ymir smiles.

“I think I can live with that.”

“So it’s settled, then,” Sasha says, patting the space beside her. “Some fuckin’ new year, huh?”

“Tell me about it,” Bertholdt mutters as Historia and Ymir take their seats beside each other, hands still intertwined. Historia isn’t sure if she should pull away, but Ymir doesn’t, so she’s content to just stay like this.

It’s then that Eren, Armin, and Mikasa enter the grassy area. Historia notes that Armin and Eren are still glued together like magnets, and Mikasa seems like she’s going to jump off a bridge any second. Only after she sees Sasha does her face lighten up. She breaks out into a sprint and hugs her by the shoulders once she’s in her reach, smacking kisses to her cheek as Sasha laughs. Ymir raises her brows and leans close to Historia, that musky pine smell hitting her nostrils again. She swallows, suddenly feeling her chest warm.

“Since when did that happen?”

“Over the summer,” Historia says lowly, still keeping an eye on Eren and her brother. “Sasha asked her out and fell into our pool before Mikasa could even answer her.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“What’d we miss?” Armin asks as he and Eren sit across from Historia. Both their cheeks are very obviously flushed, and Historia’s this close to vomiting all over the table. 

Marco nods his head at Ymir. “She apologized for leaving.”

“Oh.”

Eren’s face twists into this weird, indecipherable look, which kind of creeps Historia out, because usually she can always tell what he’s thinking. Ymir avoids looking at him, instead teasing Sasha about how red her face is. 

“She apologized?” he asks. His voice is neutral, but the tension is clear in his frame.

“I thought I was hallucinating when she said it, but yeah.”

“Huh.” He bites the inside of his cheek. “That’s just fuckin’ great.”

Historia frowns and kicks his foot under the table. When he looks at her, she mouths, you good? He just shrugs, which isn’t a good sign at all, but the bell rings before she can try to pry anything out of him.

“Fuck,” Connie groans. He turns to Jean. “Dude, do you still think you can try to pass me the answers during chem?”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t fucking study.”

“Do I look like I did?”

“Connie, we’ve known about this test for a month.”

Historia taps Ymir’s shoulder, pulling her away from her and Sasha’s little bickering session. It’s weird, seeing her interact with her friends after being apart for so long, but the sight still makes her heart warm. “What do you have first?”

Ymir scrunches her nose. Historia ignores how adorable it is. “Math, I think.”

“How is it you’re in every one of my fucking classes?” Historia asks, standing up and helping her off the bench. Their hands are still tangled together. 

“I don’t see you complaining.”

“Uh huh. Eren,” she says, and he raises a brow. “We’ll talk later, yeah?”

“‘Kay.”

“Bye, Tori,” Armin says. The others wave their goodbyes, too, yelling at Ymir not to disappear again. She tries to act annoyed, but Historia can see how relieved she is that they’ve accepted her back into the group, even if they don’t completely forgive her yet. That’ll just take time. But she knows things will work out eventually.

“See? Was that so hard?” Historia asks sweetly as they walk in the direction of the main school building. Ymir grins, shakes her head.

“Just keep walking, Blondie.”

Chapter Text

Ymir begins what Historia likes to call her “Hourly Appearances” during third period.

The day’s been going relatively normal so far. Other than Eren’s continuous mood that’s lasted since the morning—and one that he refuses to explain, no matter how many times she asks him what the hell is wrong—everything else has run pretty smoothly following Ymir’s acceptance back into the group. They’d managed to get through pre-cal without Mr. Olulo screaming in their faces every two seconds, but it was still hard to take him seriously with all the nasty spit he kept spewing everywhere. Ymir had almost cracked near the end of class, snorting at a particularly thick glob that landed on the floor beside her foot, but Mr. Olulo, to Historia’s relief, was too busy explaining their homework to give her much attention. After that, they had to part ways for the one class they didn’t have together, according to Ymir’s schedule: biology. And that was probably the worst hour of Historia’s entire fucking life.

To say it was boring would be one hell of an understatement. Most of the time, listening to Mikasa and Sasha’s (not so secret) flirting during Hange’s enthusiastic yelling is bearable, since Eren’s also with her in that class, but he’d chosen today to revert back to his old, fake-emo ways and glared at the desk for the entire period. Thanks to him, Historia had to sit in complete silence, her only form of entertainment biting the eraser nub on her pencil so hard it broke in half and miserably tumbled onto the ground. When the bell rang, Eren had quickly gathered his things, muttered a goodbye, and sprinted out the door without a second glance. Mikasa and Sasha had given Historia curious looks, but she’d just followed in his footsteps, leaving in silence, because she really didn’t have the energy to contemplate whatever the fuck had just happened.

That’s what brings her to the present, rummaging through her locker and grimacing at the absolute mess of papers and God knows what else inside. Much like her room, she’s been meaning to clean it for a while, but every time she tries, the prospect of having to actually organize anything is too overwhelming for her to handle, and she gives up. The cycle is just going to repeat for what she thinks is an eternity.

 “Hi, Blondie.”

Historia startles and slams the locker door shut, Ymir’s face coming into view on the other side. “What the—how’d you find me?”

Ymir gives a cocky grin. “I have my ways.”

“...And how long have you been standing there?”

“A minute-and-a-half.”

“So you’ve just been watching me this entire time?”

“Yup.”

“Christ,” Historia mutters, heat rushing into her cheeks after realizing Ymir had witnessed her so frazzled and disorganized. “The way your brain works sometimes—”

“I’m, like, ninety-nine percent sure there’s rotten food in there,” Ymir says warily, peering into her locker. Their shoulders barely brush, and Historia gets a load of that pine smell again, swallowing. “Do you ever clean this thing?”

“I was gonna, until you decided to interrupt.”

“I know deep down you’re happy to see me, Blondie,” Ymir crows, still smirking despite the glare on Historia’s face. “C’mon. We’re gonna be late for history.”

“Since when were you so punctual?” Historia asks, closing the locker shut. Ymir casually rests an arm around her shoulders as they walk, and Historia tries not to scream. “Most times you wouldn’t even show up to school, much less to class.”

“People change, Blondie. You should be proud of me.”

“Mhmmm. Sure.” 

Ymir chuckles, and Historia smiles, looking away so Ymir doesn’t see.

The rest of the week becomes a steady routine; in the mornings, Historia’s seat is Ymir’s lap as a result of Armin permanently moving to the front—per Eren’s request, that bitch— and as awkward as it is, Ymir makes it work, wrapping her arms around Historia’s waist and resting her chin atop her shoulder to save her from flying off when the roads get bumpy. During school, Ymir makes a habit of showing up at her locker during the small periods between classes. They’re not able to talk much, since almost all their teachers insist on starting their work as early as possible, but Historia’s slowly beginning to get used to having her around again. It’s actually kind of nice, anticipating all her shit-eating grins and the casual swing of her arm around Historia’s shoulders that used to melt her into a puddle when they were kids. She still gets that same warm feeling now, but she figures it’s just because she’s so relieved to be hanging out with her again without worrying about the others and their usual snide remarks.

Now, she finds herself outside on a chilly Sunday morning, sitting on one of the retractable chairs in the backyard and reading the book Mikasa had gotten for her birthday two months ago. She’d woken up at around six, tossing and turning—unusual, but it happens sometimes—and had decided to be productive, because it’s been a while since she’s had time to do anything since school started back up last Monday.

“Historia, where’d you put that box full of goggles we had?”

She looks up, her neck giving a dull throb from the downwards angle she’s had it at since the early hours of the morning. Mikasa’s glaring down at her, hands on her hips, lips pursed; she’d be intimidating if she weren’t practically drowning in three of Erwin’s oversized sweaters. 

“How the hell would I know?”

“You’ve been outside since six in the morning.”

Historia shrugs. “I haven’t touched that thing since the summer. Why do you even need it?”

Mikasa nods her head to the roof. “Pa’s gonna try and fix that leak in my bathroom, but Dad’s scared he’s gonna go blind if he doesn’t wear eye protection, even though he’s not even drilling anything.”

“Christ,” Historia snorts. Levi’s never explicitly sat the three of them down and explained every detail of his life story before Erwin came into the picture, but he’ll throw around little tid-bits as a joke, or casually say something so genuinely insane that all their jaws drop at the dinner table, so Historia knows he’d had things rough when he was younger. He’s made it clear everything is behind him now, but Erwin still worries about him, and it’s cute to see how worked up he gets over something as silly as Levi having to fix a leak in Mikasa’s bathroom. 

“So do you know where it is, or?”

“‘Kasa, I told you, the last time I saw it was in August. I have no fucking clue where it went.”

“For fuck’s sake,” she groans, stomping back into the house. “Armin!”

Armin’s shouts echo through the open sliding door, followed by Levi scolding him for being too loud and Erwin’s booming laughs. Historia fondly shakes her head and sets the book down beside her, clicking open her phone. 

Eren hasn’t texted her back since she’d said goodnight yesterday, even though she’s seen he was online twenty minutes ago, which sends a squirm of irritation to the pit of her stomach. She scrolls through their texts for the millionth time today, trying to find any clink in his exterior, but they all seem as relatively normal as they’d been when she’d read them the first time. He, on the other hand, has been the complete opposite for the past week.

She really has no idea what’s triggered his mood, or why it’s lasted this long, but after Ymir had sort of made up with their friends last Tuesday, he’s been strangely… distant. Well, distant isn’t exactly the right word to describe it; he’s still talking and hanging out with her and Armin, but she’s noticed that he’ll make up excuses not to sit with the others in the mornings or at lunch. Things like, “I’m too tired for this shit, Tori,” or, “Jean pissed me off in English and I don’t feel like seeing his face right now.” She doesn’t mind it that much, but it means she’s only able to see Ymir in the car and during class, since she’s still taking the bus home from school. It’s gotten to the point where even Annie had asked her what the hell Eren’s problem was, and that’s when she knew it was really fucking bad.

Historia scrolls back to the bottom of her and Eren’s texts, a frown playing on her lips. He’s online again, but her messages still haven’t been read.

Historia (just now, 11:30 a.m.)

dude 

i can see u online

what’s going on

He immediately goes offline, and she sighs, flings her phone onto the chair beside her, and goes back to her book. If he doesn’t answer within the next hour, she’s taking matters into her own hands and going over to demand he spit out whatever the hell it is that’s bothering him, because this is getting absolutely ridiculous.

Thirty minutes pass, and she’s seriously close to cutting her time limit in half when Armin steps into the backyard. She can’t see Levi on the roof, so she guesses he’s come out to ask her about the goggles. Before she can say she has no idea where the hell they are, he calls, “There you are, I was looking for you everywhere.”

“What’s wrong now?” she complains, earning a small laugh from him. “I swear, I’ve already had to deal with ‘Kasa’s whinging—”

“There’s nothing wrong, Tori,” he says. The chair beside her creaks as he lowers himself onto it, carefully placing her phone on the armrest. “I just wanted to check on you, that’s all.”

“Yeah, well, I’m fine,” she grumbles, flipping onto the next page. She hears him exhale.

“You look like you’re gonna kill someone.”

“No I don’t.”

“Mhmmm.” He pulls one leg to his chest, leans on it, lets the other stay down. “Is Eren still acting weird with you?”

Historia bites her lip. Drags her thumb across the bottom of the page. Why the hell does he have to be so Goddamn perceptive all the time? Seriously, sometimes she thinks he’s able to just peer into her brain and pick out every single thing without even trying. 

“He’s not answering my texts.”

“And he still hasn’t told you what’s wrong?”

“Nope.”

“Hm.” 

Silence stretches between them for a bit, but the slight indent in his cheek tells her he’s biting it to stay quiet. 

“Spit it out, Armin,” she tells him, exasperated, and he looks away.

“I don’t want to assume anything—”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“And I could be wrong—”

“Just tell me, holy shit.”

Armin sighs. “I think I know why he’s so worked up.”

“Which is…?”

“I thought it’d be obvious.” He smooths away a few blond wisps of hair from his face. “It’s Ymir.”

Historia raises a brow, not really expecting that at all. “Ymir?”

“Mhm. Specifically the whole apology thing on Tuesday.”

“I don’t get it.”

Armin cocks his head. “You didn’t see the look on his face after Marco told us?”

“I mean, I saw he looked a little put off, but I thought that was just because he was surprised, or something.”

“No, it was definitely ‘cause of that. He was completely fine ‘till Marco said it.”

“But why would he be mad about something like that?” Historia asks, genuinely confused. “Now Ymir won’t keep trying to avoid everyone at every fucking turn, and we don’t have to pretend like she’s not here anymore.”

“I don’t know,” Armin says after a moment. “But that’s just what I think, based on my observations.”

Historia snorts. “Your observations?”

“I’m just saying,” he mutters, the tip of his nose blossoming red. “It’s really not that hard to miss.”

“Uh huh. Unless you’re staring at Eren all the fucking time.”

“I don’t stare,” Armin gasps, the rest of his face matching the color on his nose. Historia gives a cheeky grin. “What the fuck are you on about?”

“Nothing. Just that I’m always right.”

“I’m leaving.”

“Before you do that,” Historia laughs, closing her book and setting it down on the table behind her. Really, it’s too easy to work him up about this stuff. And he wonders how she’d so effortlessly figured out his little crush within the first ten minutes of him meeting Eren. “I need a favor.”

His brows knit together. “What is it?”

“Eren’s still not answering me, so I’m gonna go over to his place right now,” she says, standing and stretching out her limbs. “And I need backup in case he freaks out on me.”

“You want me to be the backup?”

“Pleaseeeee? For me?”

Armin stands, rolls his eyes, but she knows she’d already won him over the second she’d said Eren’s name. “Fine.”

Instead of getting changed, Historia just throws a hoodie over her pajamas and slips on her flip-flops, while Armin takes fucking forever. He meets her in the hallway after twenty minutes of waiting, wearing his fancy baggy jeans and a dark green sweater, his hair combed into a tiny ponytail that sits neatly against the nape of his neck. 

“What?” he asks, finally noticing the look she’s giving him.

“Really, ‘Min?”

“I’m not following.”

She pinches the bridge of her nose. “Men are so fucking pathetic.”

“Again, still not following.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Right before they leave, they peek into Mikasa’s bathroom to check on their parents. Levi’s balancing on a ladder placed in the bathtub, Mikasa helping him shove something into the ceiling, while Erwin watches them from the corner, biting the nail on his thumb. 

“Did you fix the leak yet?” Historia asks. Levi wipes sweat from his forehead and gives her an exasperated look; Mikasa must’ve found the goggles earlier, because a flimsy, newly-washed pair is wrapped around his head.

“Does it look like I’m done?”

“And does it look like I’m a plumbing expert?”

“Attitude, Tori,” he scolds, but there’s no bite behind it. Mikasa raises a brow.

“Why’s Armin dressed?”

“We’re going to Eren’s.”

Mikasa tsks. “So he’s not gotten over his mood yet?”

“Nope.”

“Good luck, then,” she sighs, turning back to whatever mess Levi’s dealing with.

“Text me when you get there, please,” Erwin adds, and Armin shoots him a thumbs up before Historia drags him away.

The walk to Eren’s is only ten minutes, but it feels like hours in the numbing cold. Armin’s mostly quiet, but she can see him fiddling with his pinky finger, a nervous habit he’s endorsed for as long as she can remember. No doubt the idiot’s practicing what to say to Eren in his head. She tries not to heave a sigh.

“Watch him pretend to be asleep so he doesn’t answer,” Historia mutters as she knocks on the door, icy to the touch.

“I don’t think he’d be that stupid, Tori.”

“Then you’ve clearly never met him before.” 

He opens his mouth, but Historia’s too distracted by the swing of the door to concentrate on his retort. She prepares about a million curse words on the tip of her tongue, fully convinced that it’s Eren, but she feels like she’s been punched in the gut as soon as Ymir comes into view.

“Historia?” she asks. Her hair is disheveled, like she’s just gotten out of bed, and her T-shirt hangs loosely off one shoulder, revealing a patch of tan, freckled skin. Historia chokes, her stomach doing a sudden, queasy turn, and she desperately gives it her all not to stare like an idiot.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Ymir blinks. Slowly. “Uh, I live here?”

“Oh. Right,” Historia says, snapping herself out of the shock. Fuck, what’s going on with her? It’s so unlike her to just blank out like that, but for reasons she’s still unaware of, Ymir’s mere presence has been the driving catalyst for all her minor freakouts lately; it’s so fucking stupid. She’s just a girl, who happens to also be Eren’s cousin and her childhood crush—emphasis on childhood. The past was put behind the second Ymir stepped foot back here. And Historia doesn’t have feelings for her anymore. 

She clears her throat, quickly turning self-conscious about how unorderly she looks as Ymir continues to stare at her, unblinking. “Is Eren in?”

“Yeah, but—” Historia wastes no time stomping inside, hearing Armin’s profuse apologies to Ymir before he jogs after her. “Hey, wait—”

“Eren!” she shouts. No answer. “I know you’re here!”

“The fuck’s her problem?” Ymir gaps, looking at Armin, who shrugs. “Does she not realize it’s a Sunday morning? Everyone’s still asleep.”

“Eren didn’t answer her texts yesterday.”

“So she came here?”

“Yup.”

“That bitch,” Historia curses, sprinting upstairs and ignoring Ymir’s protests. She kicks open Eren’s door, gaps when she sees the little shit trying to escape through the window, one foot peeking out the frame. His eyes go so wide she’s surprised they don’t pop out of his skull.

“What the fuck are you doing?” she hisses. He attempts to make the rest of the way onto the roof, but she pulls him back by the arm before he can. “Eren.”

“Holy shit,” he screams, falling ass-first onto the floor and groaning. Her hand’s still grasped around his arm, so he drags her down with him, but she lands a lot more gracefully, using her other hand to carry most of her body weight. “Oh, for fuck’s sake—”

“All that to avoid talking to me? Really?” she says, a pang of hurt echoing in her chest. He has the grace to look a little guilty.

“Wait, Tori, it’s not you—”

“Oh, shit,” Ymir whistles from the doorway. Armin peers in from behind her, brows raising. Eren lights up for a moment at seeing him, but that light is quickly dimmed once he realizes Ymir’s with him, too. Historia blinks. Maybe Armin had been onto something earlier.

“This is just fucking great,” he mutters, sitting up and smoothing out his hair. “Hi, ‘Min.”

“You okay?” he frowns, and Eren waves his hand.

“I’m fine. Your sister, on the other hand, is fucked in the head.”

“Yeah, I’m the one who’s fucked in the head,” Historia says, rolling her eyes. “We’re just gonna brush past the fact that you tried jumping out of a window—”

“He tried to do what?” Armin gasps. 

“Listen—” Eren starts, but Ymir immediately doubles over and laughs so hard Historia’s shocked she doesn’t faint from the sheer pressure being put on her lungs. “Shut up, Ymir.”

“Every time I think you can’t be more of a fuckin’ idiot,” she sighs after twenty seconds of them just watching her, wiping away the tears that’d fallen onto her cheeks. Eren’s jaw is so clenched Historia thinks it’s going to crack any minute. “Dude, you would’ve just fallen off the roof anyway, there isn’t any footing underneath.”

“I don’t remember asking for your opinion,” he snaps. “So can you fuck off? This has nothing to do with you.”

Ymir rolls her eyes, holds her hands up in surrender. “I was just pointing it out, Eren, you don’t have to get so annoyed.”

“Everything you say is annoying.”

“Whatever.” She shoots Historia one of her dazzling grins. “Bye, Blondie.”

“Go,” Eren shouts before Historia can respond, getting up, pulling Armin into the room, and slamming the door in Ymir’s face. The door shakes after she hits it, once, twice, and then it stops, footsteps trailing down the hall to the stairs. He leans his forehead against the door as if that took every ounce of energy he had left, and sighs. “Christ. I can’t get one day of fucking peace—”

“So are you gonna explain why the hell you were trying to escape out the window?” Historia interrupts. Armin rubs his temples.

“I wasn’t trying to escape,” Eren mumbles, the tips of his ears flushing red. She raises her brows at him, and the flush travels to his cheeks. “Okay, maybe I was—”

“Uh huh.”

“Sorry.”

Historia puffs out a breath, her earlier frustration being replaced with pity at the sad little look on his face. “It’s fine, Eren. I’m not mad. I just wanna know what the fuck’s been going on with you lately.”

“Nothing’s going on.”

She scoffs. “My ass. You’ve been avoiding literally everyone, you’re acting so gloomy there may as well be a stormcloud constantly raining over your head—”

“Now you’re just acting insane.”

“Really? I’m the one that’s batshit insane?”

“Yeah, ‘cause there’s nothing going on.”

“Your ears are still red, idiot,” she points out. He shoots her a dirty look, covers them with his hands.

“No they’re not.”

“Y’know, covering them isn’t going to make the color just magically go away.”

“Dunno what you’re talking about.”

“Bitch. There’s no fucking way you’re trying to gaslight me right now.”

“Again, I have no idea what you’re saying.”

Historia gestures to Armin, so furious her hands shake. “Do you see what I have to deal with every day?”

“Well—”

“Don’t bring him into this,” Eren cuts in. 

“He’s literally right there! How can I not?”

Armin thins his lips. Glances between them. “Um, I can just wait outside, if you want—”

“No,” Eren says quickly. His cheeks go noticeably redder. “It’s, uh, it’s fine. You can stay.”

“Are you—”

“I want you to stay.”

“Oh.” Armin’s blushing too, now. “Okay.”

Historia bites her tongue to stop from commenting, instead digging her nails into her palms to satisfy the need to punch something. Preferably both of them. “Now that you’ve gotten all that lovey-dovey shit out of the way—”

“Historia,” Armin hisses.

“—Can you just fucking tell us already? Please? All the bull-shitting is getting tiring.”

“It’s not anything, like, bad,” Eren says after a few moments of unbearable quiet. “Kind of stupid, actually, now that I’m thinking about it.”

“Well, it’s bothering you, so even if it’s stupid, keeping it in will just make it worse,” Historia says pointedly. Armin nods in agreement.

Eren sits on the edge of his bed and crosses his arms. Armin takes a seat beside him, comfortably rubs his shoulder. Eren visibly startles for a split-second, then relaxes into the motion just as quickly. Historia just drags the chair at his desk in front of them, because she’s sure as hell not about to deal with their shit again. 

“So,” Eren coughs, his eyes trained to Armin’s hand. “Again, this is really fucking stupid—”

“Eren,” Armin murmurs, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. The tension in Eren’s frame is slowly but surely seeping away. “We’re not gonna judge you, okay? I promise.”

“Okay,” he whispers. Clears his throat. “It’s Ymir.”

Historia shares a knowing glance with Armin. “What about her?” she asks.

“She’s just been pissing me off lately,” he mutters. “More than usual, I mean.”

“But how?”

“Tori,” Armin warns. Eren shakes his head.

“Nah, it’s fine. I just—I can’t exactly pinpoint it, if that makes sense? I mean, she’s been so fucking annoying since she got here, but this week it’s been, like, multiplied by a thousand. Like, I can’t even look at her without feeling pissed off.”

Unexpectedly, Historia feels a stab of irritation at hearing him talk about Ymir like that, but forces it to dissipate. The two of them may not be siblings, but they’re still family, and she should know firsthand that sometimes family pisses you off, even if it’s unintentional. 

“D’you think anything specific she did caused it?”

“Coming back here,” he grumbles. 

“Other than that.”

He thinks for a moment. “Tuesday, maybe. When she started hanging out with everyone again.”

“So maybe it’s that?” Armin tries. Eren purses his lips.

“Maybe. And another thing.”

“Which is…?”

He stares at the ground. “She apologized.”

Armin really got it so spot on, it’s a bit terrifying.

Historia arches a brow. “You’re mad because she apologized?”

“Yeah. To them.”

Armin’s mouth forms an ‘o’. He looks at Historia expectedly, who shakes her head in confusion, still not quite getting it. 

“She didn’t apologize to you, did she?” Armin mumbles. Eren nods, and understanding finally clicks in Historia’s head. Oh. Well, when he puts it like that, then it’s pretty obvious; all the avoiding, the frustration, the rigidness in his shoulders whenever Ymir’s mentioned. How did she not clock it sooner? Maybe the concept of being genuinely mad at her is kind of alien, but it’s still reasonable. For Eren, at least. 

“I told you, it’s stupid,” Eren mutters. 

“It’s not stupid at all,” Armin tells him. “You have a right to be upset. She’s your cousin.”

Historia blows out a breath. “Did you try talking to her about it?” 

“No, and I’m not going to, ‘cause it’s stupid.”

“But—”

“But nothing, Tori. I’m not saying shit. End of story.”

“So you’re just gonna be grumpy for the rest of your life? Is that it?”

“I’m not grumpy, first of all, and no.”

“Maybe it’d be a good thing to talk,” Armin suggests. Of course, Eren shuts up and gives him his full attention. Pathetic ass bitch. “Like, if you told her what was bothering you, she’d apologize then.”

“I get where you’re coming from, really, but there’s no way in hell I’m gonna talk to her. If anything, she should be the one running after me and trying to fix things.” Eren huffs bitterly. “But, no, she’s just acting like everything’s suddenly fine because she came back. It’s fucked.”

“I’m sorry, Eren,” Armin says softly. Eren places a hand atop the one Armin still has on his shoulder.

“‘S not your fault she’s an asshole.”

“I just wish I could do more for you.”

Historia doesn’t really know how to respond, for once. But if anything’s for sure, it’s that she certainly can’t defend Ymir on this one. It’d be stupid not to admit that what she’s doing is wrong, since it is. But she won’t badmouth her, either; she knows Ymir, and she knows that however fucked up all this may be, there has to be some sort of reason behind it. It may not be a good one, but Ymir’s always hidden behind her prickly nature to mask her true feelings—even when they were kids—so Historia has a hunch that she’s 99% sure is what’s truly going on here. And Eren may not like what she’s about to say, but he’s just going to have to deal with it.

“Before you get mad at me,” she begins. His face instantly sets into that stony expression he has whenever he’s upset. “I want you to just keep an open mind.”

“If you’re gonna try and justify what she’s doing—”

“I’m not justifying anything, Eren. I’m just trying to point things out from her perspective.”

“Hm.”

Armin gives her a nod of encouragement, and she inhales. “Now, I’m not saying that I know I’m right about this—which I don’t—but I think it’s because you’re family that she’s not saying anything.”

Eren’s expression is nothing short of puzzled. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“How do I explain?” she murmurs. “Like, she’s more scared of what you’re going to say than the others, and since she was close with you before, she’s just holding onto some wish that maybe things will just go back to how they used to if she pretends they will, y’know?”

It takes a few more seconds, but she can see the cogs starting to turn in his head. “So what you’re saying is, like, she’s not apologizing ‘cause she’s scared of me?”

“Not of you. More like she’s scared of facing the fact that she did fuck up, and that things did change. I dunno how else to say it.”

“I get it, but I don’t,” Eren mutters. “Fuck, my head hurts.”

“Mine, too, if that makes you feel any better.”

“That’s a given, though.”

“Excuse me?”

Although it’s at her expense, Eren snorts, which is definitely a good sign. “Never mind.”

“No, tell me, I wanna know—”

“Is there anything else you’d like to talk about, Eren?” Armin interrupts. “Something that’s bothering you?”

“That’s it, I think.” Eren clears his windpipe. “But, uh, thank you. Seriously. It means a lot that you came all the way here just to ask me what was wrong.”

Armin takes back his hand and looks away, obviously flustered, but he still manages a tiny smile. 

“So—” Historia starts, but she’s interrupted by the simultaneous buzz from all their phones. Her’s vibrates again in her hand when she picks it up. “The hell?”

Fruity tootie smoothie 🍉🍇🍊🍒🍓👅🍆(wtf connie?? - jean) (Just now, 12:28 p.m.)

WEED SUPPLY WOOO: guys 

Historia: wgat

WEED SUPPLY WOOO: me n sash r at jean’s

WEED SUPPLY WOOO: his mom heated the indoor pool

WEED SUPPLY WOOO: coem RN

“How fuckin’ prissy do you have to be to have an indoor pool?” Eren complains. “I swear, even after six years, I’ll never get it—”

“Do you guys wanna go?” Historia interrupts. Armin shrugs.

“It has been a while since we’ve swam. And Jean’s pool is nice.” He nudges Eren’s shoulder. “What d’you think?”

Eren scrapes a hand through his hair, looks away. “I’ll go if you go.”

Historia resists the urge to retch. “So are we going or not?”

“I guess.”

Historia’s phone gives another buzz.

Fruity tootie smoothie 🍉🍇🍊🍒🍓👅🍆(wtf connie?? - jean)

WEED SUPPLY WOOO: oh ya i forgot to ask

WEED SUPPLY WOOO: @Eren aka biggest pain in my ass 🖕

Eren aka biggest pain in my ass 🖕: what

Eren aka biggest pain in my ass 🖕: me tori and armin are coming btw

WEED SUPPLY WOOO: ok bet

WEED SUPPLY WOOO: but can u add ymir to the gc

WEED SUPPLY WOOO: we don’t have her number

“You don’t have to—” Armin starts, but Eren waves his hand.

“It’s fine. I may be pissed at her, but she’s chosen to reconnect with them, and I’m not gonna get in the way of that,” he grumbles, typing out what Historia assumes to be her contact. “Even though I want to so fuckin’ bad.”

Armin smiles, pats Eren’s forearm, and red splotches appear on Eren’s cheeks. “That’s very mature, Eren.”

“For once,” Historia snorts. Eren narrows his eyes at her.

“I know your ass isn’t talking right now.”

“I’m just stating the facts—”

“Your bullshit facts.”

“Fuck you.”

Fruity tootie smoothie 🍉🍇🍊🍒🍓👅🍆(wtf connie?? - jean)

Eren aka biggest pain in my ass 🖕: sends contact name “ass”

Eren aka biggest pain in my ass 🖕: here

Historia gives him a look. “Really, Eren?”

“I said what I said.”

WEED SUPPLY WOO: THE NAME LMFAOOO?

Eren aka biggest pain in my ass 🖕: most accurate ymir description i could think of

WEED SUPPLY WOO: well damn

WEED SUPPLY WOO added ass to the group chat

“I’m not dealing with this shit,” Historia mutters, tapping on Ymir’s contact. Her eyes scan the numbers, immediately searing them into her memory; call her pathetic, but on the off-chance that Ymir ever disappears without a trace again, she wants the opportunity to yell at her so bad she comes crying all the way back. Or something.

Her fingers hover over the keyboard, hesitating. A contact name really shouldn’t be this difficult—it’s just Ymir, for God’s sake—but that’s also why it snags at her so badly. It’s Ymir. After staring at the screen, biting her lip, mind going blank, she types out “ymir :)” on the gray name box. Kind of corny, yeah, but also a pretty safe option, and it’s not as if Ymir’s going to magically appear from behind and tease her about it anyway.

Though, knowing Ymir, she would snatch her phone to see it, so Historia quickly changes it to just “ymir.” That’s probably worse, but Historia’s not going to make herself throw up over something as dumb as a contact name. Stupid.

Fruity tootie smoothie 🍉🍇🍊🍒🍓👅🍆(wtf connie?? - jean)

ymir: what the HELL

WEED SUPPLY WOO: hi ymir 

WEED SUPPLY WOO: it’s connie 😝

ymir: hi constance 

WEED SUPPLY WOO: fuck u

WEED SUPPLY WOO: can u see the chats above

ymir: lmfao no

ymir: also what the FUCK is that name

WEED SUPPLY WOO: LONG STORY.

WEED SUPPLY WOO: anyways here’s the plan

“This is just fucking great,” Eren mumbles. “Now she’s gonna nag me to drop her there.”

Historia chuckles, stands, stretches out her arms. “Jean’s house is only, like, twenty minutes away. You’ll live.”

“But we’re gonna have to go to your place first so you can get your shit, and to pick up Mikasa if she’s coming. So that’s almost thirty minutes.”

“You’re the one who chose to give them her number,” she reminds him. Being the little baby that he is, all Eren does in response is pout.

After Eren stuffs his swimsuit and extra clothes into a duffle bag, they find Ymir waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs, fingers furiously tapping her phone, brows pinched in concentration. Eren grimaces, but Historia notes it lacks some of the bite he’d had earlier. Could that be considered progress? She doesn’t know, but she’ll take that if it means sparing a headache from all his whining and screaming.

“Took you guys long enough,” Ymir says, still tapping away at her phone. “What was all that about?”

“How many times do I have to say ‘it’s none of your business’ for you to get it through your thick skull?” Eren says curtly. 

Ymir looks up, blinks, then smiles. “Since when did your insults stop sounding like a sixth grader’s?”

“Y’know what—”

“Did you see what Connie sent?” Historia asks, already feeling throbs bubbling at the base of her skull.

“You mean the thing about Jean’s stupid indoor pool?”

Historia bites back a retort, because then she’ll sound like Eren. “Obviously, Ymir.”

“Are you going?”

“We’re gonna get my stuff first,” Historia says, heat prickling against her skin under the weight of Ymir’s gaze. She glances at Eren, who, to her surprise, gives her a small nod of approval, despite looking like it’s the last thing he wants to do. “You can come with us.”

Ymir contemplates for a moment, eyes darting between Historia and Eren, and Historia’s about to make up some excuse in fear that she’ll reject the offer when she goes, “I guess I could choose to grace you all with my presence…”

“What an honor,” Historia says sarcastically. Ymir winks at her, and she desperately hopes the heat isn’t obvious in her face.

“I’ll have to get changed, though, if you don’t mind.”

“Yeah, well, hurry up, ‘cause if you take long I’m leaving you here,” Eren says, grabbing Armin’s sleeve and tugging him to the door. Ymir rushes up the stairs, and Historia can’t even bother to try and hide the grin that forms on her face.

જ⁀➴♡

“Eren, for the love of fuck, could you just turn down that shit for all our sakes?”

Eren pretends not to hear Ymir as he drives, whistling along to the tune of the song blasting through the speakers. Screw her, honestly. If she doesn’t appreciate his music, then he can gladly drop her off on the nearest sidewalk and let her struggle the rest of the way to Jean’s prissy mansion.

She wrinkles her nose. “Ignoring me isn’t gonna help.”

“What was that?” he yells, turning up the volume. He thinks she’s cursing at him, based on the rapid movement of her mouth in the rearview mirror, but he’s blessedly exempt from hearing it.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole neighborhood’s heard us by now,” Armin says from the passenger’s seat, glancing warily out the window. They pass by a mother and her toddler, and the mother immediately covers the kid’s ears, shooting them a glare. 

“Sorry, ‘Min, but I have to prove a point,” Eren says, snickering at the enraged looks on both Ymir and Historia’s faces in the back. “This is what she gets for being an asshole.”

Armin grins, dimples indented in his cheeks. Eren so badly wants to reach out and trace them with his thumbs.

“So you hit her with equally-asshole music?”

“What the—I don’t play asshole music.”

“It’s literally just people screaming into a microphone, Eren.”

“You just don’t understand the depth, the layers—”

“I didn’t say it was bad!” Armin laughs. 

Eren swallows, knowing he’ll be replaying that lovely sound for hours until he goes to sleep tonight. “But you were thinking it.”

“Who says?”

“Me.”

“And that’s a reliable source into my thoughts, apparently.”

“Eren,” Historia half-screams. “My ears are genuinely starting to hurt.”

“I’ll turn it down if Ymir stops being annoying.”

Ymir flips him off. “Kill yourself.”

Eren’s fingers reach out and twist the volume button, turning it up to the max.

She shouts something else, but he just looks straight ahead. He feels a bit calmer than before—thanks to the talk he’d had with Historia and Armin earlier—but the sight of her face is still enough to boil his blood with ease. Honest to God, he’s tried to reason with her bullshit, to see things from her perspective, but every time he does, his brain threatens to melt into a puddle from the sheer stupidity of it all. And he’s saying that.

Historia had tried giving him a reason—if that’s what you could even call it—but it was half-assed at best. So what if she’s right about the whole ‘Scared Thing’ anyway? If anything, it should’ve been easier for her to apologize to him than the others; they’re family, after all. Does she just not care? Or maybe Eren had made up all the memories, the familiarity, so far out of reach he wonders if they were even real in the first place. 

None of it makes any fucking sense to him. 

It’s whatever. He’d automatically deemed Historia’s reasoning as bullshit; she’s obviously biased, because God forbid Ymir does wrong in any capacity. But there’s no need to over-complicate anything—no matter how much Ymir acts like a scaredy-cat, until the words ‘I’m sorry Eren’ come out of her mouth, he’s not starting shit, and things between them sure as hell aren’t going back to how they used to be.

Even if she apologizes, he secretly thinks they won’t either way. A squirm of ache starts in his chest at the thought, but he forces it to disappear just as quickly as it’d started.

He makes sure to turn off the music right before parking the car in its usual spot outside Historia’s place; unlike the rest of the neighborhood, he’s not too keen on pissing Levi off this early in the morning.

“We’ll be back in a sec,” Historia says, scooting out of the car. Armin casts Eren another dimpled smile as he opens the passenger’s door, little swirls turning in the pit of his stomach. “Try not to kill each other, please.”

“No promises,” Eren whistles. Historia glares at him before she slams the door shut, links her arm with Armin’s, and whispers something Eren can’t hear as they make their way up the driveway.

A sort of awkward silence fills the car; Eren impatiently taps the steering wheel with his thumb, while Ymir goes on her phone, mindlessly scrolling. She may think she’s slick, but Eren can see the reflection of her typing random words into her note app on the window. So, for the sake of his own sanity, he puts the music on again, albeit a lot lower this time, just to get a little bit of noise. And also to annoy her even further.

Her head shoots up immediately. “Turn that shit off.”

“No.”

“Seriously, Eren, unless you want me to beat your ass, turn it off.”

“I’m sooo scared.”

“You’re such an asshole.”

“Coming from the literal ass herself—”

“Turn it off.”

He shrugs, laces his fingers behind his head and leans back. “Do it yourself, then. I don’t fucking care.”

Ymir surges forward, and he reacts immediately, smacking her face hard before she can reach the button. It’s mostly instinct, but he can admit he’s been wanting to do that ever since his mother had arrived from the airport with her sneering face in tow.

She gasps, a bright red mark left on her cheek, and scratches the visible skin near his wrist. He shrieks, pushes her back, and his seat rattles after she kicks it with both legs, forcing him forwards and whacking the car horn. A sound of guttural rage bubbles from his throat, and that’s when the last tether holding all the restraint he’s been struggling to keep for the past two weeks finally snaps.

His seatbelt clicks as he unbuckles it to properly turn around and punch her as hard as he can, square in the gut. He grins at the choked wheeze that leaves her mouth, the tangled knot of all his pent up frustration undoing itself in mere moments, leaving pure adrenaline in its wake.

“You bitch,” she yells, grabbing his collar and ramming his head into the spot just behind the gear stick. He’s not at all prepared for the hit, so the impact is much harsher than it would've been if he were in a clearer headspace. Eren groans, vision blurry, stomach churning, but he still harbors enough strength to grab her ankle, nails digging into her skin, and yank. “Fucking—”

“Get—your—hands— off me!” he screeches, attempting to shake off the grip she has on his shirt. Her foot flies at his face, barely grazing his cheek, but he swerves out of the way just in time, the side of his head colliding with the passenger’s seat and sending spikes of pain all the way to his fingertips. Hot stickiness trickles onto his top lip, and he’s faintly aware that his nose is bleeding, but he doesn’t have the time to dwell on it, much more focused on the high rushing through his veins as her next kick hits his shoulder; if there’s one thing he knows about Ymir, it’s that she’s not afraid to fight dirty, and he cannot afford to let his guard down at any moment.

“You first!”

Eren manages to pull her ankle hard enough that she slips forward a bit, using the opportunity to push himself up and thwack her stomach again. She groans, kicks his wrist, and soon enough, they’re both throwing punches and scratches like they’re rabid cats, hitting any exposed limbs they can reach. It reminds him of how they used to play-fight in his backyard when they were kids—obviously not as seriously, but even in the midst of all his furiousness, aching nostalgia still pulls at his throat like a rope.

Eren yelps, suddenly falling forward after he relies too much on his upper weight, and Ymir pins him down against the floor of the car, still swinging her fists like her life depends on it. He dodges most of them, just angling his face from side to side so that her knuckles snag on the rough carpeting, but she still successfully lands a few on his cheekbones. He grabs her shoulders, bonks their heads together so hard he thinks he loses consciousness for a split second, just seeing black, and she lets out a satisfying hiss of pain.

“Piece of fucking— shit—”

“Die,” he shouts, landing another hit on her collarbone. Ugly purple begins to bloom on her forehead, making her look even stupider than usual, and he can’t wait to have the image forever sitting in his gallery once he gets his hands on his phone. “Die, die, die, die—”

“Oh my God?”

Armin’s muffled voice hits his ears, and he freezes on instinct—like an absolute idiot— allowing Ymir the opportunity to strike his cheek. The car door behind him bursts open, followed by a gasp. Icy wind ruffles a few strands of his hair. 

“Mikasa!” Historia yelps, sounding more panicked than Eren’s ever heard her. Ymir lifts her arm again, but Mikasa catches it before she can swing. A rush of footsteps echo against the road, and then the door on the other side is opened, Ymir swiftly being pulled off him in a matter of moments. Eren’s first instinct is to get up and kick her so hard she pukes, but the sudden, soft touch to his shoulders grounds him back to reality.

“Eren,” Armin says urgently. Eren looks up; those familiar, stunning blue eyes come into view. He swallows. “Can you hear me?”

His brain feels like slush in his skull, but he manages to give a small nod. “Yeah.”

“I’ve got you.” Warmth hits the back of Eren’s head, and he faintly registers it being Armin’s chest, prickling needles meeting his forearms as Armin’s hands hesitantly hover there. Historia’s pulling Ymir out of the car by the arms, wide eyes scanning her face as if she’s the fucking victim in all this. Her hands cup Ymir’s cheeks, turning her head from side to side, like she’s checking for any additional cuts or bruises. Mikasa’s frowning, glancing between both pairs, hand still wrapped tightly around Ymir’s wrist. 

“We leave you alone for five fucking minutes.” Historia again. She sounds so pissed Eren has the slight urge to laugh, but his nose hurts too much for him to even move his face. The bone’s probably still intact, but there’s definitely been some type of damage done to the nerves inside. “Five. And you’re actually trying to kill each other!?”

“He fucking started it! I swear, he hit me first—”

“So you broke his nose?”

“It’s just bleeding,” Armin says. “I can’t see anything wrong with the bone itself.”

“See—”

“That still doesn’t make it okay, Ymir!”

“Nah, he deserved it. Serves that fucker right for almost giving me a concussion—”

“And I’ll do it again,” Eren yells. Ymir’s eye twitches, like it’s taking all the restraint she has left not to break free of Historia’s grip and beat the shit out of him.

“Shit. Eren’s gonna need ice, though,” Mikasa grimaces. “Otherwise he’s not gonna be able to breathe for a week.”

Armin clears his throat. “I’ll take him inside.”

“You sure it’s a good idea for Pa and Dad to see him like this?”

“They’re too busy with the leak, I think. And we’ll only be in the kitchen.”

Eren closes his eyes, too exhausted to pay attention to what Historia says next, until Armin gently lifts him up. Eren slings his arm around Armin’s shoulders, letting him bear most of his body weight as he helps him out of the car. Armin’s hand finds his waist, and they slowly trudge to the door, Ymir and Historia’s squawking voices still rumbling painfully in Eren’s ears. 

Before he knows it, Armin’s lowering him onto one of the wooden chairs in the kitchen, the fridge door opening as he shuffles through it. Eren’s still a bit woozy, but the freezing solid pressed up against the bridge of his nose is enough to snap him awake.

“Fuck,” he hisses, struggling to sit still as Armin presses the frozen pea bag a little closer. Armin gives an apologetic look, sits on the chair beside him.

“Sorry, sorry,” he mumbles. Mindlessly, Eren reaches for Armin’s free hand, chest warming at the comforting squeeze that greets him afterwards. “Does it hurt too much?”

“A bit,” Eren admits; his voice sounds like he’s come down with a runny nose. “But it’s a lot better than getting punched in the face.”

Admittedly, he’s trying to get Armin to laugh again, stomach churning when his face instead twists into a frown. “I just—I can’t for the life of me understand how you guys even got to that point. Like, you were arguing before, but to fight like that—”

“I kind of started it,” Eren murmurs, expecting Armin to look disappointed, but his frown only deepens. “Not really, but, uh, I just let my emotions take over.”

“Eren,” Armin sighs. He sets the bag of peas on the kitchen table so that they’re properly facing each other. No matter how hard Eren tries, he can’t break away his gaze. “It’s not healthy to just let things bubble like that, okay? What do you think would’ve happened if we didn’t find you guys in time and things just spiraled out of control?”

“I don’t know,” Eren whispers, embarrassingly feeling hot prickles against his eyes. Fuck, this is so stupid. He’s not going to cry over some fucking— fight with Ymir. He’s had so much worse—Jean can be thanked for that—so a bloody nose and Armin’s pitiful look and the searing pain of it all shouldn’t be getting him this upset. It shouldn’t.

The first tear lands on his cheek before he can wipe it away. In moments, Armin’s wrapping his arms around his shoulders, pulling him to his chest even though his nose hasn’t been properly wiped. Eren sobs—a small, pitiful thing—and Armin rubs his hand up and down his back, gently rocking them back and forth.

“I’m such an idiot,” he rasps, so shaky he can barely hold onto Armin’s sweater. All the fire he’d held back in the car had completely slipped away; now he just feels empty, like his chest would echo, hollow, if anyone dared to knock. “I’m such a fucking idiot—”

“You’re not an idiot, Eren,” Armin says firmly. Eren chokes on a breath, a harder sob building up in his throat. “Don’t ever say that.”

“But I could’ve—I don’t know—”

“It happened.” Armin pulls away for a second, tenderly wiping the droplets of water away from Eren’s face. “It was shitty, but it happened, and it doesn’t make you an idiot. It was just the result of a bunch of built-up tension and feelings. That’s it. And you’re allowed to feel bad about it, Eren.”

“But it shouldn’t have,” he says weakly. “It shouldn’t have happened, ‘Min. And now—now I just messed up everything even fucking more. I don’t want this shit to get worse.”

“I know,” Armin murmurs, stroking his hair. Eren lets out a second sob, then another, and another, surrendering himself to the ache. “Shhh, I know.”

“I hate this.” He accidentally scrapes the skin underneath Armin’s sweater from clinging so hard, but Armin doesn’t so much as make a peep of pain. “I hate her.”

“You’re mad, I know,” Armin says quietly. Eren nods. “Just let it all out.”

Armin pulls him closer into the comforting halo of his grip, and Eren buries his face in his shoulder, finally letting himself go. He lets himself cry as hard as he’d wanted to when he’d found out Ymir was coming back; lets himself embrace all the shitty, jealous feelings of watching the others get the closure he so desperately wants. The laughs and warmth and family he’d buried so long ago. Lets himself want it back, so badly it snags at his very being. And Armin holds him.

Just holds him.

Chapter Text

By the time Mikasa comes out with an ice pack, Ymir’s forehead has gone well beyond the start of swelling. 

Historia grimaces, presses it against the blotchy purple mark, and Ymir’s face pinches as soon as the wet plastic hits her skin. The sight breaks Historia’s heart a bit, even though she’s so fucking pissed at her and Eren she can barely think coherently, much less harbor any urge to cup Ymir’s cheeks and somehow squeeze the pain away.

Which would be weird. And she definitely doesn’t want to do that.

“Of all the things that could’ve happened,” Mikasa sighs, watching them from where she stands outside the open car door. After Armin had taken Eren inside, Historia had forced Ymir to sit in the back of his car in an attempt to minimize the risk of her fainting. Her eyes are still a bit droopy, but she’s not unconscious yet, which means Eren didn’t rough up her head that badly. Though, Historia wouldn’t be surprised if the little fucker managed to give her a concussion. 

“Idiots,” Historia mutters, struggling to keep the pressure on Ymir’s forehead minimal. God, she just wants to scream . She’d expect this shit from Eren—with the way he’s been acting lately, combined with his already natural incline to letting his feelings bubble up and explode, she’s surprised he’s only reacting now—but Ymir? Sure, Historia’s seen her in a few fights with other people before, but Eren’s never had the ability to get under her skin so badly she resorts to beating the shit out of him in his own car. 

And, secretly, Historia thinks Eren’s a little more justified in starting a fight with her—although that’s probably the last thing she wants to admit—but it was still a stupid move on his part. All of this, including his and Ymir’s refusals to just speak up, is so fucking stupid.

“I told you, he started it,” Ymir says, wincing as Historia presses harder. “Ow, Blondie.”

“Don’t call me that,” Historia says sharply, not in the mood to indulge her shit at the moment. “And it doesn’t matter who started it. Both of you are idiots.”

“Hmph.”

Historia shakes her head and turns to Mikasa. “How was Eren when you saw him?”

Mikasa’s eyes flicker to Ymir, then back to Historia. “He was… fine. I think?”

“The hell is that supposed to mean?”

“His nose stopped bleeding. But he looked a bit, like, closed off. I don’t know.”

“That’s still too vague, ‘Kasa.”

Mikasa’s clearly hesitating, looking anywhere but Historia’s face. That just makes her all the more annoyed; she’s so fucking sick of everyone keeping her in the dark of important shit based on the slight chance that it’ll upset her. Besides, this isn’t even  something that needs to be kept secret—she’d helped stop the fight, for God’s sake.

“Mikasa, seriously, tell me or I’ll just go in there and check myself.”

“Armin was hugging him,” Mikasa admits with a cough, finally cracking under Historia’s weighted glare.

Historia’s eyes go wide. Oh. Now it kind of makes sense why Mikasa would want to brush over that—Historia’s made her distaste of Armin’s crush on him very clear over the years—but the two of them have always been comfortable with each other in a physical sense, to an extent. Had she not known about Eren’s little infatuation, she wouldn’t have thought anything weird of it. 

But does that mean Mikasa knows about Eren’s reciprocation? And if so, why the fuck has she kept quiet about it for so long?

Ymir pouts, probably painful with the state of her forehead, but Historia knows nothing is enough to stop her from making all her overblown expressions. “The hell’s he acting like a baby for? He started it.”

“Y’know, for how much you complain about other people’s lack of critical thinking skills, it’s a bit shocking how blind you can be sometimes,” Historia says, relenting her grip and giving Ymir’s forehead a break for a quick second. Maybe that’ll allow her brain to actually work and not cause her to be a complete dumbass.

“Dunno what you’re talking about,” Ymir says breezily, but Historia can see the painfully obvious rigidness that’s settled in her shoulders. “My eyes are clear as fuckin’ day.”

Historia smacks the bag to her forehead again, grinning at the yelp Ymir lets out. “Sure about that?”

“You little—”

“Tori, you’re going to actually give her a concussion,” Mikasa interrupts. “Ease off a bit.”

“Yeah, Blondie,” Ymir crows. “Let go. I know deep down in that stone-cold heart of yours you don’t want me to die.”

Historia’s cheeks heat despite herself. “Extremely debatable.”

“Ouch.”

Mikasa looks between them, grimacing. “Forget it, I’m not dealing with this. Call me if you need another bag.”

“What the—where do you think you’re going?” Historia asks as Mikasa walks away.

“Upstairs.”

“Won’t Pa and Dad ask why you’re back so early?”

“I’ll just tell them you and Armin are still getting your shit in order.”

“‘Kay, then,” Historia mutters, not too sure how to feel about the weird look Mikasa gives her before she disappears inside the house, leaving the car door open. 

She pats Ymir’s arm with her free hand. “How’s your head?”

“Well, if you count out the ice pack that’s probably fused with my skin by now, then I’d say it’s pretty good,” Ymir says mildly. Historia rolls her eyes and sets the pack on the free seat beside her. 

“You can complain all you want, but that’s what you get for fighting your cousin.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that it’s his fault—”

“Even so,” Historia cuts in. “You may be acting like an idiot right now, but I know you have a brain. Do you think he’d just react like that for no reason?”

Ymir stays silent for a few seconds, before she crosses her arms. “Whatever. I still would’ve punched him, anyway.”

“Huh?”

“He’s been getting on my last nerve,” Ymir mutters. “Barely talking to me, didn’t even greet me when I came back, and he’s acting like I’ve got the fuckin’ plague—”

Historia rubs her temples. “And why do you think that is?” 

“‘Cause he’s a bitch.”

“I give up,” Historia says, rolling her eyes. Either Ymir’s in denial, or her pride’s already been wounded so badly she’s refusing to ‘sacrifice’ whatever’s left by admitting her dumb decisions. Historia personally thinks it’s the latter, because Ymir isn’t stupid, and Eren hasn’t been exactly subtle about his frustration for the past week. “Next time you guys have a go at each other, I’m not getting in the way whatsoever.”

“You say that,” Ymir snorts. “The same person who was fussing all over me not even three seconds ago—”

Historia swats her shoulder, and she visibly bites back a scream. “The hell? You’re just gonna injure me even more?”

“That’s for being annoying.”

“I was literally just stating the truth, but okay.”

“Mhm,” Historia murmurs, earning a low laugh from Ymir. Her eyes drift to the other girl’s face, wanting to look her in the eye after she makes her next retort, when she notices a small dash of red slashed right above the tip of Ymir’s nose. “Oh.”

“What?”

“I missed a cut,” she says quietly, leaning forward to grab a tissue from the box Eren usually shoves on the floor in front of the passenger’s seat. Her lower back begins to ache as she stretches it out more than she should, hand mindlessly patting down any sort of space to find the stupid piece of cardboard.

“That fucking—”

“It’s not even bad, Ymir.” She finally grabs the box and pulls a few tissues out, sitting back. “Don’t be a baby.”

Historia grins at the flush now overtaking Ymir’s cheeks. “I’m not being a baby.”

“So you’ll stop complaining and let me clean it for you?”

Ymir stares at her for a moment, eyes shiny, unreadable, before she clears her throat. “Uh, sure.”

Gingerly, Historia uses one hand to cup Ymir’s cheek, tilting her head down a little. The touch of skin-on-skin is searing against her fingertips, and she swallows; her throat is so dry it could be crawling with fire ants, for all she knows. She lifts the tissue up with her other hand, barely grazing the cut. Ymir’s gaze is fixated on her, unyielding.

“Does that hurt?” 

“Didn’t you tell me to stop being a baby?” Ymir whispers. Her breath tickles Historia’s face, a little minty from the gum she’d shoved in her mouth right before they left Eren’s place. “What did I say earlier? Fussy.”

“Shut up,” Historia mutters, tiny needles of heat prickling at her face. She hesitates for a split-second, before gently wiping at the cut. Ymir’s eye twitches, but she keeps mostly still, probably trying to prove a point. Typical. “I’m not fussy.”

“She says as she’s literally fussing right now.”

Historia pinches her cheek, making her wince. “Do you want the cut to scar, or?”

“I could’ve done it myself,” Ymir says. Historia’s pulse quickens. “But you’re the one who insisted. Fu—”

Before Historia can pinch her again, the front door creaks open. She pulls back from Ymir immediately, that weird stillness forming between them disappearing in as fast of an instant as it’d festered. Her body feels weirdly twitchy, like she’s just drank a million of Sasha’s crazy energy drinks, but she brushes it off, thinking it’s just because she’s dreading having to deal with Eren and Ymir’s shit again.

Armin comes out of the house first, then Eren, their hands entangled between them. Historia does her best to ignore that, focusing on Eren’s condition instead. His nose isn’t bleeding anymore, and it doesn’t look like there’s any outward bruising apart from the small dark spots near the corners of his eyes, but she can tell from the groggy expression on his face that it must hurt like a bitch. Armin whispers something she can’t hear, and Eren finally looks at her, frowning.

“I’ll be back in a sec,” Historia says, hearing Ymir’s grunt in return before she scooches out of the car. Eren tenses up a little, but Historia sees Armin squeeze his hand, the gesture visibly calming him down. She’s grateful for it, as gag-worthy as it is.

“How’s your face?” she asks, and he rolls his eyes. There it is. He’s somewhat back to his annoying self, and Historia’s not ashamed to say she’s downright relieved after all the shit she’s had to deal with this week.

“What do you think, Tori?”

“That it’s fucked up.”

“No shit.” His eyes cut to Ymir. “She looks worse, though.”

Historia exhales shortly. “‘Cause you head butted   her, Eren.”

“And she—”

“Punched you, I know. Both of you acted like fucking dumbasses.”

He snorts. “At least you can admit she was a dumbass, too.”

“You—” Historia forces herself to take a deep breath, ignoring the comment. Eren’s smirking at her, like he knows something she’s not aware of, and she doesn’t hit him for the sole reason that he’d already gotten his shit rocked earlier. “Anyways. What the hell’s the plan, now? ‘Cause unless you guys start getting it together, we’re not driving anywhere.”

“I’m not forgiving her ‘till she says sorry,” Eren says. 

“Eren—”

“You can’t change my mind, Tori. We can talk, but it’s up to her how things go.”

She looks at Armin, who just shrugs and shakes his head. It seems like he’s tried having this conversation with Eren multiple times already, and if he couldn’t get through to him, then all the hope Historia previously had for them making up may as well have been flushed down the drain. 

“So what now?”

Eren’s eyes flicker to Ymir again, hardening. Ymir stares back just as firmly. “Again, it depends on how she acts.”

“As long as you’re not throwing fists at each other, I don’t care,” Armin mumbles. Historia hums in agreement.

“We’ll see.”

Historia purses her lips. “There’s no we’ll see—”

“Ymir!” Eren suddenly calls, a fiery shine starting in his eyes when she nods her head up in a silent acknowledgement. Historia suppresses a groan, knowing this could end in two ways: either they make peace in their own weird little ritual, or both of them reach the point where they’re sprawled on the sidewalk in a pool of their own blood. It doesn’t take much to determine which is more likely. “Your head looks like shit.”

“And I can smell the shit stains in your underwear all the way from here, so I dunno why you’re talking right now,” she retorts. Unexpectedly, Eren cracks a smile; it’s barely noticeable, but it still counts, in Historia’s opinion. 

“At least I don’t look like fucking megamind.”

“I’ll punch you again, Jeager,” she warns, though there isn’t much of a threat laced in her voice. “Watch yourself.”

“Try me.”

“Bitch.”

“Asshole.”

“I think I prefer the fighting over this,” Historia says flatly, making Armin snicker. “My fucking head.”

“If you want us to fight…” Eren starts, holding up his free hand and clenching it into a fist. She kicks his knee. “Ow, for fuck’s sake—”

“Idiot.”

“But you said it!”

“Still an idiot.”

“Marco’s been asking me where we are for the past five minutes,” Armin interrupts, holding up his phone. “Just so you all know.”

“I still wanna go,” Ymir says. “Unless bitch boy over here is too distressed to make the drive.”

Eren sticks his tongue out at her. “I’m not the one with a second ass forming on my forehead.”

“But you look like you’re gonna shit out of your mouth in two seconds.”

Historia’s stomach does an uncomfortable swoop at the mental image, and she resists the urge to gag. Armin doesn’t appear much better, staring at Eren like he’s contemplating how the fuck that idiot managed to capture any sort of affection from him. And this doesn’t even scratch the surface of all the disgusting things he does on a daily basis. Historia would be pretty concerned if the question didn’t pop up at least once. 

“Please make up your mind before I throw up,” Historia begs, and Eren blows a raspberry.

“‘S fine by me.”

“Great. So can you stop acting like a bunch of fucking children?”

“Hmmmm.”

Mikasa comes downstairs a minute after Historia hurriedly texts her, and she’s never been so happy to see her sister’s stoic face in her entire life. Once they make sure everything’s in order, Eren gets behind the wheel again, his and Armin’s hands displayed atop the gearstick, shitty music noticeably silent. Although the sight is absolutely unbearable, Historia’s more concerned about how squished she is into Ymir’s side, courtesy of Mikasa pushing her more into the middle with the diagonal angle she’s sitting at. Historia secretly thinks she’s doing it on purpose, and all the relief she’d had at being in her presence disappears in moments. She casts her the most murderous glance she can muster, but Mikasa merely scrolls on her phone, a tiny smile playing on her lips.

“The fuck is up with them?” Ymir whispers ten minutes into the drive, gesturing to Armin and Eren’s hands. Historia snorts, wondering how she was able to keep her comment in for so long. “You’d think Eren would finally get his head out of his ass—”

“Oh, trust me, he’s trying,” Historia says. Armin’s thumb moves back and forth in a soothing movement against Eren’s skin, and Eren’s face goes so red it looks almost melted. “Blegh. I can’t take any more of this shit.”

“I can kick his ass again, if you want.”

“One day,” Historia promises, the nerve endings in her cheeks prickling at the grin splitting Ymir’s face. “But I have to join in, too.”

“That’s more than fine with me, Blondie.”

“Better be.”

Historia has to let her head fall on Ymir’s shoulder after that; the strain in her neck from keeping it up in her weird position is becoming too painful to deal with. She expects Ymir to make one of her sarcastic comments, or gently nudge her off, but the other girl just rests her cheek on top of Historia’s head, her pinky finding Historia’s own and giving it a squeeze. Historia suddenly feels so hot she thinks she’ll explode into a million little pieces, but she forces herself to stay calm, to not fidget or move a single inch. Because then Ymir will pull away, and Historia would rather die than let that happen.

She feels the bump of Ymir’s jaw dropping onto her head when Eren pulls up to Jean’s house—well, more like mansion, to put it lightly. He stops right in front of the huge, mechanical gate that opens as soon as he honks the car horn. 

“That’s Jean’s house?” Ymir yelps, and Historia sits up to have a clear view of the absolutely dumbfounded look on her face. “The fuck?”

“Were the words ‘indoor pool’ not enough to tell you that he’s an absolute douche?” Eren asks, maneuvering through the many fancy, concrete pathways that lead up to the main entrance. Historia’s been here a million times, but she never gets used to all the neatly kept bushes filled with roses, or the beautiful moss intricately streaming down every corner of the castle-looking exterior. It’s like stepping into one of the millions of princess fantasies she used to have as a kid. 

“I didn’t expect it to be a whole fuckin’ palace.”

“A palace is a stretch, I think.”

“No the fuck it’s not?”

Connie, Jean, and Sasha are waiting for them on the front steps, already decked out in their respective swimming suits despite the freezing temperatures. Eren parks in a sort of sideways-angle, and Mikasa immediately jumps out of the car when it stops, tackling Sasha in such a fierce hug they almost topple over. Armin breaks away his grip on Eren’s hand, slinging his tote bag over his shoulder and following Mikasa’s route without a single glance back. Eren stares after him with this sad, longing look on his face, and Historia would feel a little bad if she weren’t cursed with the knowledge that Armin’s probably just too flustered to touch him any longer. Eugh.

“Took you guys long enough,” Connie says once Historia and Ymir make their way over. Ymir’s looking around like she’s still not quite believing the sight in front of her, and Historia doesn’t bother hiding her giggles. “Everyone got here, like, an hour ago.”

“We got a bit, uh, held up,” Historia tells him. He raises a brow.

“What’s up with Ymir’s forehead?”

Historia glances at her, nervously laughs. “She—tripped. On a rock. That’s why we’re late.”

“Huh?”

“Mhm. It was really bad.”

“Hey, Kirstein!” Ymir suddenly shouts. “The fuck is all this?”

Jean blinks. “Uh, my house?”

“‘My house,’” she mimics in a whiny voice, along with a pretty botched British accent. “No wonder you’re so fuckin’ prissy all the time.”

“How does that make me prissy?”

“He says on the doorstep of his billion dollar estate.” Ymir puts her hands on her hips and smirks. “I’m surprised you didn’t have some equally prissy butler waiting outside for us, with the towel and everything.”

“He’s helping my mom right now.”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ.”

Jean beckons them to follow him inside, ignoring her. Ymir gets through most of her jeering beforehand, but they’re subjected to even more on the way, especially when they pass by Jean’s mother’s fancy, naked roman statues. Historia has half-a-mind to take a video of Ymir’s reactions, but she’s too busy laughing to get her phone out.

“What’s the butler’s name?” Ymir asks giddily, like a child in a toy store. “Albert? Sir Bartholomew or some shit?”

Jean heaves a sigh. “Edward.”

“Holy fuck. Does he have a mustache? Is he blond?”

“Ymir, for fuck’s sake, shut up.”

She whistles. “So you’re calling me a peasant, Kirstein? Is that it? I’m not allowed to speak to His Highness in his big ass castle?”

“Oh my God, no—”

“Wow, Jean,” Eren drawls. Jean throws him a deadly look. “All this just because you’ve got a hint of royal descent—”

“He’s got what?” Ymir howls. 

“Don’t encourage her, idiot,” Jean hisses. Eren grins.

“I’ve had to deal with her all week, so it’s your turn.”

“She’s your cousin.”

“And you’re the one who decided to let her back in your shitty life. So.”

“Fuck you.”

“You first.”

“It’s like listening to a bunch of pubescent eighth grade boys,” Sasha sighs. Mikasa snickers into her shoulder. “Good God.”

“Most accurate Eren description,” Ymir says. Sasha shoots her a look.

“I was talking about you, too.”

“No idea what you’re saying.”

Jean opens the pool door, and Historia’s instantly hit with a blast of scorching air and steam. Reiner and Bertholdt are passing a ball to each other in the shallow end of the water, not fully submerged but still sweating from the heat. Marco’s floating around the deeper end on his back, eyes closed, while Annie and Hitch share a single inflatable donut; Annie’s resting her head in the crook of Hitch’s neck, snoozing, and Hitch sips out of what looks to be a fruity cocktail. She uses her free hand to slide her sunglasses down to the tip of her nose— why she’s wearing sunglasses inside, Historia has no clue—and puffs out a sigh.

“And usually I’m the one that’s fashionably late.”

“Ha, ha,” Eren says, deadpan. “What’s with the glasses?”

“I’m trying to pretend it’s summer, Jeager. The cold’s getting tiring.”

“You’re gonna make yourself go blind.”

She flips him off, slides them back up. “Don’t care, didn’t ask.”

“Suit yourself.”

“Exactly how hot did you guys make it in here?” Armin asks as he takes off his round glasses; the lenses are foggy all the way through. He tilts them in his hands, furrows his brows. “I can’t even see properly.”

“It was fine till someone decided to turn this place into a fucking sauna,” Jean says, turning to Connie with a pointed look. The other boy shrugs.

“It would’ve been freezing otherwise.”

“Literally no? The temperature was perfect.”

“So just change it.”

“Dude, it’s gonna take at least half-a-day to cool down . Mom’s gonna kill me.”

“Sucks for you,” Ymir snickers. She pulls her shirt over her head, revealing a black swimming top underneath. Historia looks away immediately, cheeks burning. What the hell is wrong with me now? Everyone else is in a bathing suit, so Ymir wearing a bikini shouldn’t be the cause of her pulse gradually picking up at a faster pace. Although, nobody else has abs like that just in plain sight…

“Damn, you think I’d be able to burn myself if I sat in there long enough?” says Ymir as she peers down at the water, pulling Historia out of thoughts she’d rather not indulge. 

“Sit as long as you want,” Eren says in a faux-sweet voice. 

“Fuck you,” Ymir retorts. She then turns to Historia, gives her one of those rare, soft smiles that make her eyes crinkle at the corners. Warmth trickles into every crack and crevice of Historia’s veins. “You getting in, Blondie?”

“Hard pass,” she says, voice higher than she’d like. Ymir’s face instantly wrinkles into a pout. “I’m not about to die of heatstroke, Ymir.”

“Then why the fuck did I even come here in the first place?”

“To swim.” Historia smirks and pushes her into the deep end of the pool; she shrieks so loudly Marco jolts up from his relaxed state, blinking rapidly. “There you go.”

“You’re so dead,” Ymir gasps when she breaks the surface, bangs plastered to her forehead. Historia makes a run for it, but Ymir succeeds in pushing herself up, grabbing her ankle, and hauling her backwards.

“Ymir!” Historia screams. Her lower calves ache from struggling to keep her balance, pressure heightening on her heels. “Oh my God, I still have my clothes on, hey—”

Her back hits the water a moment later, hot and stinging against her skin. The air above is a relief in her lungs when she gasps it in, but she’s positive her entire face is red from the heat regardless. Her hoodie and sweatpants, now sticking to every limb on her body, forces a little more effort in swimming forward and grabbing the edge of the pool, but she manages to do so without sinking to the bottom. Ymir’s already there, cackling at her, one hand gripping the tiled wall. Historia swats her arm, gives it her all to look serious and not laugh along with her. 

“Asshole,” she mutters, Ymir’s giggles intensifying. “You fucking ass—”

“Oh, I’m gonna piss myself, that was priceless. Your face.”

“It’s boiling!” Historia complains. “Fuck, it’s like we’re being cooked—”

“It’s better than being a wuss and not getting in,” Ymir interjects. Historia glares.

“Of course you’d say that.”

“Think about it like this,” Ymir continues, moving closer until their noses almost touch. If Historia weren’t already dying of heat, her cheeks would’ve definitely flooded with color right then. “You’re being cooked with me.”

“That sounds a lot more like hell, in my opinion,” Historia replies, voice a little breathless. Ymir dips her head, grins, and shakes her head.

“I know you wouldn’t mind, even if you won’t admit it.”

Historia allows herself a tiny smile. “Keep living in your delusions, Ymir.”

“Mhmmm.”

“Tori?” Armin calls. Historia pushes herself up against the edge, keeps herself in place by resting her upper body atop her arms. Armin’s trying to clean his glasses with his sweater, but every time he tries, they just fill up with fog again. Eren’s standing beside him, watching with this disgustingly lovey-dovey look on his face, while the others have already joined Reiner and Bertholdt in the shallow end of the pool. “How hot is it, actually?”

“Burning,” she says honestly. He grimaces.

“You’re joking, right?”

“I wish I was. My skin’s already peeling.”

“I think Jean went to try and cool it down,” Eren tells him. Armin shakes his head and puts his glasses back on, apparently giving up on any chance of seeing clearly.

“Even if he is, I can’t go in. My skin’s gonna flare up as soon as I’m in the water.”

Historia frowns. Armin’s skin has always been pretty sensitive, but extremely hot water usually triggers a bunch of red rashes all over his arms, chest, and face. They learned that the hard way when he was seven and tried sitting in a hot spring during vacation—there’s no way he’d be able to swim now without getting scorched. Literally. 

“I’m sorry, ‘Min,” she says.

“I can stay out with you,” Eren offers, but Armin waves his hand.

“You go have fun. Seriously, I’m fine.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, Eren,” Armin chuckles, lightly shoving him. Eren looks at him for a moment, eyes as sincere as Historia’s ever seen them, before he takes off his shirt, revealing the tan, muscled skin underneath. Armin not to subtly stares after him as he shuffles over to the shallow end of the pool; Mikasa’s helping Reiner set up a floating volleyball net, and Bertholdt passes Eren the ball, yells at him to join them for the first round.

“Idiots,” Ymir murmurs. Historia begins pulling herself out of the water, and Ymir makes a face. “Where are you going?”

“To get changed, then sit out,” Historia huffs. She stands, shakes her head, and squeezes the ends of her hair until they’re dry. She notices Ymir’s turned away from her, cheeks pink, but she assumes it’s just from the pool’s hell-ish temperature. 

“Tori, it’s fine—” Armin starts.

“I don’t wanna swim anyways, ‘Min, look.” She holds up her hand, shows him the reddened skin. “It legitimately hurts.”

“Jesus.”

“Will you at least try to come in later?” Ymir asks, still not facing her. 

“If it gets cooler, yeah.”

“Fine.” Then she launches herself further into the water, swims until she reaches the others at the volleyball net. Reiner says something to her, and she splashes his face, wheezing when he screams in pain.

“What’s up with her?” Historia asks, frowning. Armin’s gaze flickers between her and Ymir, who’s now moved on to sitting by the shallow stairs, counting points with her hand. There doesn’t seem to be any specific team, but Eren notably changes sides each time one of them lands a hit. 

“I think she’s just bummed out that you're not joining them.”

“That’s stupid, though.”

Armin mutters something mostly incoherent, but she catches the gist of, I’m surrounded by fucking idiots. 

“What was that?” she asks. 

“Nothing,” he says innocently. “Carry on with whatever you’re doing.”

“Uh huh. I’m getting changed,” she says, side-eying him as she drags herself to Jean’s fancy changing rooms near the big window overlooking the back of his garden. Armin gives her one of his cheeky little smiles, then sits on the pull-out chair closest to the shallow end, his smile widening when Eren waves at him and gets a direct hit to the face from Reiner as a result. Dumbass.

By the time she’s able to peel away the piles of fabric from her skin and wiggle into her one-piece swimsuit, Marco and Jean have joined Ymir on the stairs, huddled close together and whispering about God knows what. Hitch and Annie are still floating around on their little donut, but Annie’s awake now, glaring at Hitch every time she loudly cheers at Mikasa making another point. No doubt she and Connie have some sort of bet going on, as usual.

“Did you seriously bring a fucking book with you?” Historia asks Armin, sprawling herself out on the chair beside him. He must’ve taken off his outer clothes while she was changing, because his green sweater and jeans have been replaced with a light swimming shirt and shorts. 

“It proved to be useful, didn’t it?” he says, barely paying attention as he flips the page. She scooches closer and peers at the text; it’s a miracle the damp air hasn’t already ruined the paper.

He narrows his eyes at her, hides it from her view. “Can you stop being so nosy?”

“I’m just looking, relax.” She tries leaning over again, but he sets it flat against his chest. “Unless you’re reading some weird shit—”

“Historia,” he gasps, scandalized. Historia chuckles and reaches for the book, and he holds it up in the air, careful to keep the title obscured from her view. “It’s not anything like that. You’re so annoying.”

“Then let me see!”

“No.”

“Fine,” she sighs, slumping back. He blows a raspberry at her and shoves the book back in his bag, cheeks pink from embarrassment. “I dunno how you can even read with your glasses so foggy.”

“Practice,” he says, turning away and hugging his knees. 

“How the fuck d’you even practice something like that?”

“Well, Tori, if you ever get glasses, you’ll see what I mean.”

“Hopefully not,” she says, snickering when he lightly smacks her shoulder. “Don’t give me that. My face just isn’t made for them.”

“Tori, we quite literally have almost the exact same face. That doesn’t even make any sense.”

“It does to me.” He gives her an exasperated look, and she grins, holds up the ends of her hair. “Anyways, now that you’re done with your weirdly mysterious book—”

“Tori.”

“—Can you braid my hair? It’s getting sticky and I keep thinking a million ants are crawling all over my neck. It’s fucking gross.”

Shaking his head, he pats the space in front of him. She moves over, sits criss-crossed. He takes a bundle of blonde strands in his grip and begins separating them into three equal pieces. “I swear, you’re gonna give me gray hairs by the time I’m twenty.”

“Love you too, ‘Min,” she says, and he gives an amused exhale through his nose.

Her eyes trail back to the others in the shallow end as Armin focuses on his craft. Now it’s Eren, Ymir, and Bertholdt versus Mikasa, Reiner, and Connie. Sasha has seemingly replaced Ymir’s role as point-counter, and Jean offers to referee. Eren tries to object, but the game starts before he has the chance.

Connie serves the ball—his aim’s a little off, but he gets it over the net—and Bertholdt snags it first. He passes it to Ymir, who unexpectedly knocks it to Eren in one smooth movement, letting him strike it over the net instead of taking the opening between Reiner and Connie. The ball then swerves to Mikasa’s side. She, to no one’s surprise, blocks it from crashing back into the water; the strength of her hit is so prudent that when it lands on the opposite side again, it drenches everyone in a merciless, towering wave. 

Ymir groans and tells Eren something that makes his face scrunch up like an annoyed little cat, but he doesn’t appear as irritated as he usually would. In fact, he’s more composed now than Historia’s seen him in the last two weeks. Jean interrupting Ymir is what gets him actually disgruntled, but Bertholdt springs the ball over the net just in time to save everybody from one of their usual headache-inducing arguments. 

“Eren’s not sulking anymore,” Historia comments, returning to her chair once Armin’s finished with the braid. “Thank God.”

“He’s having fun,” Armin says quietly. His eyes soften when Eren gets the ball smacked to his face again by Connie, like that’s cute. Historia squashes the temptation to groan. “It’s better than him being so down all the time, at least. Broke my heart to watch.”

“Ymir, too,” Historia murmurs. “I thought she’d still be, like, all prickly with him, but they’re sort of getting along now? If you can even call it that.”

“I wouldn’t say getting along.” Armin wrinkles his nose. “More like they’re starting to tolerate each other again.”

“And after their dramatic asses decided to fucking beat each other up in Eren’s car.”

Eren now has Connie in a headlock, attempting to drag him under the water, but Connie’s able to wiggle out of his grip, kicking him hard in the stomach. Eren wheezes in pain, then tackles him in a splash. Mikasa rolls her eyes and swims over to Sasha, curls in her lap, while the others start chanting fight, fight, fight. 

“So stupid,” Historia says lowly. Armin thins his lips.

“If I’m gonna be honest?” He leans back against the chair, quiet for a few moments as she waits for him to elaborate. “I’m actually kind of glad they fought.”

Historia blinks, tries not to look too bewildered, but it’s hard to after such a statement.

“You’re glad they almost beat each other to a pulp?”

“Not that part,” Armin clarifies quickly. “Oh my God, no—”

“Then what the hell—”

“I meant, like, them getting it out of their systems.” Armin takes a strand of blond hair between his fingertips, threads through it. “Before, it was always like a spark was threatening to fly every time they were even in the same room as each other, you know? But now that the tension’s gone, maybe they’ll finally come to their senses and talk without another burst.”

She huffs. “I still think it was stupid as fuck.”

“Things can be stupid and necessary, Tori.”

“I guess,” she mutters. “Let’s just hope you’re right, for everyone’s sakes. ‘Cause I’m not dealing with their shit again.”

“I have a feeling it’ll work out.”

“Always the optimist,” she teases. He shrugs.

“Someone has to be. Between you and Eren’s constant complaining about everything—”

“Do not compare me to him. Eugh.”

“You can deny it all you want, you know it’s true.”

“And you call me an idiot.”

“Mhmmmm.” Armin chuckles and nods to the pool. “The water looks like it’s cooled down, if you wanna join them. There isn’t steam anymore.”

“Finally.” She stands, stretches out her legs, but Armin doesn’t move an inch. “You’re still not getting in?”

“I’m gonna sit out for a bit longer, I think. Maybe until they’re done playing.”

“‘Kay.” 

Historia ruffles his hair before tip-toeing to the edge of the pool. She dips her foot in near the shallow end; just like Armin said, it’s not burning anymore. The water’s still pretty warm, but her skin doesn’t tingle at the contact, and she thinks that’s better than nothing.

“What happened to not wanting heatstroke?” Ymir suddenly calls, swimming her way over. 

Historia exhales in amusement. “You think this compares to how hot it was not even ten minutes ago?”

Ymir hoists herself up and rests her arms on the ledge near Historia’s feet; the lower half of her body is still submerged in water. “It’s literally the same thing.”

“Now you’re just saying shit.” 

“I’m not.”

Historia kneels down so they’re at eye-level, steadying herself by balancing her weight atop her hands. She scans Ymir’s face; droplets cling to tan skin and the ends of the messy, dark brown locks, creating small ripples in the water when they drip. With her so up close, Historia thinks she can count every individual freckle scattered across her cheeks, her nose, her sharp jaw. Her chest and shoulders, if she stared long enough. She bites her tongue to stop from blurting out something stupid, like how are you real?

How can you sit in front of me and act like you’re just a normal human being, and not some divine goddess?

“You good, Blondie?”

She snaps herself out of it, realizing she’s been staring at her this entire time—thinking those kinds of thoughts— without verbally answering. Ymir looks at her with furrowed brows, and Historia wants to dig herself into a hole, shut the top, and curl into a ball for eternity.

“Fine,” Historia forces out. “Completely fine.”

“Yeah, well, you went all quiet and started staring at me like this.” Ymir over-exaggeratingly widens her eyes, and Historia flushes. “I thought you were gonna pass out.”

“I was just—” Historia swallows. “Daydreaming.”

“Daydreaming?”

“Mhm.”

“About what?” Ymir whispers, inching closer. Historia sucks in a breath, tries to get oxygen flowing through her body, but it’s like every airway into her lungs has been blocked. 

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Does to me.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause I wanna know.”

An idea suddenly comes to mind, and Historia suppresses a smirk. “Really?”

“Yeah, since you’re acting so weird about it.”

“Hmmm. I dunno.” She leans forward a bit, hears Ymir’s breath hitch, until her fingers graze the water. “Your brain might explode if I tell you.”

Ymir’s throat visibly bobs, her eyes flickering to Historia’s lips. Historia doesn’t want to dwell on it, since it’s probably nothing, but it makes her heart flutter anyways. “Uh.”

“What happened to using words?” Historia cooes. Ymir scowls, though red creeps into her face.

“Shut up.”

“Oh, I can definitely do that.” 

Historia pretends to lean in, Ymir’s eyes going wide enough to drink from.

And then she splashes a wave of water at her face.

Ymir’s completely drenched, falling back and coughing, while Historia gasps for air, clutches her stomach, wheezes so hard her chest burns. The other girl wipes away the hair from her face, glares at her, but Historia can’t stop laughing even if she tries.

“I can’t,” she chokes. “Oh my God, that was so good, you—”

“What the hell was that for?”

“Payback for when you dragged me in,” Historia says smugly, wiping a tear. Ymir tsks.

“But you pushed me first?”

“And?”

Ymir suddenly grabs her wrist. Before Historia can react, she’s met with a mouthful of water. She resurfaces after a few moments, preparing all sorts of curses to throw at her, but they wash away with a gulp.

Ymir’s laughing, the kind that makes her face practically glow, makes her shoulders shake, creases the corners of her eyes. She throws her head back, somehow wheezes even harder, almost hitting her head against the ledge. And Historia can’t find it in her to be mad anymore.

Not even a little bit.

જ⁀➴♡

Eren’s pleased to find that Jean’s stupid attempts at fixing the temperature did work. Somewhat.

He wades over to the stairs, panting so hard he can hear blood rushing through his ears. Playing five rounds of volleyball in a self-inflicted sauna is one thing—it’s a different thing entirely when Mikasa and Annie are on the same team. With how many times the two of them have aimed the ball at his face, he’s sure he and Ymir are bound to have matching purple bruises on their foreheads soon enough. They keep denying it’s on purpose, but anyone with sense can tell they’re lying, because there’s no way something like that just happens ten times in a row.

“Dude, sit down, you look like you’re dying,” Connie says, snickering. He’d chosen to sit out the second Annie had asked to join, which, honestly, was an extremely smart move on his part.

Eren flips him off and practically collapses on the top step, limbs like jelly. “Shit, my head.”

“I told you to retreat, but no one ever fucking listens—”

“I didn’t think they’d gang up on me!”

“Deserved,” Jean yawns. Eren kicks a wave of water at him, grins when he yelps. “Y’know what—”

“If you’re gonna fight, go outside,” Marco interrupts, rubbing his head. “None of us wanna hear this shit.”

“Please,” Sasha says. 

Eren holds his hands up. “I didn’t even do anything.”

“You literally splashed the water at him, Eren.”

Jean mutters something that’s lost to Eren’s ears, and he doesn’t really care, too tired to indulge in his shit at the moment. Though, ever since his and Ymir’s little scuffle, he’s noticed his usual urges to start fights with anyone have slimmed close to none. And that includes Jean, as much of an asshole as he is.

He’s still upset, obviously, but the feeling isn’t backed up by that horrible, burning fire in the pit of his stomach anymore. It’s only simmered—their fight was more than satisfactory in snuffing it out—but there’s no guarantee it won’t start up a second time. That depends on Ymir and her stupid reluctance to just open her damn mouth and say the words I’m sorry. It doesn’t matter if he’s able to look at her again without wanting to claw her eyes out, or how they’ve begun to fall back into that familiar, snarky back-and-forth they’d perfected by the time they were five years old—nothing’s returning to normal until she settles things. And, with the rate she’s going, there probably won’t be anything to settle anymore. Eren’s not going to wait around forever, and if she never ends up swallowing her stupid pride, then she can kiss any chance at fixing things with him goodbye.

Pushing those frankly depressing thoughts aside, he sinks further into the water; the temperature may still be a little on the warmer side, but his skin prickles uncomfortably when exposed to air, sending a shudder through his whole body. His eyes, like they’d been doing for the past half-hour or so, drift to the chair Armin’s sitting on, just to catch a glimpse of him in hopes that he may be watching. 

Or, was sitting on, because now he’s notably missing from his usual spot.

Instinctively, Eren frowns. “I’ll be right back.”

“The hell are you going?” Sasha asks as he stands and drags himself out of the water. Droplets cling to his skin, making him shiver.

“To take a shit.”

She grins. “Nice.”

“Ew,” Jean shudders, which is exactly the reaction Eren wanted. “I swear if you clog the toilet up again—”

“Can’t promise anything.”

“Disgusting ass bitch.”

Once he dries himself off with a towel, Eren does check the bathroom first, but all the stalls are empty. Then he does a quick run-over of the changing rooms through the connecting door—also empty—which means Armin must’ve snuck out of the pool area entirely. He can’t ask Historia where he is, because she’s too busy goofing off with Ymir (gross), and the others would probably make fun of him if he asked them, so unless he’s able to navigate through the millions of halls in Jean’s house, then his chances of finding him are basically screwed.

By some miracle, however, it turns out his efforts are not in vain, because as soon as he steps out of the changing rooms and onto the other side of the pool area, he spots a certain blond through the giant glass window, sitting on the steps, without a coat.

He exhales fondly and goes to grab a warm, dry towel from one of the chairs. Of course.

“I don’t think you should be making this a habit,” Eren calls as he squeezes through the small door leading outside; it’s so cold his breath is visible in a small, foggy puff. Armin bristles, but smiles brightly at him when their eyes meet. It makes Eren so warm he can barely feel the numbing breeze tickling his face. “You’re gonna get yourself sick, ‘Min.”

“It’s not that bad,” Armin chuckles. Eren notices his glasses clutched in his hands. “Better than inside, at least.”

“You think getting hyperthermia is better than a bit of heat?”

“When it’s fogging the shit out of my glasses, yeah.” He holds them up. “I couldn’t even see my own hands.”

Eren sits beside him, careful not to let their knees touch—even without any physical contact, sparks still fly against every inch of his skin. “They still look fucked up, though.”

“I know,” Armin sighs. “I thought maybe the fresh air would help, but I think it made it worse, honestly.”

“Is that even, like, scientifically possible?”

Armin snorts and tilts his head. “Since when do you care about science?”

Eren swallows and forces his gaze to his shaky hands. Even so much as a small laugh from Armin is enough to render him speechless—how can anyone possibly be this beautiful, without even trying? Just exist like his mere presence hasn’t turned the world upside down?

“I mean, I don’t, but cold shit usually gets rid of heat. So.”

“Well, you’re right about that,” Armin muses. He holds up the glasses for Eren to see; they’re definitely not as foggy as they’d been inside, but gray-ish white still conceals the edges of the lenses. “Maybe it was so thick it just stained.”

“You can sue Jean for that,” Eren says, earning another lovely laugh from Armin’s mouth. “I’m serious! It’s fucking, like, object damage—”

“Object damage?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t think that’s a thing, Eren,” Armin giggles.

Eren clears his throat. “You’re smart, though, I’m sure you can figure out how to tweak the law.”

Armin’s cheeks turn noticeably redder, though Eren expects it, what with the freezing temperatures they’re sitting in. 

“Sorry to break it to you, but law isn’t exactly my line of expertise. Also, I don’t want to sue Jean.”

“I’ll sue him for you, then,” Eren says seriously.

Armin snorts, dips his head. “Please do not.”

“It’s not like he’ll die.”

“Hm. True.” Armin looks back at the window. “Probably won’t even make a dent in his bank account.”

“Exactly. Fucking prick.”

Silence befalls them for a few moments, and Eren immediately jumps to freaking out about unintentionally annoying him, before he notices the corners of Armin’s eyes creasing as he squints them, irises moving side-to-side in a blur. 

“Is it just me, or is the window tinted green?” Armin asks lightly. 

Eren laughs, all the unease seeping out of him in a flash, and he gently takes the glasses from Armin’s hand. Armin turns to him with a questioning look, but Eren speaks before he’s able to open his mouth. “Can I try something?”

“...With my glasses?”

“Just trust me.”

Armin looks at him intently for a beat, then nods. “Okay.”

Eren brings the glasses to his mouth, then blows a breath of fog on each lens. Then, using the towel’s end, he wipes it away with a bit of pressure, careful not to press too hard. “Whenever my brother visits, he always does this exact thing, except he uses some fancy ass cloth. So.”

“It’s getting… weirdly clearer?” Armin comments, shuffling a bit closer. His knee nudges against Eren, and it’s like the touch spreads to his entire spine, zapping it with electricity. “Huh. This whole time I just kept wiping it with my shirt.”

“Yeah,” Eren says, his voice an octave higher than he’d like it to be. He examines the glasses for a moment, then holds them up to Armin’s face. “Here.”

Armin blinks, then leans forward, so close Eren can see tiny little freckles sitting on the tip of his nose—he doesn’t know if they’ve always been there, but, then again, he’s never been able to really stare at him like this. Somehow, his eyes are an even deeper blue, resembling that of crystal clear waves rocking gently against the shore. Blood rushes into Eren’s head, so harsh he can almost taste it.

Carefully, he slides the glasses onto Armin’s face, until they’re seated snugly on the bridge of his nose. “Is that better?” he whispers.

Armin’s throat bobs; the sight sends a squirm of warmth into the pit of Eren’s chest. “Uh, yeah. Better, definitely.”

So close. He’s so close, Eren can feel the warmth of his skin, the tickle of his breath. Armin’s still looking at him, eyes so bright, so beautiful. Like all of gravity’s center is seated in the weight of his gaze, and Eren is slowly but surely being pulled into the never-ending vastness.

Armin sucks in a breath. “Eren—”

Connie and Sasha’s muffled shrieks suddenly bounce off the window, and Armin jumps away immediately, glancing warily inside again, solemnly leaving Eren cold; the others have probably begun another round, and by the looks of it, Mikasa and Annie are up again. 

Eren groans internally, runs a hand through his hair to somehow cool the heat in his face. Really, the universe has to have some weird vendetta against him being happy—of all the fucking times the others could be their idiotic selves, they chose now? 

“Do I even wanna know what they’re doing in there?” Armin asks, his voice notably devoid of its usually steady nature. Eren shakes his head, still buzzing from whatever the hell just happened two seconds ago. 

“They’re just being idiots.”

Armin looks away, but Eren can see the upwards curve of his cheek; a smile’s definitely on his face. “So the usual, then.”

“Mhm,” Eren says lightly, bouncing his leg. Fuck, he’s going to explode—his temperature’s probably raised to feverish heights. 

Armin turns to him again, flush apparent on his cheeks, making Eren’s heart swoop . Then he shudders and rubs his shoulders with his hands. “Shit, I really should’ve brought my sweater out here, or something.”

Eren frowns. “You’re cold?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Armin says lightly. 

Eren glances down at the towel in his hands, still pretty warm against his skin. Before he’s able to talk himself out of it, he unfolds the towel and drapes it over Armin’s back, pulling the ends so that they sit snugly around his shoulders. Armin blinks, looking a little bewildered, and Eren coughs in embarrassment, a flush rising to his face.

“I just thought—” he wills himself to stop talking by biting his tongue. Stupid. Of course, leave it up to him to make a complete fucking fool of himself, as usual. Every single Goddamn time—

“Thank you,” Armin says softly. Eren’s heart grows so loud he can hear it pounding in his head—thump, thump.

“Guys?”

Historia’s suddenly standing in the doorway, blinking. Armin turns even redder, looking like he’s going to sink into the floor and die. Eren, on the other hand, is so fucking furious his hands shake in his lap. 

“Oh,” she says, like she’d rather be anywhere else. The feeling’s very much mutual. “Y’know what, I’m just gonna—”

“Do you need something?” Eren asks haughtily. She shoots him a look that says, really, Eren? He continues glaring in response.

“No, but Connie kept nagging me about you shitting for too long like I had something to do with it—”

“He what?”

Armin abruptly stands and clears his throat. “Is the water cool now?” 

Historia shrugs. “I guess, yeah.”

“Great.” Then he strides past her without another word, leaving Eren on the steps. Eren feels his heart drop to his stomach, and Historia glances between them, her face contorting into a grimace.

“Fuck’s sake,” she mutters, pinching her nose. Eren gulps.

“Did I say something wrong?”

She gives him a pitiful glance. “There really is no hope for you, huh?”

“What does that mean?” She ignores him, walking back inside, and he jogs after her. “Wait, Tori, what the hell does that mean?”

The next five hours consist of Eren alternating between playing, sitting out, and trying to talk to Armin—who sticks beside Marco, speaking in such quick, hushed tones Eren can’t decipher it if he tries—but he finds that is proving to be a lot more difficult than he’d thought. He doesn’t know what he said, or what’s caused Armin to get so rigid, but Eren notices him purposefully avoiding his gaze, darting out of the way every time Eren finds an opening to speak. It gets him so out of focus that he misses the ball multiple times, and Sasha bluntly asks him to sit out and catch his breath. Historia keeps giving him her exasperated looks from where she sits on the stairs, while Ymir, surprisingly, doesn’t comment at all, just continues her antics with the others and takes over Mikasa and Annie’s roles of whacking everyone with the ball.

At around six is when everyone starts making their leave. Annie and Hitch are first—they apparently have a movie to catch—then Reiner and Bertholdt at six-thirty. Eren’s absolutely exhausted by then, and he shuts his mouth until seven before he loudly complains about wanting to go home. Ymir finishes up her final round with Connie, Sasha, Jean, and Marco, and then they’re finally walking back out into Jean’s fancy gardens, the night chill settling itself in Eren’s bones.

“Should we really be trusting him driving?” Historia asks once they’re in the car, her voice clouded by a yawn. She’s resting her head on Ymir’s shoulder—expected, but still disgusting—and Eren flips her off from the front seat. “Don’t give me that, you’re the one who was acting like a damsel in distress and whining about wanting to sleep.”

“I wasn’t being a damsel in distress.”

“Just drive, please,” Armin sighs. It’s the first time he’s said anything remotely directed at Eren since they sat outside Jean’s pool together. The shock of it freezes Eren for a moment, before he shakes himself and begins backing out, heart thundering in his chest. Historia mutters something lost to him, and Ymir snickers.

Twenty minutes later, he pulls up to Historia’s place. She’s very obviously fighting sleep, still clinging to Ymir, and Mikasa has to gently coax her out of the car, wrapping her arm around her waist and hoisting her up. Ymir stares after her with this disgusting, gooey look on her face, and Eren fights the urge to retch.

“Bye, Eren,” Armin says. Eren bristles at the sudden sound of his voice, nerves coursing through him in a rush. “Goodnight.”

“Night,” Eren says, so softly without even trying. Armin smiles—tiny, but there—and piles out of the car a moment later, helping Mikasa drag Historia to the front door. He waits until they’re inside, then starts the five-minute drive to his place.

The ride is completely silent. Eren doesn’t feel as tense as he had this morning, but Ymir’s lack of snide remarks causes unease to settle in his stomach nonetheless. They still don’t say a word walking up to his place, but so many unspoken things—on Eren’s side, at least—still linger between them, so thick he can feel it looming over them like a shadow.

Carla’s watching TV when they step inside, Gabi snoozing away with her head on her lap. She smiles at first, but it quickly fades when her eyes land on Ymir’s forehead. 

“What—”

“I fell,” Ymir blurts out. Eren thins his lips in an attempt to stop himself from laughing—it shouldn’t be funny, really, but Ymir’s face is so stony she looks almost constipated. “That’s it.”

Carla blinks. “How?”

Eren and Ymir share a glance, and Eren sees that Ymir’s trying not to laugh, too; her nose is all scrunched up, and her eyes dance with that familiar mischief he’s been on the receiving end of for as long as he can remember. 

“She tripped on a rock,” Eren says. Ymir loses control for a second, snorting. Carla narrows her eyes.

“...On a rock?”

“Yup.”

“How does that even—” she cuts herself off, sighs. “As long as you’re not that hurt…”

“She’s fine.” He harshly nudges her shoulder and grins, knowing she’s probably biting back a flurry of curses in his direction. “Right, Ymir?”

“Fine, yeah,” she bites out. Carla looks at them for another moment, before she reluctantly shrugs. 

“Alright, then.”

Eren retreats upstairs after that, and Ymir follows. As soon as they get to his room, she lightly swats his arm. “A rock? Really?”

“That’s what Historia said earlier,” Eren says smugly, gathering his pajamas from the dresser. “Gotta stay accurate and all that.”

“You’re so annoying.”

“You can go tell her what really happened, if it’s bothering you so much.”

Ymir tsks, then goes to grab her stuff from her side of the closet. “I never said that.”

“Mhm.”

She leaves, and Eren buries himself into the bed, tossing his phone onto the bedside table. Ymir comes back a few minutes later with the spare mattress and duvet, flopping it onto the floor. The lights go out, and he hears her shuffle under the covers. 

It feels like an eternity of him just laying there, waiting for sleep to take him, before he hears Ymir inhale.

“Eren?”

He contemplates not responding at all out of spite, but curiosity wins him over. “Hm?”

A beat. Then, her voice almost a whisper, she says, “Sorry.”

Eren sits up, groggy, and looks at her figure in the dark beside his bed. She doesn’t elaborate any further, the room filling with stillness again, and he huffs out a small laugh, shaking his head. Some of the ache in his chest that’s been seated there since the morning—and probably the day she came back—dissolves so quickly he barely registers it, but it’s there. And it may not be much, but it’s a start.

Definitely a start.

Chapter Text

The next few days are—contrary to most of Historia’s very low expectations—pretty peaceful in comparison to the absolute disaster that was Sunday. Well, if peaceful can be called Eren and Ymir’s non-stop bickering every goddamn hour of the day. But the absence of fists thrown in each other’s direction is a striking improvement, at least, so Historia will still take it as a win.

Honestly, though, this past week has made paying attention to whatever stupid arguments those two get into the very least of her problems, believe it or not. With the amount of tests her teachers have been throwing at her, it’d come as no surprise when the days had begun to blend like trickling honey, each hour an almost identical, boring routine to the last: wake up, go to school, indulge in her friends’ antics, go home, study until her eyes practically pop out of her skull, sleep like the dead, and repeat. Which is why she’d only realized the end of January had transitioned into February after Armin’s gentle reminder about Mikasa’s birthday in three days’ time. 

But that’s not what she’s currently tossing and turning about at two in the morning. It’s the last thing she could hold any worry for, really, since she’s had her gift meticulously picked out since the beginning of winter break. And it’s not the upcoming nuisance of Valentine's Day, either, or the shitty, corny parts of it—like dealing with all her friends and their weird ass relationships—that make her want to gauge her eyes out with a stick. Those are things she can’t be bothered to care about if she tries.

No. To put it quite simply: Ymir. 

Because Mikasa, as it turns out, is not the only one with a birthday in February. And since the universe has decided to—time and time again—put Historia through so much misery she may as well just die, Ymir’s birthday just so happens to fall exactly a week after Mikasa’s. A week.

It’s a horribly stupid thing to fixate on, she knows. Hell, Ymir would probably laugh in her face if she ever found out Historia was working herself up about this, but she honest to God doesn’t understand why. Whether it be the lack of a present—don’t even get her started on what to buy—or how it’s the first birthday Ymir’s had with her in six years, Historia feels like she should be doing at least something, despite Ymir’s annoying, suspiciously fake indifference to any sort of celebration.

At first, she’d considered throwing her a secret party. They’re easy to plan, the others would agree to it in a heartbeat, and Ymir wouldn’t be able to chicken out of coming at the very last second. But there’s just one teeny, tiny problem; the last time Historia had attempted anything of the sort in fifth grade—blinded by hopeless childhood infatuation and the need to please, especially since it was Ymir—the other girl had somehow managed to figure out every minute detail of her plan an entire month beforehand. God knows how she did, but to say Historia’s heart had been crushed when Ymir walked into the venue, surprise completely devoid of her face, would be a very grave understatement. And even if Historia did tell their friends about her idea, they’re not exactly the reliable types; Connie can’t keep secrets for shit, Sasha would probably blurt out the entire plan on a random Tuesday, and Eren would tease her about it to no end, which means that’s definitely not an option. 

So would a regular party do? Or would Ymir scoff and turn and call her an idiot for even the mere suggestion?

The image of Ymir’s sneering face appears in her mind, making her stomach do an embarrassing twist; she lets out a frustrated groan into her pillow and punches the mattress so hard it quakes. Fuck, she’s losing sleep because of this shit—because of her—and she’s supposed to be the sensible one here, out of everyone. Even Armin’s been sleeping more than her the past few days, and he’s actually medically diagnosed with insomnia. 

That’s when a lightbulb practically dings in her head, and she shoots up, eyes wide, blonde hair sticking up in all possible directions. Armin. No doubt he’s awake right now—it’s only two, and that’s relatively early for him, as upsetting as it is—and he usually has common sense when it comes to these sorts of things, so maybe that’s what she’s needed this entire time: a little advice, along with a smack to the head for being such an idiot.

After almost tripping over all the clothes still scattered across her wooden floor, she gently creaks open her bedroom door and tiptoes over the iffy floorboards in the hallway leading to Armin’s room. His light’s on from where she can see in the crack of his door, confirming her earlier suspicions. She leans in to knock, but the sound of his voice leaking through the wood makes her pause.

“...I know, it’s so fucking stupid.”

Raising a brow, she grips the handle and slowly opens the door a tad. Armin’s pacing around his room, staring at his phone, face scrunched into a pout. His glasses are neatly set on his bedside table, and his hair is tied into a messy ponytail, bangs pushed back by a stretchy, purple headband. The face on his phone screen is too far away to properly make out, but she recognizes a head of familiar black curls.

Historia blinks rapidly, thinking lack of sleep has obscured her vision, but, nope. That’s definitely Marco. Hm.

Armin calling him isn’t exactly… weird, per se, but the two of them haven’t ever been outwardly close. Yeah, they’ll talk when they’re with the group, and Marco will drag Armin with him to indulge the shitty gossip Hitch spews from time to time, but Historia’s never seen them actually hang out on their own before—much less Armin looking so frustrated on his behalf.

“Honestly, you shouldn’t even be endorsing his shit, it’s fucked,” Armin continues. The reply from his phone is muffled, and he nods enthusiastically. “Mhm, mhm. I’m telling you, just block his number and be done with it.”

Historia’s about to retreat back to her room, because her brother’s obviously busy and she’s not going to intrude on whatever the hell this is, but he turns around before she can close the door, eyes widening at the sight of her. 

“I have to go for a quick sec,” he tells Marco hurriedly. “Just do not say anything till I’m back. Seriously.”

He hangs up after that, his entire demeanor shifting from irritated to concerned in the blink of an eye; the change is so rapid Historia doesn’t even register it until he speaks. 

“Why’re you up, Tori?”

Ignoring the question, she eyes his phone. “Was that Marco?”

“What did I tell you about being nosy?” he says, ushering her to come in. She sticks her tongue out at him and closes the door behind her, quiet as possible, but she winces when it gives a low creak.  

“I was just asking,” Historia mutters as she plops herself onto the edge of his bed, falling onto her back. Armin looms over her with a pointed look, crossing his arms. “No need to get so defensive about it.”

“Mhmm.” Her face scrunches when he flicks her forehead. “Also, you didn’t answer my question.”

Historia purses her lips and looks away. She shouldn’t be embarrassed, really; of anyone, Armin should understand her little predicament the most. But she so rarely seeks him out this late in the night. On top of that, her reasonings for bothering him are so fucking stupid she’s sure his brain will melt as soon as she starts talking, and he stopped a phone call just to indulge in her bullshit. Guilt suddenly overtakes her in a rush, and she swallows.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

The mattress dips with Armin’s weight as he lays down opposite her, chuckling; his feet dangle beside her head. “That makes two of us, then.”

She lightly hits his shin. “Nuh uh, you were gossiping with Marco on the phone—”

“I wasn’t gossiping, Tori.”

“Liar.”

Sitting up, he gives her an exasperated look. “Why’re you suddenly so interested in what I do with my free time?”

“‘Cause you’re acting weird about it, that’s why.”

“‘Kay. I’m still not telling you.”

“Ass.”

“Call me an ass all you want, I’m not gonna go around and start spewing my friend’s secrets,” he says, lying back down.

“But I’m your sister!”

“And you’re friends with him, too, so your point is?”

She stays silent, biting the inside of her cheek, and he snickers. “There you go.”

“Shut up.”

“You know I’m right, Tori.”

A retort is on the tip of her tongue, but the ache rapidly building up in the base of her skull is becoming too apparent to ignore, so Historia shuts her eyes, trying to dull it. Just this once, she’ll let Armin have the last word; a token of generosity for dealing with her shit for the umpteenth time, even more so at this ungodly hour of the night. 

Comfortable silence befalls them for a bit—save for the whooshing of Armin’s fan overhead, cool air blasting in her face—before he gently intertwines their hands and gives hers a squeeze. 

“Tell me what’s up,” he says softly. Her brows furrow involuntarily.

“You’re gonna laugh at me.”

“I promise I won’t.”

She opens one eye; the light above sears her vision, but being able to half-glare is worth it. “You’re gonna, though.”

“Not if it’s something that’s keeping you up.”

“But it’s so stupid.”

“Tori,” Armin sighs. “Stupid or not, it’s bothering you, and I’m sure Sunday was a very good example of why keeping in your feelings for long periods of time isn’t a good idea.”

Curse him and his fucking logic; of course he had to bring up that. “I hate you.”

“And I can live with that. Just tell me.”

She opens her mouth, then closes it, not quite sure how to actually verbalize it in a way that makes sense. Armin must sense her frustration, because he sits up again and grabs something she can’t see from his bedside table.

“Sit on the floor,” he says. She lifts her head up slightly, gives him a questioning look.

“Why?”

“Just do it, Tori.”

Reluctantly, she rolls onto her stomach and scoots all the way to the edge of the bed, using her arms as support when she basically slithers onto the floor. Once she’s sitting up, back against the bed frame, she hears Armin shift until he’s right behind her. Then a brush is being carded through the ends of her hair, and all the tension in her shoulders is immediately washed away.

“You’re such a manipulative little shit,” she complains, closing her eyes again. Armin snorts. 

“So are you gonna stop stalling, now?”

“Maybe.” 

“Tori.”

A sigh of defeat leaves her mouth. “Ugh, fine. It’s about Ymir.”

“Knew it,” Armin says smugly, and Historia feels her cheeks heat.

“Literally how?”

“It’s obvious.” She scowls when he pokes her cheek. “Every time you’re in the same room as her, you look like you’re gonna explode.”

“I think that’s an exaggeration, ‘Min.”

“It really isn’t.” A few strands at the top of her head are pulled back, which means he’s either attempting to french braid her hair, or doing it to annoy her. “And I think I also know what it is about her you’re worked up about.”

“Tell me, then, if you’re so fucking all-knowing,” she grumbles. He gives another harsh pull to her hair, and she winces. “‘Min.”

“Sorry,” he says, not sounding sorry at all. She feels his movements shift to that familiar side-to-side sensation of braiding. “Anyways. It’s either because her birthday’s coming up and you don’t know what to do, you want to get her a present but you’re too scared she’ll make fun of you for it, or you’re planning on getting her something and you don’t know what to buy.”

It takes her a second to process what he just said, and when the words finally settle in her brain, she has to do a double-take, turning and staring at him with little care about how the angle makes his fingers painfully dig into her skull. Armin’s always been able to read Historia like an open book, but getting everything so spot on with such little input from her is so disconcerting she can’t even think to feel embarrassed anymore.

“What the hell?”

Armin, being the little shit he is, looks completely unfazed. “So which one is it?”

She blinks. “You just—”

“Stop moving,” he interrupts, forcing her head to turn back. She mutters about a million curses under her breath. “Well?”

Dammit. At least he’d had the decency to air it all out and save her some dignity.

“...All of them.”

He giggles before she even finishes the sentence, and she holds her hand in the air to flip him off. “Shut up. You promised you wouldn’t laugh.”

“I’m not laughing,” he says, voice wobbly in the way she knows he’s trying his hardest not to. She hits his knee. “Ow.”

“Dipshit,” she mutters. Although she still feels like burying herself under the covers and screaming, admitting her little problem was enough to ease at least some of the unbearable swirls in her chest. “I don’t even know how the fuck you guessed all that. Seriously, ‘Min, it’s creepy as hell.”

He brushes out a few tangles in the middle area of her hair before resuming the braid. “Little things. Whenever I mentioned Mikasa’s birthday, you’d start acting all closed-off, and I knew for a fact that couldn’t have been the reason. Then Eren kept calling Ymir a hag every other sentence as soon as February started, so it didn’t take much to put two and two together.”

“You do realize that’s still extremely vague information to go off of, right?”

“Not really,” he shrugs. She tilts her head up, scowls at him, and he nudges her back upright. “Again, it was just painfully obvious.”

She mimics what he said in a high-pitched voice, and he flicks the back of her head, right where her headache is beginning to form. She bites her lip to stop a flurry of curses in his direction, even though the little fucker deserves it.

“Why’s it bothering you so much, though?” His fingers catch on a knot in her hair, and he murmurs apologies when she makes a small sound of pain.  “You’ve never cared that much about getting anybody presents in general.”

The urge to glare at him again is white-hot in her veins. There’s a hint of something she can’t quite place in his voice—like he somehow already knows why she’s acting this way—but she chooses to brush it off; both for her own sake, and also because Armin has a habit of reading too much into things and assuming the absolute worst case scenarios.

Granted, Historia thinks faintly, he is right 95% of the time, but that doesn’t matter. He’s not right about this, whatever he’s thinking. He’s just not.

“It’s not that I care,” she starts. He hums, long and low in that judgy way he always does when he thinks she’s lying. And she isn’t—not technically. “I mean, okay, I do care, but it isn’t ‘cause of anything weird.”

“And what do you mean by ‘weird’?”

“Just— weird. Weird shit.”

Historia can feel his eyes burning holes into the back of her head. “Mhm.”

“You know what I mean,” she scoffs, cheeks flushed for no apparent reason. None at all. 

“Not really, but, whatever.”

“Anyways,” she continues, pretending not to hear him. “What I’m trying to say is that I’m just—confused? If that even makes sense.”

“Confused about what to get her?” 

The words are spilling out of her mouth before she can stop them. “About why the thought of her not liking what I do for her birthday makes me feel like throwing up my whole fucking stomach.”

Fuck.

Her hands clench and unclench in her lap. Armin’s hands pause for a split-second, and he clears his throat. “So… what I’m getting at—and correct me if I’m wrong, please—”

“Uh huh,” she says, wishing she would just disintegrate right then and there. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“—You’re confused because you want her to like your gift, and you don’t know why?”

She squeezes her eyes shut. “Pretty much, yeah.”

“Huh.” He continues to braid her hair, and she senses a newfound carefulness in his grip. “I mean, I guessed that, too, but I didn’t really expect you to just say it.”

“Fuck off,” she mutters, but there’s no bite in her voice. Just the weight of exhaustion. “I told you it was stupid, but you still wanted to hear it. So.”

“And I still stand by the fact that I don’t think it’s stupid,” he tells her, finishing the braid and tying it at the bottom. Historia faces him then, and his expression is nothing less than pure sincerity. Even with all her unnecessary bullshit, he still finds a way to sympathize with her. An embarrassingly large lump forms in her throat, but she swallows it away before he’s able to notice.

“You don’t have to say that just to make me feel better, Armin.”

“Tori,” he says softly. “I’m serious. You’re forgetting you guys didn’t see each other for six years until a few weeks ago. Her presence is still a bit new, right? So it’s normal to be nervous about these sorts of things.”

“I just wanna do something nice,” Historia whispers after a moment of quiet. “As fucking corny as it is.”

“It’s not corny, it’s sweet.”

“That’s even worse.” 

A few giggles leave his mouth, and she glances at the floor, face so hot she thinks the blood underneath is boiling.

“You really are horrible, ‘Min. ”

“And you—”  

She pushes herself onto the bed beside him, grabs the pillow closest to her reach, and hits his face with it. “Tori.”

“You’re making fun of me.”

“I’m not!”

“Sure,” she mutters. “Fuck, I don’t even know why I brought this shit up. She’ll probably just laugh at me the second I even mention anything to do with birthdays, so even thinking about doing anything is pointless.”

Armin frowns. “Why would she laugh?”

“‘Cause I’m being stupid.”

“I really don’t think she’d say that to you, of all people.”

“Are we talking about the same Ymir?”

A heavy sigh blows from his mouth, and he pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezes his eyes shut. “Honest to God, I wish I was as oblivious as you, sometimes.”

She raises a brow at him. “The hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Never mind,” he says quickly. Weird, but Historia’s too tired to question why he’s suddenly being so evasive. “Just try not to worry too much about this, okay? It’s not worth staying up over.”

“Easier said than done,” she says miserably. He reaches down and kisses the top of her head.

“Trust me, I know. But you have to try.”

“I did, I swear. I even took one of those kiddie melatonin gummies Pa used to give you.”

“Those are the shit ones, though.”

“Well, obviously, ‘cause I’m still not asleep,” she grumbles. “I may as well just pull an all-nighter. It’s almost three, anyways.”

“Tori, your eyes are barely open.”

A long yawn clouds her voice before she can stop it with her hand. “They’re very open, actually.”

Armin stays quiet, his eyes darting between Historia and his phone, before he pats his bed. “I don’t mind if you wanna sleep in here.”

She rubs her eyes, fights another incoming yawn. “I thought you and Marco were gonna continue your stupid top-secret conversation.” 

“You—” Armin takes a deep breath, and Historia doesn’t even try to conceal her amused grin. “First of all, it wasn’t top-secret—”

“You refused to tell me anything!”

“Because it’s basic human decency, Tori.”

“Uh huh.”

“I need to sleep, anyways,” he says. “It’s your call. If you genuinely want to stay up, I’ll do it with you.”

“I’m not letting you stay up.”

“So go to sleep.”

She furrows her brows. “You’re such an asshole.”

“Is it a crime to care about your well-being, now?” he asks innocently. The pillow she’d used to hit him earlier is back in her hands, and she makes sure to smack him even harder. “Tori, you’re gonna give me a concussion—”

“Move,” she interrupts, and he does, shooting her a dirty look. She tosses the pillow back into its original place near the end of the bed, and her head hits it in moments. She curls her legs, wraps her arms around her shoulders. Armin peels away his neatly-tucked duvet, drapes it over her, and she lets out a small sigh, nestling closer into the pillow. His bed has always been absurdly warm, but the comforting thrum of heat is even more prominent in her sleepy state. 

The light switch clicks as Armin flips it, covering them in darkness. He scooches into the bed beside her, mirroring her position. “Night, Tori.”

She doesn’t verbally respond, instead just nudges his foot. Silence fills the room after that, but it’s not dauntingly empty like before; more like a warm, welcoming embrace, pulling her further into the realm of dreaming.

Sleep takes her a lot easier this time.

જ⁀➴♡

“Tori.”

She’s woken up by a shake to her shoulders; gentle, but firm. Her eyes blink rapidly, and Mikasa’s blurry face looms over her, dark brows furrowed. Distantly, she can hear what sounds like soft snores coming from the other side of the bed, but that’s pretty unlikely, considering she’s never heard Armin snore in her entire life. It’s probably just his fan being iffy again.

“‘Kasa?” she gurgles, a glob of spit stuck in the back of her throat. Mikasa puts a finger to her mouth, signaling her to be quiet. Without another word, she hoists her out of bed by the underarms and practically drags her to the door. Historia just lets her, too groggy to think clearly; it’s when they make it out into the hallway that she speaks. 

“Wh’time ‘s it?”

“Almost eight,” Mikasa says, voice barely above a whisper. Historia suppresses a groan. “And before you yell at me for waking you up, I’m the one who convinced Pa and Dad to let you sleep a little longer.”

“I wasn’t gonna yell at you,” Historia grumbles, ignoring Mikasa’s pointed look. She glances back at Armin’s bedroom, the door only open to a crack. “Is Armin already downstairs?”

“He’s asleep.”

Historia’s brows raise immediately. “What?”

“You didn’t hear him snoring?”

“That was him?”

Mikasa gives an amused exhale through her nose. “Pa and Dad want him to rest, so he’s staying home, even if he snoozes for just a bit longer.”

Historia’s lips curl into a smile despite how exhausted she is. She can’t even remember the last time Armin had slept for such a long period of time—probably since last year, if she’s being realistic—so even a few hours is an enormous improvement. 

“He’s gonna be so pissed at them once he’s up.”

Mikasa shrugs and tugs her in the direction of her room. “He can be pissed all he wants. It’s for his own good.”

It takes a little longer than usual for Historia to get dressed—her bones weigh her down, and her head is pounding so furiously it almost feels like someone’s constantly knocking on the back of it—but she gets through the horrible process of moving her limbs and wiggling into clothes without fainting, at least.

“You look like you’re dying,” Mikasa comments as they shuffle down the stairs, arm-in-arm. “Seriously, Tori, what time did you sleep last night?”

“Late,” is all she says. Mikasa sighs.

Eren’s already parked outside when they leave the house, leaning against the door to the passenger’s side. He’s running his fingers through his growing side-parts while looking at his phone, tilting his head back and forth, so Historia can only guess he’s attempting to fix it before Armin comes out. But for once, she can’t find it in herself to get bothered by how pathetic he is; instead, her eyes flicker to the backseats. Gabi’s abnormally large iPad is shoved between her and Ymir, the both of them taking turns tapping on whatever game they’re playing. Ymir’s turned away from the window, so Historia can’t really make out her face, but just the sight of her unruly brown hair squished into a beanie is enough to quicken her heart rate. 

She digs her nails into her palm to snap herself out of it. Shit, she really needs to get a fucking grip; all this freaking out over a stupid birthday— her birthday—will probably take fifteen years off her life, at this rate.

Eren looks up at the sound of the front door closing, grinning widely, but it quickly fades away when he realizes Armin’s not with them. Historia almost laughs, but her brain basically sloshes around in her head every time she moves it, so she’ll spare him from her teasing. For now.

“Where’s Armin?” he asks, shoving his phone into his pocket and making his way over. Historia’s eyes are still trained to Ymir, unwavering, who’s now throwing her head back and cackling while Gabi presumably throws a million curses at her. “Also, you guys are late as hell.”

“He’s not coming,” Historia says plainly. Concern instantly takes over every one of Eren’s features.

“What? Is he okay?”

She shrugs. “He slept in for the first time in a year, so we just left him.”

“Oh.” Eren softens at that, which is absolutely disgusting. “But he’s not sick or anything, right?”

“Not that I’m aware of, no.”

“At least there’s that,” he mutters, shuffling over to his side of the car. Historia glances at Ymir again. Since Armin’s not here, she’ll be able to sit up front for the first time in weeks and not have to deal with her teasing, or her rising body temperature, or the tingles she feels all around her skin each time Ymir wraps an arm around her waist. It should be… relieving, shouldn’t it? That she’ll be free of her for a day. 

Missing it would be stupid. And also weird.

Forcefully shaking those thoughts away before she can dwell on them, she piles into the passenger’s seat and fastens her seatbelt. Ymir’s cackling stops for a moment, and Historia can see her eyes widen slightly in the rearview mirror. 

“The hell are you doing?” she asks. Historia tries to ignore the heightened swirls turning in the pit of her stomach.

“Armin’s not coming, so I’m sitting here today.”

Maybe Historia’s seeing things—she did only get four hours of sleep, after all—but Ymir’s brows furrow in that pouty way they do whenever she’s genuinely upset; only for a split-second, though. 

“Oh.”

Historia swallows and forces herself to look back at her. It’s almost as if the rigidness wasn’t there at all, but she’s known Ymir long enough to pick up on when she gets genuinely irritated about something.

She also finds that she doesn’t really like when that irritation is directed at her.

 “Is there a problem?”

“Nope,” Ymir says breezily, crossing her arms. “Do what you want. I don’t care.”

Historia opens her mouth, but Gabi starts the game up again before she can speak. She shares a glance with Mikasa, who just frowns and shrugs, which is definitely not a good sign.

She can’t stew about it for long, though, because she sees Eren’s hand inching toward the aux in the corner of her eye, and if she lets him blast his shitty music, then her already horrible day will just get even fucking worse.

“Hey,” he gasps when she quickly plugs her phone in before him. She shoots him a cheeky grin and starts scrolling through all her playlists. “That’s not fair!”

“I got there first, so.”

“We’re literally in my car?”

“Your mom’s car, actually.”

“Still?”

“Thanks, Blondie,” Ymir says. Historia bristles at the sound of her voice, then holds a hand out for her to smack, heart fluttering when their skin makes contact. Ymir gives one of her signature grins, and it’s as if all the tension surrounding them earlier hadn’t even existed at all.

“I miss Armin,” Eren says miserably, beginning to back out of his makeshift parking spot with a pout. Historia gags and drowns out the rest of his complaints by turning the volume up.

The traffic is practically non-existent today, so they get to school fairly quickly. The drive is still weird, though; Historia’s become so used to having Ymir right under her that she feels a lot colder than usual, the leather seat icy to the touch each time she shifts her position. The biting air that greets her outside after Eren parks isn't much better, but Ymir’s by her side as soon as she’s out of the car, the barest brush of their shoulders sending tingles all the way to Historia’s fingertips.

“Christ,” Ymir mutters, nodding at Eren, who looks so downright miserable Historia just outwardly laughs. “He’s acting like Armin fucking died.”

“Idiot,” Historia muses. Ymir then bumps their shoulders together, and heat simmers beneath her cheeks. 

“And you’re not exactly Miss ‘Sunshine and Rainbows’, either. What’s up with you?”

The blush on Historia’s face deepens. Just act normal. “‘Sunshine and Rainbows?’”

“You suck at deflecting,” Ymir says bluntly. Historia curses internally; why does she always choose the most perceptive people to hang around with? As if dealing with Armin and his stupid predictions wasn’t already irritating enough. Ymir’s ability to read her just as accurately is probably ten times worse.

“I’m not deflecting anything,” Historia says coolly, shoving her hands in her pockets. Ymir’s eyes flatten to slits. “And everything’s fine. So.”

“You’ve been acting weird this whole week, actually.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Are the two of you done?” Eren suddenly asks, crossing his arms, his expression surly. For probably the first time since meeting him, Historia’s glad he’s chosen to open his mouth and spew some type of his usual nonsense, because Ymir’s growing visibly impatient with her dumb act, and Historia really doesn’t want to accidentally blurt out everything like she did with Armin last night. She looks back at the car, noticing Mikasa has seemingly disappeared, but she has a feeling she’s probably just gone off to find Sasha. 

“Nobody asked you to be here,” Ymir tells him. 

“And nobody asked you to stay alive, but here we are.”

Ymir leans forward and gives a look that Historia knows means she’s about to say something that’ll get Eren so pissed off they’ll have a repeat of Sunday, so she rams into her side before she gets the chance, grinning at the way Ymir yelps and shoots her a dirty look.

“The fuck is wrong with you?”

“That was for being stupid,” Historia says smugly. Eren groans and smacks his forehead.

“This is gonna be the longest day of my life.”

He leaves them as soon as they enter the school building, claiming he’s going to ‘study’ before the bell rings, which is just code for him finding a hiding spot to skip class in—said spots being either the last stall in the boys’ bathroom or the run-down parking lot that nobody uses behind the school. Usually, Historia would join him, but she gets the gist that he’s ditching just to be rid of them—and also to sulk—so she chooses to leave him be. Besides, she and Ymir have English together first, and she can admit she’d much rather be there instead.

But just because finals season is coming up, and she can’t afford to stack up her absences right now. Yeah.

“I swear if she doesn’t give us the study guide today,” Historia grumbles as they take their seats in the very back of the class. The bell’s just rung, and more and more people are piling in; including Ms. Ral, who rushes into the room with a cup of coffee and her purse half-open. Ymir chuckles, crosses her arms atop her desk, and rests her cheek on them. Her beanie shifts awkwardly, a few short brown strands falling onto her face. Historia fights the stupid urge to brush them away and straighten the beanie out. 

“Blondie, the final is in two months.”

Historia coughs. “There’s nothing wrong with being prepared.”

“Yeah, to an extent.”

“I know people who started studying in December.”

“Okay, that’s just insane.”

“Knowing most of our teachers, they probably had the right idea,” Historia mutters. Ms. Ral closes the door, the echo of it shutting most of the class up, but Ymir still snickers at her even though everyone can hear.

“Right. So,” Ms. Ral starts, a little out of breath. She clears her throat and tries to stand up straighter, but it’s a little funny with how red her cheeks are. “Before we start, I’d like to talk to you all about the next test we have coming up.”

Historia bites back a groan. Just fucking great. There’s another thing she has to worry about before finals, as if the millions of other work she has to do on a daily basis isn’t enough in itself. Ymir curses under her breath and hides her face completely.

Ms. Ral obviously notices the disdain on all their faces, because she gives a small smile, something pretty rare for her this early in the day. “I know how it sounds, but trust me, it really isn’t as bad as it seems. All you need to do is create a presentation on a figure in literature of your choice and hand it in by the end of next month.”

Oh. Historia purses her lips. Well, at least she doesn’t have to study for anything. She could finish that in less than an hour, tops, and she could do it on the day before it was due. Simple. Easy. Nothing to worry about.

“And you’ll be doing it with a partner.”

Historia perks up. The class immediately bursts into frenzied whispers, and Ms. Ral clears her throat, cutting most of them off. “I’ll let you guys pick this time, but please don’t make me regret it. Just let me know who you’re working with by the end of class, and also the person of your choosing.”

Once she sits at her desk, rubbing her forehead and grimacing as if she’s wondering what possessed her to be a teacher, chairs begin to screech against the floor as people move around the room to their friends. Historia glances at Ymir, but she finds the other girl already looking at her, grinning. The sight sends a million butterflies into the pit of her stomach.

“Well, Blondie?” Ymir asks innocently, nudging her foot. Historia pretends to act indifferent, resting her chin on the palm of her hand and blowing a stray strand of hair away from her face. 

“Well what?”

Ymir wrinkles her nose. “Oh my God, you’re so annoying.”

“Me asking you to clarify something isn’t annoying.”

“It is when you know what I’m asking you.”

“And what is that?” Historia asks, batting her lashes. It’s probably a trick of the light blasting through the window, but she thinks she sees Ymir’s cheeks pinken a little. 

“Figure it out.”

“No.”

“Hm.” Ymir turns away. “I guess I don’t need you as my partner, then,”

Historia knows she’s just bluffing, but panic still tugs at her stomach like a fish hook. “Hey, wait, I never said that.”

A smirk is on Ymir’s face when she faces her again, and Historia wants to smack it away. And also brush the pad of her thumb against her bottom lip, just to feel it. The thought startles her so badly she almost falls off her chair, but the incoming husk of Ymir’s voice brings her back to reality.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Fuck you,” Historia says, voice a little hoarse. If Ymir notices, she doesn’t show, thank God. “I’m gonna regret this so bad.”

“No you won’t,” Ymir says gleefully, pushing their desks together. Historia swallows, eyes training to her shaky hands.

“As long as you don’t make me do all the work—”

“I won’t.” Historia gives her a pointed look, and she holds her hands up. “Promise.”

“Fine,” Historia sighs. “So, instead of being an ass, can you try to think of anyone to do?” Ymir opens her mouth, but she cuts her off with, “And don’t say Shakespeare.”

“Oh, come on. He’s, like, the only poet I know.”

“Yeah, because everyone knows him, and everyone’s gonna try and go for him because of how easy it is. It’s too basic.” 

“You’re too basic,” Ymir grumbles. 

“Is he seriously the only poet you know?”

“Well, yeah. You know I hate English.”

Historia gives a tiny smile. “You hate everything.”

“That’s Eren, actually.”

“We could do Homer, but that’s also kind of basic,” Historia continues, ignoring her. “And it doesn’t have to be a poet. Playwrights are also an option, as far as I’m concerned.”

“The fuck is a playwright?”

Historia blinks. “Please tell me you’re not serious.”

“I am.”

“Yeah, we’re failing,” Historia says, deadpan. Ymir snorts.

“Not everyone’s an English nerd, Blondie.”

Historia feels her face crank up to an embarrassingly high temperature. “Alright, first of all, do not call me an English nerd—”

“But you are.”

“I’m not!”

“You literally just started spewing all this shit—”

“And you forget who my brother is,” Historia retorts. “Armin’s ranted to me about books since the day he learned how to talk. At some point, you start to pick things up.”

“Only if you’re paying attention.”

“That’s not the point right now,” Historia says, a little too loudly. Ymir only chuckles. “There has to be at least one person that’s unknown enough that we can pick, but not so unknown that we can’t find anything about them.”

“Again, I’m not exactly the person you should be asking for this,” Ymir tells her. Historia glares.

“Trust me, I know.”

“So think of something, and I’ll research it. Easy peasy.”

“Just give me a second,” Historia mutters, pinching the bridge of her nose. A part of her wishes Armin had woken up and gone to school with them—maybe then she could sneak out her phone and text him for some suggestions. But he’d probably just name someone so specific and underground there’ll only be a single passage about them in some seventy-year-old textbook, being the nerd he is. And it’s not like she just googles information about poets in her free time—

Wait. Her eyes widen slightly. There is one person she’d taken a particular interest in during fifth grade. More specifically, when she came crying to Armin about her realized feelings towards a certain someone, and he’d directed her to a certain poet in hopes that reading her work would “enlighten her”, or some shit. Looking back, she hadn’t appreciated that little tip enough, but now that she’s with Ymir…

But how would she react? Historia takes a tiny peek at the other girl, who’s still looking at her expectantly. Ymir had always been pretty expressive about her sexuality before—hell, not even two days after Historia had met her formally, she’d declared to all their friends that she would rather kill herself than marry a boy after Reiner had (stupidly) teased her about working with one of the guys in her class. Historia’s 99% sure that hasn’t changed now—most of Ymir hasn’t changed at all, honestly—but she’s never outwardly come out to her or anything. She’s not even sure Ymir will know who she’s talking about, but on the off-chance that she does, will she think Historia’s trying to… flirt with her, or something? 

The thought makes Historia’s head spin, and she gulps, praying her face isn’t too red. Now she’s just overthinking this way too much—Ymir’s pretty smart, yeah, but Historia’s seen girls make googly eyes at her at least fifteen times during the last three weeks she’s been here, and she hasn’t even batted an eye towards any of them, so maybe she’s just really oblivious when it comes to that stuff.

And Historia may or may not be secretly glad for it, but that’s not the point right now.

“I might know someone,” she says. Ymir raises a brow.

“And…?”

Historia clears her throat. Tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Have you ever, uh, heard of Sappho?”

Ymir blinks. “The one who’s famous for writing about women, or whatever?”

Historia blushes. “Not exactly, but, yeah. Kind of.”

“She’s not unknown, though. Even I know who she is.”

“But that’s a given,” Historia mutters, wanting to smack herself senseless for ever thinking such a suggestion would go unnoticed. Ymir’s brows raise.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Historia says quickly, wishing the ground would just swallow her up. Fuck, she thinks she’s sweating buckets from how hot she is. “We don’t even have to do her. It’s fine. There’s a million other—”

“I never said I didn’t want to, Blondie,” Ymir interrupts, an amused look on her face. “You’re the one freaking out.”

“I’m not— freaking out.”

“Your face is beet red right now.”

“Just shut up,” Historia says sharply, running a hand through her hair as Ymir laughs. “So we’re picking her, then?”

“If you want to, then yeah.”

“Great.” Historia stands, her knees a little wobbly, and Ymir places a hand on her forearm. The touch is so abrupt and searing she almost topples over, trying to take even breaths to steady herself. “What?”

“Where the hell are you going now?”

“To tell Ms. Ral our topic.”

“I’ll do it,” Ymir says, tugging her back down. “That way you won’t explode a second time.”

“I didn’t—” Historia starts, but Ymir’s already striding over to her desk, a small smile on her face. Asshole. Even when she’s charming, she still manages to be so fucking irritable.

“Looks like we’re official,” Ymir says when she gets back, beginning to pack her bag even though there’s still five minutes of class left. Historia puts on a grimace, though the words “we” and “official” send such a rush through her she has to force herself not to squirm. 

Pull yourself together, idiot, she thinks hopelessly. Really, a stupid birthday shouldn’t be causing this much of a ruckus for her; it’s just Ymir. Just Ymir and her stupid face and stupidly endearing freckles and voice—and face. Historia’s just stressed from all the work, so it’s obscuring her logic. It’s fine.

It’s all fine.

“Just great,” Historia says in a faux-sweet voice. “I’ll be stuck with you for a month. Exactly what I need.”

“You’re already stuck with me, Blondie,” Ymir grins. Historia’s heart may or may not skip a beat. 

“Sure, Ymir,” Historia murmurs. Ymir doesn’t say anything else, and Historia refuses to look up; she will not sacrifice anymore of her dignity by letting Ymir see her so flustered.

“Hey,” Ymir says quietly, breaking the unusual silence between them. Historia’s resolve crumbles for a moment, eyes flickering up to the other girl’s face. It’s… softer, than usual. More sincere.

“Hm?”

Ymir coughs. “How do you know Sappho?”

Historia freezes for a split second. “I told you, my brother—”

“I’m pretty sure Armin isn’t exactly the type to read her poems,” Ymir interrupts. Historia looks at her fully, now, brows raised.

“What are you trying to imply?”

“I’m not implying anything,” Ymir says lightly. Historia notices her cheeks are slightly flushed. “Just asking.”

Historia swallows. Takes a small intake of breath. “She’s… relatable.”

“How so?” Ymir whispers. Historia gives a small smile.

“I think you of all people should understand, Ymir.”

The bell rings then, and Historia stands, satisfaction pooling in her belly at the sight of Ymir so outwardly flustered; her mouth slightly parted, eyes widened, cheeks red. Good, she thinks. Let me be the one to embarrass you, now.

“We’ll be late for pre-cal if you keep gawking,” Historia says, a hint of amusement in her voice. Ymir visibly snaps herself out of it, closing her mouth and gulping. “I’m sure Mr. Olulo would love to give you detention again.”

“He gave you detention, too,” Ymir retorts, grabbing her bag and slinging it over her shoulder. “And I wasn’t gawking.”

“Mhm,” Historia chuckles, skipping out the door. Ymir scoffs behind her.

જ⁀➴♡

Eren’s pretty sure his leg is going to fall off from how much he’s bouncing it, but, honestly, he really could give less of a shit right now. Even if there’s a white chocolate bar on the verge of falling off his lap, and he’s behind the wheel actively driving a car.

“Can you stop doing that while you’re driving?” Historia hisses. Like this morning, she’s taken the liberty of sitting in front today—in Armin’s spot—which makes his already sour mood all the more hard to keep in check. 

“We’re gonna have another parking lot incident,” Historia continues even after he ignores her. Of course, Gabi suddenly perks up, choosing now to listen in on their conversation instead of playing that stupid game on her iPad with Ymir. Her and her fucking antenna ears whenever it comes to him getting in trouble. At least his mother will already know about the whole thing before she tattles on him.

“What parking lot incident?” she asks. 

“Yeah, Eren, what parking lot incident?” Ymir joins in, using that stupid whiny voice she knows gets on his nerves. 

“It’s none of your business,” he retorts. 

“Well—”

“Shut up, for God’s sake.”

“You tell me, then,” Ymir says, poking the back of Historia’s head through the crack in the seat right behind her neck. She visibly blushes, and he groans, making sure she hears it. Seriously, how she’d even found a way to hold any sort of affection for Ymir—who, in his opinion, is completely unlovable —is beyond him. With how much she berates him for his taste, you’d think she’d harbor some self respect, but, alas, Eren’s proved to be wrong yet again. At least he knows he’s a million times smarter than her when it comes to the love department.

Luckily for him, his house is just in view, so he’s able to pull up in front of the sidewalk before they start one of their many weird back-and-forths—which is literally just them flirting with each other under the guise of arguing.

“Bye, Blondie,” Ymir tells her before slithering out of the car, pulling Gabi with her. Historia doesn’t even respond, the idiot, just goes even redder and waves so meekly—something so comically unlike her—it makes Eren snort. Her head whips around at him, a glare on her face.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he says cheekily. A sudden tap vibrates against his window, and Ymir is on the other side of the glass, looking down at him with her mouth pinched at the corners.

“Don’t forget to bring the candy for tonight,” she says once he rolls down the window. That’s been a fairly new development since Sunday, and an extremely annoying one. As hush-hush as they’d been after their fight, his mother—being as hawk-eyed as she is—had obviously noticed the continued quips and sarcastic comments thrown between them, so she’d decided to implement what she liked to call “family movie nights.” In other words, torturing Eren and Ymir by making them sit beside each other on the couch for two hours straight in an attempt to bond over Gabi’s frankly concerning action films. Today, he’s the one in charge of getting snacks, so he’d used the first two blocks of school to drive over to the grocery store and get ten bags worth, because Gabi always finishes at least five and whines about not having enough afterwards. 

And also because those happen to be his only classes with Armin, and he’s the sole reason Eren willingly goes to school these days. But that’s irrelevant. Kind of.

“I already got them, idiot,” he says. She furrows her brows.

“Please don’t tell me you put the bags in the trunk.”

“Where the fuck am I gonna put them, then?”

“You could’ve just brought them home.”

He rolls his eyes. “Mom would’ve killed me for skipping. Also, it’s freezing outside. They’re not gonna melt.”

“But you always overheat the car, ‘cause you’re an idiot.”

“Kill yourself,” he says flatly, pulling the window back up. She blows a raspberry, flips him off, then drags Gabi inside, whose eyes are glued back to her iPad. Once the door’s closed, Eren starts backing out and drives in the direction of Historia’s place. His leg notably bounces even quicker than before.

“Eren, for the love of God, stop,” Historia scolds. 

“I can’t help fucking help it, okay? Lay off me a bit.”

She gives him a look. “If this is about seeing my brother—”

“It’s not.”

“Then why’s your face so red?” she asks haughtily. He takes one hand off the wheel to swat her head, and she gasps. “You fucking—”

“Should I warn him?” Mikasa asks from the back. Historia faces her with a grimace. 

“I think that might make it worse, honestly.”

“But he’ll probably collapse if we don’t.”

“Wait, warn who?” Eren asks, but the two of them act like he hasn’t even said anything at all.

“Tell him, then,” Historia sighs. Mikasa begins to tap away on her phone.

Eren flicks the side of Historia’s head. “Tori, who’re you warning?” 

“Nobody.”

“Tell meeee.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

Eren’s still restless by the time they get to the front door, constantly patting his back-pockets to make sure he hasn’t forgotten the chocolate bar in the car. Historia’s disgusted look doesn’t waver, either, her piercing eyes locked onto him as they enter the house, making him shudder. God, he hates when she does that; she can be so fucking terrifying without even trying, especially when it comes to Armin. He still remembers the time she’d made some guy piss his pants in the sixth grade for even looking at him wrong—granted, he’d deserved it, but Eren would never do something like that, so her attempts at trying to scare him off are useless. Effective, yes, but also useless.

“We’re home!” Mikasa shouts, shrugging off her bag near the front door. Eren hears a crash come from the kitchen, a string of curses, and then the sound of footsteps thundering against the floor. Armin comes out a moment later, cheeks flushed, hair in a messy ponytail as if he’d just put it up. Even now, he’s breathtakingly beautiful; Eren feels his chest warm in instants.

“Sorry,” Armin pants, smoothing away some of the bangs in his face. Historia looks like she’d rather die than be here right now; Mikasa’s giving Armin a look Eren can’t quite decipher, which freaks him out a bit. Armin then clears his throat. “Hi, Eren.”

“What the hell were you doing in there?” Historia asks before Eren has the chance to respond. He resists the urge to glare at her; she’d definitely done that on purpose.

“Well, I was trying to make a snack, but I left one of the pans too close to the edge of the counter, so it fell when I, uh, tried running over here,” he says, flushing deeper. “Anyways, it doesn’t matter.”

“Uh huh,” Historia says, deadpan. Mikasa clears her throat, nudges Historia’s arm. 

“There’s something I forgot to tell you,” she says, grabbing her hand and tugging her in the direction of the stairs. Historia glances at Armin, then Eren, then back at her, brows furrowing.

“But—”

“It’s important,” Mikasa continues quickly, hauling her up before she can protest. Giving her a million thanks in his head, Eren turns to Armin again, those familiar, fluttery nerves he always gets around him suddenly spiking throughout his entire body.

“Tori told me you slept in,” he says. Armin makes a face, and oh, Eren wants to pinch his cheeks and shake him so fucking badly.

“Unfortunately. She should’ve woken me up,” he grumbles, gesturing for Eren to follow him into the kitchen. A pan is in the sink, so Eren guesses it’s the one that fell. “I bet you Mr. Olulo’s sprung a test on us again tomorrow, and I won’t even have time to study for it.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t know, seeing as I wasn’t there,” Eren whistles, joining Armin at the kitchen island. It’s then he realizes that this is the first time they’ve been properly alone since he caught Armin awake two weeks ago, and the thought makes his pulse rise.

Armin blinks. “What do you mean, you weren’t there?”

“I skipped the first two blocks,” Eren says sheepishly. Armin snorts, grabs a bowl with brown-looking dough inside, and begins kneading at it.

“Of course you did.”

“Listen, I had to get candy for my sister, okay?” Eren mutters, face burning. “And it would’ve been boring otherwise.”

“Math’s boring in general, though.”

“You make it less boring,” Eren says, the words coming out of him before he can stop himself. Armin pauses, looks at him with a small smile, and panic overtakes him in a rush. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck—

“That’s sweet, truly, but you still shouldn’t be skipping class, Eren,” Armin says, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms. Eren gulps and tries not to stare too obviously. “Mr. Olulo might actually try to kill you one of these days.”

“All he’d be able to do is spit at me,” Eren says, and Armin laughs. “I’m serious! The guy’s like a fucking Llama—”

“A Llama?”

“Yeah. Specifically the one in that dumb video who peeks into the car and, like, spits on the guy’s food.”

“Oh my God,” Armin giggles, lightly hitting Eren’s shoulder. He doesn’t expect the sudden contact at all, so blood immediately rushes into his head as a result, making him dizzy. “Shit, I’m never gonna look at him the same, now.”

“He deserves it,” Eren grins, earning another snicker from Armin. He peers over his shoulder. “What’re you making?”

“Cookies,” Armin says, resuming his earlier movements. “If you could even call it that. Pa forgot to get chocolate chips on his last grocery run, so they’re just gonna be lumps of cooked dough.”

It’s then that Eren remembers the bar of white chocolate he has in his hand, and he holds it out to Armin, clearing his throat. Armin glances down at it, then at him, his face morphing into confusion.

“Wha—”

“I got it for you,” Eren blurts out, trying not to wince at how squeaky his voice sounds. Armin’s eyes widen a little. “Uh, at the grocery store. I thought it’d make you feel better since you’re at home. So.”

Eren thinks he’s probably just hallucinating, or something, but Armin’s cheeks redden. Their hands slightly graze each other as he takes the chocolate from him, shocking Eren’s fingertips like a small burst of lightning. 

“How’d you know I like white chocolate?”

“You mentioned it last Halloween,” Eren says, remembering the day clearly. Gabi had specifically requested for Armin to come with them on their annual trick-or-treating session, so Eren had invited Historia and Mikasa, too, because as much as he’d wanted to hangout with Armin alone, Historia would’ve asked him a thousand questions, and at the time, he was a million percent sure she’d beat him up if he ever admitted he wanted to take Armin on a date. That hasn’t changed, obviously, but at least he has her permission to actually ask him now.

He’d still had fun regardless. Gabi had stuck to Armin the entire time, either clinging onto his leg or riding on his shoulders, so Eren got to talk to him all night with the excuse of making sure she didn’t do anything stupid. They’d gotten through most of the neighborhood before trading candy back at his place at around midnight; Gabi, as the designated little shit of the group, had taken all of Eren’s orange ones—mind you, she doesn’t even like orange, but it’s his favorite, so she’d done it just to spite him—leaving him with a bunch of white chocolate and, arguably the worst, blueberry flavored shit. He’d glanced at Armin’s bag, noticing more than half of it was filled to the brim with his and Historia’s newly added white chocolate bars. When he’d asked why, Armin said it was his favorite, so Eren had given him all the ones he had left. 

Since then, he’s kept that little fact tucked away in the back of his mind, just in case he’ll ever need it; corny as it may be, he wants to be able to buy Armin nice things, like chocolates and flowers, if they ever do get together. It’s the least he deserves.

“You’re so—” Armin cuts himself off and looks away. “Thank you, Eren. You didn’t even have to get me anything.”

“Don’t start with that shit,” Eren murmurs, bumping their shoulders together. Armin gives him an amused grin. “Here, I’ll cut it for you. Mom taught me the best way to do it so you get those really gooey centers.”

“How?” Armin asks, handing him a knife.

“Like this.” He angles the knife slightly upwards, just like she’d shown him, and starts cutting the bar up in even, mildly thick strands. “It’s not much, but she also says it’s better to use actual chocolate bars than chocolate chips.”

“Who knew you were so good at baking?” Armin teases. Red floods into Eren’s cheeks.

“That’s just ‘cause my mom always makes me help her in the kitchen. I wouldn’t give a shit about it otherwise.”

“You really should.” Eren dumps the newly-cut chocolate into the bowl. “That looks so fucking good.”

“It’s just dough, ‘Min,” Eren laughs, swatting away Armin’s hand when he tries to take a piece. “Hey. You’re gonna give yourself salmonella.”

“It’s just one,” Armin complains. Without thinking, Eren takes the smallest pieces of chocolate and dough he can and forms a ball in his hand, holding it up to Armin’s mouth.

“Here,” he says, like an absolute idiot. Armin blinks, and Eren has half a mind to pull back his hand and apologize profusely, before Armin leans forward and takes the dough into his mouth, lips lightly brushing the pads of Eren’s fingers. He’s pretty sure his brain almost short-circuits— hell, he doesn’t even know how he’s still standing upright and not fainting onto the floor; his face feels so scorched he thinks it’s caught fire. Armin, however, doesn’t seem fazed at all, chewing on the bite as if he hadn’t just completely shifted the axis of Eren’s entire existence with one swift, simple movement.

“Holy fuck,” he hisses, his eyes practically shining. Eren’s still a bit dazed, blinking rapidly. “Oh my God, I’m never using chocolate chips ever again. Scratch that, I’m never using any chocolate other than white for cookies ever again.”

“It’s good?” Eren asks, his voice jumping an octave. Armin nods so fast his head almost looks blurry, but Eren thinks that’s just because he’s still trying to process whatever the hell just happened.

“You’re a genius,” Armin tells him. “Like, seriously, I could kiss you right now.”

Both of them freeze. Armin goes so red Eren’s surprised he doesn’t explode. He probably doesn’t look any better, either—his eyes are trained to Armin’s mouth, breaths coming in short. Even though he’d said it as a joke, Eren… wants to. Well, he’s always wanted to, but he hadn’t registered how fierce the urge was to do so until the words were coming out of Armin’s mouth.

“Uh,” Eren says stupidly, the lack of space between them becoming more and more apparent with every second. Their shoulders barely brush; he’s close enough that he can see the tiny, dotted freckles on Armin’s nose. So pretty.

Armin visibly swallows, throat bobbing. “Sorry. I didn’t—just forget I said that.”

Eren snaps himself out of it, remembering where exactly he is—in Historia’s kitchen, while she’s quite literally upstairs— and gives a weak attempt at a laugh. Tries not to look too outwardly hurt at Armin’s rejection. It was a joke, after all. It didn’t mean anything, so taking it literally was a dumb move on his part.

But I still want to, he thinks desperately. More than anything else.

“Don’t apologize,” he forces out, stepping away and creating distance between them. Armin stares at the new space in a way Eren doesn’t quite understand—he’s not even sure he could, honestly, not with the way his mind is currently racing at a hundred miles per minute. “It’s fine. Really, ‘Min.”

Armin frowns, opens his mouth as if to say something else, but Eren’s phone decides this is the perfect timing to ring. Eren curses under his breath, fishes the thing out along with a million apologies. When he sees who’s calling him, white hot anger flashes through his chest, but he makes himself keep his cool, because Armin seeing him get so worked up over something dumb will just make all this even worse than it already is.

“Ymir,” he says lowly, putting the phone to his ear. “So help me God, if you’re not fucking dying right now—”

“Where the hell are you? It’s been thirty minutes.”

He takes a few deep breaths, turning away from Armin so he doesn’t see the pinched expression on his face. “I told you in the car, I’m at Tori’s for a bit—”

“‘A bit’ doesn’t mean thirty minutes, dumbass.” He hears Gabi shouting something in the background, and a scowl is clear in Ymir’s voice when she speaks again. “You better be on the way. Seriously.”

“Fine.” He hangs up on her before she can respond, shooting Armin an apologetic look. “Sorry. Mom’s making us do this new thing where we all watch some shitty movie together every night, like that’ll make Ymir just suddenly stop being an asshole.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Armin says lightly, shoulders notably more rigid than they were before. “I have to study for pre-cal, anyways. So.”

Eren groans. “Aw, shit, I forgot about that. Fuck, I swear Mr. Olulo’s gonna be the reason they keep me for another year. I didn’t even start that stupid homework packet he gave us after break.”

Armin looks at him for a moment, like he’s hesitating, and before Eren can ask why, he says, “I don’t mind tutoring you.”

Eren blinks. “...Tutoring me?”

“Yeah. I mean, I already finished it, and the others ask me for study tips all the time, and Mikasa always makes me explain things she doesn’t understand, and—” He clears his throat, looks away. “Look, you don’t have to—”

“No! No, I want to,” Eren says quickly, relishing in the tiny smile that forms on Armin’s face. “A lot. I’d like that a lot.”

“Okay,” Armin says, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “I could give you my number, if you want? So we can coordinate.”

“Oh.” Eren’s mouth goes dry, the heat in his face multiplying like the blast of a thousand suns. Oh.  

His number. As in, Armin’s number, in his phone, casually sitting there for him to press and text whenever he wants. 

Oh my fucking God.

“Uh, yeah, totally,” Eren squeaks, handing Armin his phone. Fuck, he’s going to combust, or explode, or scream. All three at once wouldn’t even be considerable, a worthy comparison to how fucking elated he feels right now.

He wants to give me his number, Eren thinks giddily as Armin starts typing it into his contacts. He wants to give me his number.

“There you go,” Armin says, so fucking casually as if he didn’t just give Eren his number. “I don’t know why you didn’t have it beforehand, but whatever.”

Because your twin sister is hellbent on making my life ten times harder at any chance she gets. He obviously doesn’t say that, though, and he can’t even be mad, because Armin gave him his number. His fucking number.

“Better late than never, I guess,” he says. Armin grins. “So, I’ll—uh, I’ll text you?”

“I’ll be waiting,” Armin says. Eren swallows harshly, runs a hand through his hair.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” He takes a step backwards, almost tripping over the small lines separating the kitchen tiles, but he reacts fast enough to balance himself against his heels, his hand grasping the door frame for support. “Bye.”

“Bye, Eren,” Armin muses. Eren gives him a mock salute— for fuck’s sake, every time he’s around Armin, it’s like all common sense flies out the window—and practically bolts out of there, not even bothering to go upstairs and say goodbye to the others. It doesn’t matter, though—nothing else does, really, because he has Armin’s number. He could crash and die on the way back to his house, and he’d still be fucking ecstatic.

Surprisingly, he does not, in fact, crash on the way back, despite the adrenaline rushing through every crack and crevice of his veins. Hell, his mood doesn’t even dampen when he sees Ymir’s stupid face in the living room, and that’s arguably the first of such an occurrence since she’s gotten back.

She raises a brow at him. Gabi immediately takes the bags of candy he’d gotten from his hands and races to the couch, ripping two of them open at once and shoving them into her mouth despite Carla’s protests from the kitchen. 

“Why do you look so…” Ymir narrows her eyes. “Smiley?”

“No reason,” he says briskly, rushing upstairs to change into his pajamas. He gives himself ten minutes of agonized waiting before grabbing his phone, pressing Armin’s contact, and typing so quickly his knuckles ache.

Eren 

hi min

He sets it down beside him, breathing heavily. It dings a second later, and it’s safe to say his heart quite literally soars in his chest.

Armin <3 (just now, 5:15 p.m.)

You’re such a dork

Hi :)

Eren

:)

Chapter Text

Throughout his (nearly) eighteen years of life, Eren has had many moments of contemplation, as one usually does when living in such conditions as he; more specifically, sharing a house with Ymir and Gabi and dealing with their antics almost every hour of the day. And while he may not be much better than them in that department—screaming matches are his speciality, after all—he likes to think he’s somewhat reasonable when it comes to getting frustrated over their unnecessary shit, like Gabi bonking her iPad over his head a thousand times this morning for no apparent reason, or Ymir yet again hogging the space heater in their living room and claiming he’s being “stingy” whenever he complains about being cold as a result.

However, today’s annual contemplation of his life decisions isn’t because of his shitty, insufferable cousin. Actually, that’s a lie—Ymir’s the root of all his problems—but this time, she isn’t the one dragging his sanity all the way to the deepest pits of hell and keeping it there every time she opens her mouth. It more so has to do with the fact that his ex-best-friend—yes, ex, he’s unfriending Historia over this, seriously—has decided to not only drag him to the mall on this freezing Saturday morning to buy Ymir a gift, but has also made him drag his sister along, too, because his parents are out running errands all day, and Ymir conveniently can’t watch over her with the excuse that she’d happened to form a headache as soon as Eren had asked. 

Piece of shit, he thinks as Historia shuffles through yet another rack of clothes. Why is he even here? She could’ve very well just done this on her own; even though she may not have explicitly stated her reasons for shopping so last minute, Eren isn’t as oblivious as she thinks he is, and it’s not like he gives a shit about Ymir’s birthday, either. The only present she’s getting from him is a face-full of cake as soon as she blows out her candles—and even then, that’s one hell of a stretch.

“Would you wear this?” Historia asks for the millionth time today, holding up a T-shirt so far from his style he’d barf before even considering looking in its direction. But that seems to be her strategy, apparently; whatever he says no to, she’ll get for Ymir, because she knows both of them would rather die than ever willingly wear something the other would like. 

“Yup,” he says, just barely concealing an amused grin. She rolls her eyes, hangs up the shirt again, then grabs his sleeve and tugs him to the other end of the store. Gabi’s sitting in the corner near the cashier, playing the game she and Ymir have been obsessed with recently on her iPad, so Eren doesn’t bother to call her over.

“I’m gonna sue this stupid ass store,” Historia grumbles, harshly pushing away different jeans and hoodies. “The whole mall, actually. How the hell do they not have anything?”

“Depends on what you’re trying to get,” he whistles, watching her face for any contortions. One of her biggest tells for lying is twitching the corner of her left eye, and if she does that, he’ll be able to call her out with no problem. But, to his dismay, her expression stays put in its standard, frustrated state: brows furrowed, lips pursed, and gaze absolutely deadly to anyone who dares venture into its vicinity.

“I’m just looking,” she says lightly. Her hand snags at another piece of clothing, and she pulls down a pair of ripped jeans Eren knows Ymir would literally kill herself for. “What about these?”

He pretends to inspect them thoroughly, grabbing the waistband and holding the jeans to his legs. “I mean, they’re a little big, but if I had a belt—”

“Fuck you,” she hisses, snatching them back. Curses in his direction are continuously muttered under her breath as she hangs the jeans up again, pushing through more and more to the point where one of them slips off its hanger and falls onto her head. Eren snorts, takes out his phone, and snaps a picture; she’s so distracted she doesn’t even register the clicking sound of his camera.

“Tori,” he tries. No answer. “Tori.”

“Shut up,” she says absently, now examining the socks placed on the table behind them, for some odd fucking reason. Eren just shakes his head in defeat. There’s no use trying to get to her when she’s all in her head like this; the best thing he can do is wait out whatever kind of breakdown she’s having, and then try weaseling the truth out of her once she’s somewhat stable.

As she continues staring at the socks, he takes the opportunity of her lacking attention to pull out his phone and scroll to a certain someone’s contact. Since getting Armin’s number yesterday, not a single text has been sent from his end—apart from their shared greetings, obviously. But as much as he wants to message him, it’d be kind of weird to text first again, wouldn’t it? Armin had only suggested they share numbers for school purposes—but he was the one that’d suggested anything in the first place…

Eren’s eyes flicker up from his phone. Historia’s back is still to him as she picks up a black, ratty looking beanie and stretches it between her hands. He hasn’t told her anything yet—even the mere thought of doing so is enough to send chills all the way to the base of his spine—but he’s not actively trying to hide that he has Armin’s number from her. He’s just… waiting. Yeah. Waiting for the right time, when they’re somewhere quieter and she’s not freaking out over what to get his cousin for her birthday. Not because he’s scared of how she’ll react, or anything. He didn’t break any rules— she’d said that Armin had to be the one to ask for his number—so everything should be fine. 

Probably.

Shaking those thoughts away, he focuses back to his and Armin’s empty chat. He’s online right now—has been for the past thirty-ish seconds—so it’s the perfect opportunity for Eren to start something. But what is the nagging question. While he could just ask about the whole tutoring situation, discussing math on a Saturday morning isn’t exactly appealing—even if it’s with Armin. On top of that, he doesn’t want to sound overly professional, either; the whole point of getting Armin’s number is supposed to be growing closer, talking to him about normal stuff. It would crush him if all his efforts were put to waste by accidentally making their reasons for speaking altogether based on some stupid class. If that happens, they’ll probably fall out after Armin inevitably travels for university since they won’t have to study together anymore—and Eren will only see him, like, twice a year if he’s lucky, thanks to Historia—and then he’ll pine after him his entire life and die alone while Armin will probably get married, have a family—

Pull yourself together, idiot. 

Eren blinks, forcibly bringing himself back to the present. Fuck, he cannot start spiraling about this; Historia and her Ymir-birthday-obsession is already enough bullshit for today. Plus, he’s not about to start acting like her, because he’s smart, and smart people don’t worry over little things like texting their crush of six years and creating some unrealistic domino effect that will not happen. It just won’t.

Now that he’s riled himself up—as usual—it doesn’t take long before he impulsively clicks the little image icon in the corner, selects the picture he’d taken of Historia earlier, and presses send without taking a second to breathe, stop, and consider the logistics of what the hell he’s just done.

Eren

Sent an image

ur sister’s actually insane

He cringes. Alright, maybe that’s not the best conversation starter in the world, but it’s something, at least, so he’ll still pat himself on the back for sucking it up and taking the first step.

Eren almost pockets his phone again to silently brood before it gives a buzz; the vibration thrumming through his fingertips alone quickens his already excessive heart rate.

Armin <3 (just now, 11:30 a.m.)

Oh my god WHATTT is she doing 😭

A grin forms on Eren’s face in an instant. He can’t help it, really; the sight of Armin’s name on his screen— his— because of a text, sends a floating, squirmy feeling to the pit of his stomach.

Eren

trying to get a gift for my cousin

and she decided to DRAG ME WITH HER.

she refuses to admit it though

Armin <3

Kskjdksjdjd

So that’s why she was so worked up this morning

I was wondering

Eren

please come get me i can’t do this anymore

Armin <3

:( You should’ve asked me to come with you

Eren

i’ll take one for the team ig… 🙁

Armin <3

Such a brave soul </3

Eren

only for u though

Eren coughs, quickly typing out another response. Fuck.

Eren

cause ur not annoying

Armin <3

Is that so?

Eren

well yeah

do u see me willingly talking to anyone else we know this early in the morning?? :/

Armin <3

Hmm

That IS true

Eren

don’t let it get to ur head smith

Armin <3

You’re the one who brought it up, Eren

Sent an image

The photo Armin sends is a selfie, half of his pretty, grinning face taking up the camera; but he isn’t alone. Marco’s sitting on the edge of his bed, sticking his tongue out and doing a peace sign with one hand. 

Armin <3

Marco also sends his condolences

Eren peers at his screen, swallowing. Since when were they hanging out?  Maybe it shouldn’t come as a surprise—they’ve always stuck together around the friend group, and he’s seen them take little walks around school before, but Armin rarely has any of their friends over for one-on-one hangouts in general. Except for maybe Sasha, but she goes to his house solely for Mikasa most of the time, so that doesn’t really count.

Still, he shouldn’t be bothered by it. He doesn’t know why he’d been in the first place.

Eren

HIII

omg what are u guys doing

Armin <3

Historia’s not the only one acting crazy 😕😕

Eren

ah.

guess we’re both victims then

Armin <3

I suppose we are, unfortunately

Anyways I’m so sorry but I have to go

Emergency

I’ll talk to you later

Try not to die

I’ll talk to you later. Eren flushes, staring at the screen for a moment. He wants to talk to me later.

“Who are you texting?”

Eren screams, flinging his phone behind him on instinct when Historia’s enlarged face comes into view. A crash sounds from behind as the phone likely hits some clothing rack, but she doesn’t waver, her creepy blue eyes piercing into his soul in the way he knows he’s utterly, absolutely fucked. As in, he probably should’ve written a will and all his possessions are now either going to Ymir or Gabi, including the prized candy collection stashed in the back of his closet since he was eight years old. Shit.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he gasps, chest heaving as he struggles to take in breaths of air. “Jesus Christ—”

“Who were you texting?” she repeats, voice completely neutral, but her left eye does the thing—the twitch— meaning she’s giving it her all to hold back from strangling him, or something equally horrifying. He gulps, gaze flickering to where his phone fell. Just as he’d suspected, it’s lying rather pathetically underneath a circular clothing rack; the sharp gleam reflecting off the screen also confirms its cracked state. Carla’s definitely going to kill him for breaking it twice in a month, but that’s frankly the least of his worries right now.

“Um,” he says, sweat beading on his forehead. Historia’s brow gives a slight arch. “Okay, listen—”

“Mhm.”

“I was gonna tell you—”

“About how you’re messaging my brother?” she asks innocently, batting her lashes. He thins his lips. “Man, I shouldn’t even be surprised, at this point. It’s just betrayal after fucking betrayal.”

Eren rolls his eyes; really, the extreme dramatics are a bit over the top. And he’s saying that. “First of all, there was no betrayal. I followed the rules.”

She snorts. “If you mean to tell me Armin gave you his number—”

“He did.”

“When?”

“Yesterday,” he coughs. She blinks, stares at him for a moment, before her expression shifts into a grimace.

“For fuck’s sake.”

“If you don’t believe me—” he starts, gesturing to his phone, but she cuts him off with a wave of her hand. 

“Nah, I do. Unfortunately,” she adds under her breath, turning away and running a hand through blonde locks. Eren lets out a breath of relief at the lack of her scrutinizing gaze. “He was acting so fucking blushy and shit, I should’ve known.”

Eren’s pulse quickens, just a little. “He was blushing?”

She freezes, then faces him again, brows set in a downwards state. “I never said that.”

“You literally just did, Tori.”

“Okay, well, it’s not important,” she says quickly, crossing her arms. “You better not be sending him weird shit, Jeager.”

Eren’s face warms so profusely he’s sure he’ll combust at any given moment. “Historia. What the—”

“‘Cause I’ll actually kill you,” Historia continues, eyeing him up and down. “Seriously.”

“You—” he takes a deep breath. “Oh my God, he just gave it to me for school, can you relax?”

She doesn’t look convinced. “I’m just making sure.”

“Okay, okay, I get it. You can stop acting like a fucking mom now,” he mutters, shuffling over to where his phone fell. The screen is cracked, but it’s only one, and it’s small, so he won’t bother asking Carla to fix it. “Dammit.”

Footsteps echo against the marble floor, and she’s beside him in moments, peering at his phone with a grin. “You didn’t have to throw it, Eren.”

He gives her a pointed look. “I love how you’re saying that as if you didn’t look like you were about to fucking skin me alive. Sue me for choosing a course of action.”

“And I’m still debating,” she says, linking their arms together and dragging him back to the sock table they’d been at before. “I dunno why Armin just decided to get your number for school, though. He hates texting like that in general.”

Eren just shrugs. “I mentioned studying for pre-cal, and he offered to help me. That’s literally it.”

“But you were messaging him just now and smiling. Which, by the way, is gross.”

He flushes. “It was nothing.”

“Mhmmm. I don’t think anyone with sense would smile about school, idiot.”

“Fuck you,” he says, earning a snicker. “It seriously was nothing, though. He just said he was with Marco and had to deal with some ‘emergency.’ Really, Tori.”

She stays silent for a second. Then, “He was with Marco?”

“Mhm.”

“Huh.” Her nose does a scrunch. “Those two have been so stuck together lately, it’s kind of scary.”

Eren raises a brow. “Really?”

“Yeah. Armin was facetiming him yesterday at, like, two in the morning over God knows what. And then they called again after you left, and right before you picked me up today, but I didn’t know he was coming over, too.” 

“At least it’s Marco,” Eren murmurs after a moment, though he can’t lie and say it’s not slightly irritating how close they’d gotten so quick. It’s stupid, really, but it’d taken him six years to even muster up the courage to talk to Armin—although, that was because of his own self-implemented resistance, but, still. They’re talking now, obviously, but getting his number was a months-long task in itself. If Marco could do that over the span of a few days…

“I can feel you stewing,” Historia sings, poking his cheek. He shoots her a glare. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous, Jeager.”

“I’m not.”

“Mhm.”

“I’m not, Tori,” he grumbles, shrugging her away. Because he isn’t. Honestly. “I don’t even have a right to be, anyway. And it’s not a crime for him to make a new friend. I’m glad.”

Historia shakes her head. “You suck at lying, Eren.”

“But I managed to hide my crush on him from you for six years, so, technically—” she elbows his side, and he yelps. “Ow.”

“You’re not really helping your case.”

“And I think you’re still pissed you didn’t catch onto it sooner, but whatever.” 

“Sure,” she mutters, holding up the beanie she’d been examining earlier. He gives a fond grin; Ymir may not be right about a lot of things, but she hadn’t been kidding when she’d said Historia really can’t deflect a conversation to save her life. “Anyways. Would you wear this?” He opens his mouth, but she cuts him off with a sharp, “And be honest, please.”

The fabric is a little itchy against his palms when he takes it, making goosebumps prickle all over his forearms. Unlike him, Ymir doesn’t really have issues with rough fabric against her skin, so he thinks she’d probably wear this thing out casually, even if Historia didn’t hypothetically get it for her. 

“You think I’d wear a beanie?”

“Just tell me,” she urges, patting his shoulder. He purses his lips, places it back in her grip.

“If you’re just trying to ask if I think Ymir would like it, then yeah.”

His incoming snort is impossible to mask; Historia’s face goes so red, cheeks almost looking like they’re glowing neon. She lets out a small noise of surprise, opens her mouth, closes it, staring at him as if he’s grown a second head. 

“Well?” he asks cheekily. Historia visibly swallows, and oh, Eren is so fucking happy to have her be the speechless one for once. The urge to snap a photo yanks at him so badly, but the sight of her is so pitiful he forces himself to stay still. Knowing her, just the fact that he’s witnessing her in such a state is already as embarrassing as it’s going to get, and that’s enough as satisfaction.

“I’m not—” she cuts herself off, seemingly struggling for breath. Eren just nods, still grinning, crossing his arms.

“Take your time, Tori, it’s okay.”

“I hate you,” she hisses, smacking him repeatedly on the arm. He just laughs, tries to fight her off, but she doesn’t relent. “Fucking—”

“Tori,” he wheezes. “Tori, I’m gonna get a bruise—”

“I hope you do,” she says. He manages to catch her wrists in his hands, though keeping them in place is proving to be much more difficult than it should be for someone almost a foot shorter than him. “Asshole.”

“I didn’t even do anything!”

“You’re being a bitch.”

“Actually, I’m trying to help—”

“Bitch.”

“I don’t know why you were being so secretive, though,” he muses. She looks away. “‘S not like I’m gonna tell her, or anything.”

“I didn’t tell you, ‘cause I knew you were gonna be annoying about it. Which is literally what you’re doing right now.”

He shrugs, grinning. “I haven’t even said anything, Tori. I just pointed it out.”

“And you’re being annoying,” Historia mutters, shaking away his grip. He crosses his arms, shielding himself in case she tries anything again, but she just stands there, fiddling with the nail on her forefinger, looking—well, frankly, the most flustered Eren’s ever seen her in his life. It’s a bit… eerie, to say the least, but it’s also kind of cute, knowing just the mention of Ymir is still enough to rattle her so profusely. Disgusting, too, but cute.

“I wasn’t lying, though. She’d like that,” he says, breaking the small bout of silence. Historia peeks at him, lips pursed, but her eyes widen, just a little.

“Really?”

He nods, nudging her shoulder. “Yeah. Seriously, Tori, don’t worry about it. She’ll be shocked you even got her a gift, anyways.”

Historia raises a brow at that. “Why would she be shocked?”

“‘Cause for her, it’s, like, a given that she won’t want anything, y’know? But she’d appreciate it if you did.”

“Oh.”

More silence. Then,

“I just wanna make sure she enjoys it,” Historia whispers. Eren blinks, looks at her, and she punches his shoulder, hard, making him yelp. “Don’t tell anyone I said that.”

“I won’t, holy shit, chill out,” he laughs. She pouts. “Your face is so red right now.”

“Shut the fuck up.” The beanie is snatched from his hands in seconds, and she strides over to where the cashier is, mumbling nonsense. Eren lets out an amused exhale and follows. 

When he joins her at the counter, his eyes drift to the chairs near the window where Gabi was sitting, but all of them are empty. Frowning, he scans the store behind him, but he can’t spot her anywhere.

“Gabi?” he calls. No answer. A small spike of fear starts in the pit of his stomach, but he ignores it. This is just typical Gabi. She couldn’t have gone far; and she usually pulls this shit just to scare him, so when he does find her, he sure as hell won’t give her the satisfaction of knowing she’d done exactly that.

Historia turns to him, a brow raised. The cashier had gone to the back room, since she’d asked him to wrap the beanie up as a gift. “What’s wrong?”

He gestures to the chairs. “Gabi’s gone, the little shit.”

“I saw her sitting there literally just now.”

Eren lets out a small groan, rubs his temples. “I swear to fucking god, that child—”

“Maybe she went to check out the clothes?” Historia suggests. 

“I’ll look. Just meet me in front of the store, yeah?” 

“‘Kay.”

The changing rooms are where he inspects first, because that’s usually where she runs off to hide in the mall, but every single room is empty. Then he checks the clothing racks near the same area, thinking she’ll be hidden behind a bunch of shirts and jeans—still nothing. He’s internally freaking out a bit, now, because if she’s left the store entirely, then it’s going to take forever to find her, and if she gets genuinely lost, Carla’s going to bury him alive. Literally.

“Gabi!” he calls again, head whipping around for any sign of movement. Crickets. “Ga—”

“Boo,” comes a voice from behind, and he shrieks, hitting the nearest clothing hanger in his vicinity and whacking it in the direction of the sound. Gabi yells, swerves out of the way just in time before getting hit. They stare at each other for a moment—Eren heaving, Gabi looking at him with wide eyes—before she bursts into a fit of giggles, kneeling over and steadying herself by placing her hands on her knees. Eren blinks, trying to process what the fuck just happened within the last ten seconds, before he lets out a frustrated noise, clenches his hands.

“You’re so dead,” he tells her, still panting; she’s nearing the point of tears, shoulders shaking harshly. “I’m actually gonna—”

“You idiot,” Gabi chokes out, one hand shooting to the side and gripping the wall. “Oh my God, you’re so stupid, I was right behind you the whole time—”

Eren takes a deep breath, all the panic he’d harbored earlier replaced with a slow, building anger. “I’m never taking you out again.”

“You say that,” she grins, calming down enough to look up at him. “Oh, come on, it was funny.”

He scoffs, grabs her hand, and pulls her alongside him to the cashier. “It really wasn’t.”

“Were you scared?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

“Shut up, Gabi.”

Historia’s carrying a small gift-bag in her hand when they meet her outside the store, a small, playful smile on her face. Eren looks at her, then Gabi, and groans. 

“You knew, didn’t you?” he asks, kicking her shin as they walk back to the parking lot. Historia shrugs.

“She really was right behind you.”

“And you didn’t think to say anything?”

“It was funny.”

“See, Eren? She gets it,” Gabi says cheerfully, prying herself away from him and gripping Historia’s free hand instead. Eren flicks the back of her head, and Historia merely laughs.

They drive straight to Historia’s after that, because she’s decided to force Eren into a major bio-review-session and Levi has (graciously) offered to babysit Gabi until he has to leave. In truth, he’d agreed mostly to see Armin—and also to avoid Ymir for the rest of the day—but now that he knows Marco’s there, trying to make conversation alone is just going to be painfully awkward, even for him. Also, there’s no way in hell Historia’s going to allow anything of the sort as a distraction; she turns into an absolute demon whenever they study. Most of the time, it’s kind of funny to watch, but Eren’s not about to test her patience when they’re only a mere two months away from their final exams. That’s like outright asking for a death wish.

“I still don’t get why you aren’t taking me home,” Gabi mumbles as the three of them trudge up Historia’s slippery front steps. “Unless Armin’s here—”

“I told you, he’s busy,” Eren says. Gabi pouts, and Historia snickers, shoving her key into the lock of the front door and twisting it open. Heat blasts from inside the house, and Eren savors the prickling feeling of it against his face, a much needed contrast to the biting cold they’ve been sitting through for the past twenty minutes or so. “Blame Ymir for getting sick and moping around, not me.”

Historia stills for a moment, looks at him with slightly widened eyes, and Eren has to thin his lips in order to block the cackle threatening to break loose from his throat. “What do you mean, she’s sick?”

“Well—”

“More like pretending to be sick,” Gabi grunts. Historia’s shoulders lose some of their tension, and Eren lightly kicks Gabi’s shin. “What?”

“You’re such a party pooper.”

“I’m literally just stating the obvious—”

“Pa!” Historia suddenly yells; her cheeks are very noticeably flushed. Eren grins. “We’re home!”

Levi greets them a moment later, and after Gabi’s millions of questions about what games he has, leads her to the old-and-on-the-verge-of-death Wii they have set up in the living room. Gabi looks at the thing like she’s just struck gold, shoving one of the controllers into Levi’s hands and begging him to play tennis with her. He gives one of those rare, tiny smiles Eren’s only seen about five times since meeting him, and shoots Historia a thumbs up; she takes that as her cue to drag Eren upstairs.

“I’m honestly surprised he’s even indulging her shit,” Eren muses, Gabi’s shouts echoing behind them. “And willingly, at that.”

“I think he’s just glad not to be dealing with a bunch of gloomy teenagers for a change,” Historia says. They make it up the last step, and Armin’s bedroom door, shut all the way, lays at the very end of the hallway. Eren swallows involuntarily. “Anyways. You brought your stuff, right?”

“Nope.”

“Eren.”

“I don’t even take notes, Tori, you know this.”

He ends up using one of the extra notebooks she has shoved in her desk, grumbling as they sit on the floor, leaning back against the end of Historia’s bed. She shoves her laptop between them as an outlet for the hundred-something slides Mx. Hange had sent out a week ago, and her quips eventually fizzle out in no time. But while Historia’s so focused her eyes barely leave the screen, darting from side to side in a blur, Eren can’t help but keep glancing at the tiny crack left open in her door, hoping to catch a glimpse of a certain, pretty blond, but to no avail. 

“I’m gonna go get water,” he says after what feels like an eternity; his head is beginning to hurt, and if he looks at the stupid screen for a moment longer, he’s sure his brain is going to explode. She barely nods in response, still scribbling down God knows what on her fancy iPad, and he stands, stretching out his aching limbs before slipping through the door and into the hallway.

Gabi’s seemingly tired herself out after hours on the Wii, snoozing away on one side of the couch, and Levi sits on the other end, sipping tea while classical music plays from his old-people-radio on the coffee table. Not wanting to disturb him, Eren quietly tiptoes into the kitchen, fills a glass with water, then makes his way back upstairs, the liquid nice and cool against his tongue when he sips it. Right before he grips the door handle to Historia’s room, his eyes trail back to Armin’s room again, a frown playing on his lips. Marco can’t have possibly been inside till now. Even if he is—which, again, in Eren’s opinion, is pretty unlikely—maybe he could still just say a quick hello. That wouldn’t be weird, right? Feelings aside, Armin’s his friend, too; wanting to say hello and check in on him is a very normal thing for friends to want.

His legs are moving before he can think better of it, but as his knuckles hover over the door, about to knock, the faint sound of Armin’s voice tremors through the wood.

“I feel like I’m going crazy. Like, I’m not crazy, right?”

Eren hesitates. Wills himself to turn away. No, he shouldn’t be here; they’re obviously having some serious conversation, and eavesdropping is a pretty shit move—

“Dude, you’re not. This is, like, textbook flirting.”

Huh?

“Flirting’s a pretty strong word, I think,” Armin continues, the flusteredness in his tone obvious to Eren even from where he stands outside. “Maybe he’s just trying to be nice. I don’t know.”

“‘Only for you’ sounds pretty flirty to me, though.”

Eren blinks. Digs his nails into his palm. Someone’s flirting with Armin?

“He could’ve also been joking, Marco.”

“I seriously doubt it.”

He hears Armin sigh. “You know what, forget it. I’m just holding on to false hope, at this point. It’s never gonna happen.”

“You say that, even when the signs are so fucking obvious—”

“Try telling that to my sister.”

Heart thundering in his chest, Eren steps back, feeling his breaths come in a little short, not bearing to hear any longer. Armin likes someone? That’s— no. He didn’t say that specifically; ‘holding on to false hope’ could mean a billion things—like wanting the guy to back off, or referring to someone else who hasn’t made a move yet, or something— and he’d overheard the conversation with barely any context beforehand, so trying to connect the dots based on thirty seconds is useless. But who the hell is trying to flirt with him? Is it someone he knows? Someone he’s friends with? 

He rubs his eyes with his palms, seeing little white dots dance around in his vision. Maybe—maybe he’d just heard things wrong. Yeah. Maybe he’s so exhausted from the mall, Gabi, and studying, that his brain is malfunctioning and creating sounds and images and— conclusions, that don’t exist. He shouldn’t have even stayed and listened in the first place; that was just wrong.

His face is surely set into a sour expression when he re-enters Historia’s room—if her raised brow is anything to go by—but he doesn’t bother to mask it, just plops himself down back on the floor and harshly flips through the pages of his notebook to find where he left off. 

“Can you go back to slide eighty?” he asks. Historia clicks the little arrow on the corner of her keyboard, frowning.

“‘Kay. What’s up with you?”

“Nothing,” he mutters. 

“Are you—”

“Please just leave it, for God’s sake.”

She holds her hands up. “Fine. Just don’t brood too loudly, and we’re good.”

“I’m not brooding,” he says, writing down the first few bullet points on the top of his page. Historia reaches over and pokes his cheek.

“Mhmmmm.”

“Shut up, Tori.”

“You first.”

જ⁀➴♡

Mikasa’s eighteenth birthday the following day is a relatively mellow and familiar affair. As per their yearly tradition, Historia, Armin, Levi, and Erwin wake her up with a pretty luxurious breakfast in bed—waffles doused in syrup, melted butter, and berries—and sing her happy birthday along with the chocolate cake Historia and Armin had whipped up the night before. After opening her gifts, Sasha picks her up to take her on whatever date she’d had planned, and Historia and Armin wait until Mikasa gets back that evening to cuddle up in their parents’ bed and binge watch a bunch of corny romcoms on their TV until they fall asleep. It’s nothing short of content. All the stress of school and studying and other things—mainly a certain freckled brunette who’s hellbent on consuming Historia’s every waking thought—might as well have never even existed in the first place.

That doesn’t last very long, though.

Their area is usually prone to snowstorms during the winter—especially in December—but this is the first year a full-blown blizzard has swept through the entire city in February, covering every inch of surface in thick globs of snow. It’d gotten so bad they were forced to stay home for most of the week, resulting in Historia only being able to catch a glimpse of Ymir during her facetime calls with Eren—and regardless, it would just be the barest trace of her grin before Eren was ushering her out of his room, cursing as she went. 

Speaking of Eren, he’d sunk back into his little mood ever since Saturday, though it wasn’t as fiery compared to the whole Ymir Thing; more like a muted distress, visibly eating away at him from the inside. It broke Historia’s heart a bit, honestly, seeing him revert back into the shell of himself he’d been until recently, but any attempt at coaxing him to talk about it was shut down immediately.

Though, she did notice the tension in his frame growing any time she mentioned Armin, but she didn’t think much of it. From what she’d picked up, everything was fine on that front—unfortunately for her. Armin thought he was being sneaky, but it was obvious he was texting Eren whenever he flushed at the dinging sound of a notification, or the smile she could see on his face in the dark whenever he stayed in her room late at night, unable to sleep, thumb clicking against his screen as he (presumably) reread their chats. It’d only happened a few times since they were shut in by the snow, and didn’t last very long, either, so she could only guess they were just planning around the whole tutoring situation Eren had mentioned.

Still. She couldn’t quite make sense of it, no matter how hard she tried.

All that, along with Ymir’s birthday coming up in a mere few days, had just made Historia all the more restless; never in her life has she willingly gotten out of bed at three in the morning for five consecutive days straight. Over Ymir. It’s starting to get a bit ridiculous. Historia’s beginning to wonder if she’s genuinely losing her mind, or if Ymir’s somehow cursed her with some incurable sickness for the rest of her life. Any option is viable, honestly.

She wakes up on Sunday the same way she has every day for the past week: in a cold sweat, head throbbing, duvet kicked off the edge, and the clock on her bedside table flashing an absolutely ungodly hour in her face. It’s still dark outside from what she can see, but at least she can see anything at all—since the blizzard hit, snowfall had risen up so high it’d reached the halfway-mark of her house at some point, so the lack of nausea in her stomach at seeing the ground so close to the glass is a better sign than she’d hoped. Maybe she’ll actually be able to walk outside today without freezing to death.

As always, Armin’s up and alert downstairs when she makes her entrance, sitting by the windowsill and scrolling on his phone. She tries not to make a face—mostly for his sake, since he’d probably disintegrate on the spot if he ever found out she knew about his and Eren’s little texting sessions—but she doubts that’s the case right now. There’s no way that idiot’s awake at this hour, anyway; he’s always been a chronic over-sleeper, much in contrast to Armin’s (and now Historia’s) tendency to barely sleep at all. 

“Couldn’t sleep again?” he asks with a frown. She nods and sits opposite him, heart dropping at the clearer sight outside. While the snow has lessened in terms of height, it’s still covering almost every inch of the road and sidewalk. Trying to get through that is going to be virtually impossible—and even if she did attempt anything, there’s absolutely no way in hell her parents are going to let her do anything of the sort.

“Are you actually kidding me?” she murmurs, placing her hand atop the icy glass; condensation forms around it as a result of her breath. Armin nudges her foot with his own.

“Give it a few hours, Tori. I’m sure it’ll start to melt when the sun rises.”

Historia gives him a look. “You think all of that is going to melt by the end of the day?”

“Not all of it, but enough to drive, at least,” he shrugs, turning back to his phone. His cheeks noticeably flush a little, and she internally gags. If he’s actually rereading through his and Eren’s messages again, she’s officially surrendering to the cold and letting it take her. Eugh.

“Let’s just hope so.”

Famous last words, indeed, because four hours of agonized waiting later, when the blinding light of the sun peeks over the horizon and trickles over their neighborhood, the snow does not, in fact, melt. No, it stays in exactly the same state as it’d been at five in the morning: goopy, white, and unbearably still. 

She really should’ve just let the fucking cold take her.

“Well,” Armin says lightly, giving her such a concerned look she wants to implode. “There’s always tomorrow?”

“I’m gonna kill myself.”

“Tori,” he scolds, swatting her shoulder. She shoots him a glare. “Look, it’s fine, alright? You can just text her happy birthday now and give her the present when we get back to school.”

“It’s not fine,” she groans, her hands finding their way through the blonde locks of hair on her head and giving a pull. Really, is the universe just trying to play some sick, twisted game on her? It had to choose today, of all days, to send in some fucking snowstorm and ruin the plan she’d been so meticulously crafting for the last two weeks? “Oh my fucking—”

A sharp sound of rage grasps her by the throat, cutting her off, and she grabs one of the couch pillows, stuffs it into her face, and lets out a scream so rough she’s sure her vocal chords are going to wither away and die. Faintly, she hopes the same applies to her, but before she can suffocate herself with the pillow, Armin’s snatching it away from her hands, grimacing and gently pushing her down onto the couch. She tries reaching for it again, but he grasps her tightly by the wrists.

“I need you to take a deep breath,” he tells her. She feels her left eye twitch.

“I’m fine.”

“That’s what you call fine?”

“Yeah.”

He wrinkles his nose. “You’re so lucky you didn’t wake Pa and Dad up. Jesus—”

“What the hell am I gonna do?” she whines, burying her face in her hands. The couch dips with Armin’s weight as he sits, placing a comfortable hand on her shoulder. “I’m so fucked.”

“Tori, listen, she’ll probably appreciate even just a text—”

“But that’s not enough, ‘Min!”

“Well—”

A lightbulb suddenly goes off in her head, and she gasps, pries herself away from his grip, stomps back upstairs, and ignores his calls of protest. If the weather won’t cooperate with her, then she’ll just have to take matters into her own hands, because she’s not about to let some stupid, icified-water put all her efforts to waste. So what if the wind is so harsh she can hear it howling and rattling against every window in her living room?  The walk to Eren’s house is only ten minutes. If she can survive being in a car with him for two years straight, she can do anything.

“Don’t tell me you’re actually going out like this,” Armin says seriously when she comes back down wearing five of Erwin’s oversized sweaters, a thick jacket on top, a pair of sweatpants, snow boots, and gloves, and a wooly hat so large it almost obscures her vision a bit. Ymir’s wrapped present is sitting snugly in her hands. “Historia—”

“I’ll be fine,” she says absently, gripping the slippery front door handle and prying it open. The air that greets her is nothing short of biting; it stings every inch of her face, even when she hasn’t even stepped outside yet. Historia swallows, doubt consuming her mind for a moment, before she shakes it away. It’s just ten minutes. She’s not going to drop dead after going out for such a short amount of time.

Armin shivers behind her, but still manages a weak attempt at pulling her back. “Historia, I’m not gonna let you kill yourself over some stupid present.”

“I’m not killing myself, ‘Min. I’ll be back in twenty minutes, tops.”

“Tori—”

“Just cover for me,” she pleads, knowing she’s almost won him over by the slight dent forming between his brows. He’s never been able to resist when she asks so genuinely, and he knows she would let her guard down just as quickly if he were the one in her position. It’s only nature with them. “C’mon, ‘Min, we’ve walked through worse. Remember that one time Dad and Pa took us to Uncle Kenny’s for Christmas?”

Historia would laugh at the absolutely appalled look on her brother’s face if she weren’t so desperate. “That’s the example you’re trying to use right now?”

“Yeah, 'cause his and Uncle Uri’s house is in the middle of fucking nowhere.”

“But we didn’t walk all the way there, Tori, they drove us for most of it.”

She tucks the present between her arm and torso and gives his shoulders a little shake. "I won’t be able to function all day if I don’t do this. Please, ‘Min. Otherwise I’ll just sneak out without you knowing. That’d be worse, right?”

He opens his mouth, closes it. Before she continues with anything else, he says, blessedly, “So help me God if you don’t text me when you get there—”

“I will, thank you, thank you,” she says hurriedly, smacking a kiss to his cheek and rushing out the door.

“Be careful!” is the last thing he calls out to her before she slams it shut. Historia takes a deep breath, getting used to the sharp, icy tinge in her throat and lungs, before she carefully steps onto the sidewalk, almost slipping forward, but managing to stay upright by balancing her foot against a small pile of thick snow, her leg muscles burning through it. She should’ve known it would be slippery on top of everything else, but it’s too late to turn back now. Surely Levi, Erwin, and Mikasa had heard all of her and Armin’s screaming, and he could only hold them off from finding out about what she’d done for so long before they set off to chase her down.

She hobbles down the sidewalk with the same tiny, calculated steps, her eyes never leaving the ground as she weaves her way through the splotches of snow. The present in her hands rattles from how much she’s shivering. Even with Erwin’s absurdly comfortable sweaters, cold seeps through every barrier and burrows itself into her skin. Her hair sticks to her face with every gust of air, the ends icy to the touch. Now that she thinks about it, maybe she would’ve been better off convincing Levi to take her. The roads aren’t that bad, and nobody else is driving around this area, so it would’ve been a quick and painless drop-off. Except, flinging herself off a building would probably be less painful than ever having him witness her acting so flustered and stupid. 

Neither of her parents know Ymir’s back, anyway, but that’s a whole other conversation in itself, and one that she’ll have at some point. But not today. Definitely not today.

After what feels like three eternities-and-a-half, Eren’s house slowly emerges in the distance, and Historia nearly cries in sheer relief. Walking up the steps of his front porch is nothing short of pure agony ripping through her limbs. She genuinely thinks her legs have turned into icicles by now, every bundled nerve so frozen she barely feels the fabric of her sweatpants against them, but it’s no matter. At least she made it all in one piece.

Her fist hovers over the white-painted-wood, breaths foggy in her face as she pants. Just knock. It shouldn’t be this hard to fucking knock— she’d just practically walked through a snowstorm, for God’s sake.

Historia swallows, still staring at the door. It’s not a guarantee that Ymir will open it—Gabi’s usually up at this time, and Carla could very well be the face she sees on the other side—but her stomach still does a small, hurting swoop. What will Ymir say, once she sees the wrapped box in Historia’s hands? A small part of her can’t help but think she’s messing everything up by doing this. Who in their right mind forces themselves through such severe weather conditions just to give somebody a present? Some stupid beanie? There’s no way Ymir won’t laugh in her face and shut the door on her, leaving her in the cold. Any relatively sane person would.

Why do I always do these things to myself?

She sucks in a large gulp of air and hits her knuckles against the wood. Regret takes over her instantly. She’s seriously contemplating ditching and sprinting all the way back to her place, slippery sidewalks and all, before the door swings open. Ymir’s puzzled, beautiful face comes into view; Historia feels her breath lodge in the back of her throat.

“Hi,” Historia blurts out, immediately wanting to smack herself to the point of unconsciousness. Ymir blinks, stares at her a moment, then suddenly gasps, pulling Historia inside by the arm before she has the chance to say anything else. Even with the layers of fabric, Historia still feels the searing heat of her touch.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Ymir hisses, slamming the door shut. She gives Historia’s shoulders a little shake. “Shit. Can you feel me doing that?”

“Uh,” Historia says stupidly, still fixated on Ymir’s face. The other girl’s eyes are widened, a frantic sort of glow accompanied by them. She notices her nose ring’s been taken out, leaving a tiny, barely visible dot on the left side. “Kind of?”

“You—” Ymir inhales sharply, then grabs her arm again, tugging her further inside the house. “I knew you were a little bit fucked in the head, but this is too much, Blondie.”

“Fucked in the head?” 

Historia yelps as Ymir suddenly pushes her down onto the couch in the living room, looking down at her with a grimace. “Hey.”

“There’s quite literally a snowstorm outside.”

“And?”

“You’re so—” Ymir huffs, cutting herself off. “Just—stay there.” She pulls at one of the large coffee table drawers and rummages through it. In seconds, a large, white, fluffy blanket is being wrapped snugly around Historia’s shoulders. The heat that forms in her face is so searing hot it’s more than enough to melt the cold away by itself. “Don’t move till I say so.”

“And what if I do?” Historia retorts, attempting to break free, but Ymir just tightens her grip, an amused smile playing on her lips. “Ass.”

“Yeah, forgive me for trying to stop you from getting frostbite.”

“I wasn’t gonna get frostbite, Ymir.”

“Your lips are turning blue.”

Historia presses her lips together in an attempt to hide them. They’re pretty numb, barely feeling even when she applies pressure.

“They’re not.”

“Are too.”

“Are not.”

“Why do I even bother?” Ymir mutters, eyeing her before making her way over to the TV area in front of them. Historia notices the huge black space heater plugged into the outlet right beside it. “Here. Eren’s not up yet, so he won’t try to steal this thing from you.”

“How thoughtful,” Historia says flatly, and Ymir blows a raspberry, dragging the space heater over to where she’s sitting. Warmth hits Historia immediately, tingling her face so good. She's  not about to let Ymir think she’s won, though, so she does her best to keep her face completely neutral. 

Ymir sits beside her. Their shoulders just barely brush, and Historia hopes her throat doesn’t bob too obviously. Silence settles over them, not quite comfortable, but not exactly unpleasant. Historia’s happy to be in her presence after an entire week apart, but she can feel Ymir’s eyes on her, burning the side of her head.

She forces herself to look at her. Pulls her brows together. Irritatingly, Ymir’s expression just stays blank, though there’s a floating question in her gaze that Historia can’t quite decipher.

“Since you’ve so graciously brought the space heater to me,” Historia starts, satisfaction pooling in her belly at the small quirk in the corner of Ymir’s mouth, “maybe you can let me out of this thing, now?”

“No can do, Blondie,” Ymir says, fully grinning. “It’s for your own good.”

“I think you’re just trying to be annoying, but okay.”

“That too.” 

“At least you’re admitting it.”

“Mhmmm.” It’s quiet again, unbearably so, before Ymir clears her throat. “But, seriously, what the hell are you doing here? If Eren asked you—”

“Eren didn’t ask me to do anything,” Historia interrupts, feeling her pulse quicken. Ymir’s brows raise. 

“So then—I don’t get it.”

“Are you seriously this dense, or are you just trying to play dumb?” 

Ymir gives her a look. “I think anyone would be confused about why you ran through a snowstorm, idiot. Nothing’s that important enough for you to almost freeze to death trying to get here.”

Historia turns away, though it’s hard to do so when she’s stuck in a makeshift cocoon. Does she always have to be the one to spell everything out all the Goddamn time? She’d expected Ymir to clock the reason immediately, since she usually prides herself in being so fucking perceptive. Then again, she could also very well be acting clueless just to weasel the admission out of Historia, knowing her. She'd used to do that when they were kids, sensing every stupid lie Historia used to tell from a mile away. One pointed stare was all it'd take before she caved, watching Ymir smirk and laugh and say I told you so.

But… that doesn’t really seem like the case right now, she thinks. Ymir may have only seeped back into her life for a month, but Historia had mastered the art of reading her long beforehand. Right now, Ymir’s lips are pursed, her eyes narrowed, and Historia knows that means she's struggling to form a response that’ll make her look smarter than she actually is. Historia exhales shortly though her nose, holding back a small smile. Really, Ymir should know how familiar they are with each other by now. How Historia has memorized the meaning of practically every pinch, every tiny shift in her demeanor, with only the barest glance in her direction. As embarrassing as it is, she knows Ymir must do the same, too.

She always has.

“I’m here for you, dumbass,” Historia says softly. “I thought it’d be obvious.”

She expects Ymir to laugh, or make one of her usual sarcastic remarks, but all she does is blink. “Huh?”

Historia huffs, stretching out her arms and breaking them free of the blanket despite Ymir’s protests. She tosses the present into Ymir’s hands, cheeks burning. Ymir stares at it for a moment, then looks up at her, lips slightly parted. “Happy birthday.”

Ymir visibly gulps, and Historia thinks she’s going to die, watching her face morph into a color so crimson it may as well have burst into flame. Historia has the slight urge to reach forward, cup her cheek, and brush her bangs back, but restrains herself.

“You remembered?”

“Well, yeah,” Historia coughs. Stupid question. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“It’s been six years,” Ymir says hoarsely, like that’s the only thing she can say. Historia gives a tiny laugh.

“Did you just decide to forget that I literally planned a whole surprise party for you when we were kids?”

“That’s—that’s just different.”

“How, Ymir?”

“It just is.” Ymir’s gaze shifts back down to the box in her hands. She cradles it so gently, as if it’s a priceless piece of art. It makes Historia burst with affection. “You didn’t have to get me anything, Historia.”

Historia bristles slightly at hearing Ymir say her name like that—so low, so tender. She likes it. “It’s your birthday. Of course I did.”

Ymir snorts, to Historia’s surprise, and scratches her cheek with one hand. “So you walked all the way here just to give it to me?”

“Shut up.” Historia swats her arm, and Ymir gives a proper laugh at that. “Just open it, for Christ’s sake. I didn’t do all that for nothing.”

“Okay, okay.” 

Ymir carefully begins to unwrap the box, and Historia watches her impatiently, nerves trembling through every inch of her being. She knows there’s no way Ymir will hate it—it’s just some stupid beanie—but her disappointment is something that could very well surface. Like she is with most things, Ymir definitely isn’t subtle when it comes to her expressions. If Historia catches a slight dent between her brows, or a pout on her lips, then it’s over. She’d rather freeze to death a million times over than ever witness that.

But Ymir doesn’t do anything of the sort. Instead, she inhales sharply as she holds the beanie up, lights flickering in her irises. She looks at Historia after a few seconds of admiring, eyes crinkled at the corners, giving her that rare, soft smile she’s loved for as long as she can remember. The sound of rushing blood flows through her; it’s a miracle she doesn’t faint.

“I’m sorry if it’s simple,” Historia finds herself saying in a rush, unable to stop. “I didn’t know what you'd like, and I couldn’t ask anyone ‘cause they wouldn’t know, either, and Eren refused to tell me shit, the idiot—”

The feeling of warmth grasps her by the shoulders, hits her cheek, and she realizes with a start that Ymir has just reached over, wrapped her arms around her, and pulled her close. She feels her body tense up involuntarily. Her heart pounds in such quick bursts it tremors in the base of her skull.

Oh.

Ymir is hugging me, is the faint thought that comes to mind. She almost loses herself completely when Ymir gives a little squeeze. Ymir is hugging me.

I’m being hugged by Ymir right now.

She harshly swallows, carefully letting her palms rest against Ymir’s upper back. The touch is almost electrifying, like a shock traveling through her fingertips, her arms, her chest, all the way to the very pit of her soul. Hugging isn’t something they haven’t done before—Ymir was pretty affectionate when they were kids, and Historia would always be more than happy to oblige in the casual arm around her shoulders, or waist, or the suffocating holds Ymir would subject her to whenever they were apart for more than three minutes. But this feels… different. More intimate. Like if Historia were to move even a single inch, the spell would break, Ymir would pull away, and she’d be cold again.

“Idiot,” Ymir says quietly. Oh. “I love it. Thank you.”

“Yeah,” Historia squeaks, because that’s all she’s capable of saying. Any more and she’d blurt out something stupid, like you’re so warm and I probably wouldn’t mind staying like this a while. 

Or forever, for that matter.

So, she does stay like that. Still. Basking in the heat of Ymir’s touch, the sound of her steady breathing prickling the spot behind her ear, the faint buzzing sound of the space heater still in front of them. It’s nice. 

Too nice.

In the back of her mind, she knows she’s entering very, very dangerous territory right now. One that she doesn’t even want to acknowledge, for her own sake. Both of their sakes. Or else the already fragile thread sewn between them is going to snap, and Historia will never be able to live with herself, be able to breathe for the rest of her life, if that happens.

“Ahem.”

They pull away so quickly their heads almost knock together, but Historia doesn’t let it phase her—she’s too fucking pissed to, her hands balling into fists at the sight of Eren standing at the foot of the staircase. He’s looking at them with this smirk on his face, the little shit, still there even when he brings the mug in his hands up to his lips and takes a loud, obnoxious sip. 

Yeah, this is it. This is officially the last straw. After seven years of pure agony in his presence, this is what makes her finally snap.

Oh, Historia’s really going to kill him now. 

“Sorry,” he drags out innocently, taking another sip. “Am I interrupting something?”

Historia sneaks a glance at Ymir; she looks just as angry as she feels, so actually beating Eren up is becoming more and more of a possibility, thank God. 

“Don’t mind me,” Eren continues, so obviously trying not to burst into laughter. If Historia had even a speck of sense, she would’ve grabbed one of the couch pillows and thrown it at him. “You can keep going, y’know, I don’t care.”

“I genuinely hope you slip on ice and die,” Ymir tells him, voicing Historia’s thoughts aloud. The smirk on his face just grows—bastard—and he makes a show of shaking his head.

“Your face is red, Mimi.”

“Kill yourself.”

“What are you even trying to do, Eren?” Historia interrupts, shooting him a nasty glare. He holds his other hand up, carrying his phone.

“Well, before you guys started giving me fucking death threats—”

“Eren.”

“—Armin called and asked me to warn you. Not that I wanted to, but he sounded pretty frantic, so.”

Historia blinks, a little too confused to question why he was on a phone call with her brother. She shares a glance with Ymir, who shakes her head.

“...Warn me?”

“Yup.”

“Okay, about what?”

“He didn’t have time to say.”

She raises a brow. Didn’t have time? But—

Her phone suddenly rings, and, when she brings it up, sees who is calling her, her heart instantly drops into her stomach.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

“What?” Ymir asks, furrowing her brows, but Historia just signals her to be quiet, pressing the green answer button and putting the phone to her ear.

“Historia,” comes the cool, low voice on the other end.

She pinches the bridge of her nose, trying not to sigh. “Hi, Pa.”

“Come outside, please.”

Levi hangs up immediately afterwards, and she groans quietly. There’s absolutely no way she’s getting out of this; Levi grounding her for the next ten years is a guarantee, if the low gruff of his voice wasn’t enough to tell her that already. She’d hoped Armin would've held him off a bit longer, but she’s grateful for the time he'd managed to buy her nonetheless.

“This was fun,” she says after a moment, prying her way out of the blanket and standing. Ymir looks at her with a frown, and Eren merely grins.

“You’re leaving?”

“My dad’s gonna kill me if I stay here any longer. Literally.”

“I hope he does,” Eren tells her earnestly, and she flips him off.

“Fuck you.”

“I’ll walk you out, then—” Ymir starts, but Historia shakes her head.

“Trust me, it’s fine. Better for you to not, honestly,” she adds under her breath. Before she can think better of it, she takes the beanie from Ymir’s grip and wiggles it over her hair, giving the top of her head a little pat. “Bye, Ymir.”

“Bye,” Ymir squeaks, half of her face covered by the bangs being pushed down by the fabric. She looks so ridiculous, it’s cute. “And, uh, thank you, again. For the gift. I really do like it.”

Historia grins, all her earlier doubts replaced with that familiar giddy feeling she always gets whenever Ymir smiles at her, or says something funny. “Don’t start getting all sappy on me, idiot.”

“Me saying ‘thank you’ is sappy?”

“Yup.”

“Can you please just leave already?” Eren asks tiredly, interrupting them. “I’m gonna get a tooth ache from all this shit, God.”

Historia shoots him another glare. “You’re not part of this.”

“I kind of am, actually, since you’re in my house—”

“Bye,” Historia drawls, walking over to the front door, shaking her head with a smile at the sounds of Ymir and Eren falling into one of their usual squabbles behind her. Her small bout of happiness doesn’t last long, though, because as soon as she steps outside, unbearable winds stinging her cheeks, the sight of Levi’s car parked right in front of the sidewalk comes into view. She feels his hardened gaze on her without even looking into the driver’s side; however, she’s pleasantly surprised to see Armin sitting in the back, looking a lot more sympathetic than their father does. 

“Hi, Pa,” she says cheerfully, piling into the car. She sees his face pinch in the rearview mirror. Armin instantly facepalms.

“Really, Historia,” he starts, and she suppresses the urge to roll her eyes. “Of all the days you could’ve chosen to leave the house—”

“It’s not that cold, Pa.”

“The pool was frosted over last time I checked.” He shakes his head. “Was Eren the one who asked you to come?”

She shares a knowing glance with Armin. “Nope.”

“So why the hell did you walk all the way over here without telling anyone?”

“I told Armin I was gonna—”

“Other than him.”

Historia purses her lips. Thinks for a moment, before saying, “I needed to give Eren some notes he left last time.”

Levi looks nothing short of bewildered. “You risked freezing to death over notes?”

“Okay, but,” she says, and he lets out a heavy sigh, “I didn’t actually die. So.”

He mutters something lost to her, starting to back out of his little parking spot, though Historia doesn’t miss the small, amused crinkles at the corners of his eyes. She knows her father’s more worried than anything, but that doesn’t mean she’s about to endorse his whole ‘Big Bad’ act.

“I swear," Levi continues, "with the shit the three of you brats pull every day—”

“Why are you involving me now?” Armin gasps. 

“You lied on her behalf, ‘Min.”

“I didn’t do anything, though.”

Historia’s phone suddenly vibrates against her thigh, drowning out whatever argument those two are getting into. She frowns, opens it.

Eren aka biggest pain in my ass 🖕(just now, 9:30 a.m.)

u walked all the way just to give her the present didnt u

Historia

no i didn’t

Eren aka biggest pain in my ass 🖕

lmfao OKAY tori

me when i lie

Historia

KILL YOURSELF.

Chapter Text

“Gabi, get your foot off me.”

Gabi sticks her tongue out at Eren, pushing her toes further into his side from where she sits squished beside him on the couch. He winces, tries to shove her off, but it’s like her grip is made of steel. “You’re hogging all the blankets.”

“I’m literally not?”

Squelching noises come from the TV, and he forces down the bile that’s been steadily rising in his throat for the past thirty minutes. Ymir, on the other hand, just gives one of her ugly-sounding cackles and shoves a handful of popcorn into her mouth. Her disgusting chewing is right in his ear, and has grown progressively more annoying ever since this horrible movie started. 

Really, Eren thinks with a grimace, another shot of pain simmering in his stomach when Gabi kicks him again. What deity did he manage to piss off in a past life to end up in such a mind-numbingly horrendous position?

“This shit looks so fake, I can’t take it seriously,” Ymir snorts. More obnoxious chewing follows. Eren is seriously close to shoving his face into the blanket and letting the lack of air end his prolonged misery.

“It’s just bathwater mixed with red food dye,” Eren mutters. Her eyes flicker to him, narrowing.

“You were literally about to shit yourself ten minutes ago.”

“And you—”

“Stop it, both of you,” Carla scolds. She’s snuggled up in one of the loveseats with a fluffy blanket wrapped around her shoulders, blissfully avoiding Gabi and Ymir in all their irritating glory. Eren wishes he’d been fast enough to claim that spot first, but his mother’s obviously tired, and he doesn’t have the heart to convince her to switch with him. “And Gabi, stop kicking your brother.”

Gabi blows a raspberry. “I’m not kicking him.”

“Honey, I can see your legs moving underneath the blanket.”

“I think you’re making things up, Mom.”

“Asshole,” Eren says, too low for Carla to hear. Gabi gives a particularly harsh kick to his hip, and the curse he lets out next isn’t so muffled.

Carla sits up a bit, frowning. “Language, Eren.”

“She’s still kicking me!” Eren gaps. Gabi snickers. “I swear, I probably have, like, a million bruises—”

“Don’t be a baby, Eren,” Ymir cooes. He flips her off, ignoring Carla’s gasp behind him. 

“Says the one who still sleeps with a nightlight on,” he retorts. She throws a piece of popcorn at his head, hitting right between his brows. 

“That’s still better than pissing the bed till you were ten.”

His cheeks redden. “That was one time.”

“Mhmmm.”

“I had a nightmare! And I haven’t pissed since then. So.”

“The fact that you have to clarify that says enough in itself.”

“Okay, y’know what—” he stands, breaking free of the blanket he and Gabi were forced to share. His sister cheers, bundling herself in it and laying down fully using the new empty space. “I’m gonna go get chips.”

“Come back, please,” Carla tells him pointedly.

“I will.”

“Yeah, Eren,” Ymir calls after him. It takes all of his willpower not to flip her off again outright; instead, he just lets his hand fall to his side and lightly flicks his middle finger in her direction. She probably won’t see, but merely doing it is enough to satisfy him.

Once he makes it to the pantry, he rummages through the bottom cabinet where they shove all their snacks, pleased to find that they actually do have a few bags of sour-cream-flavored chips left—not really his favorite, but he'll take it. All that matters is he now has the chance to give Ymir a taste of her own stupid medicine for the rest of the movie, and he’s making sure every last crunch counts.

Another cackle from Ymir bounces through the open door, and he scoffs. Since it’s her birthday—and that’s apparently a big deal, according to his mother—having an additional family movie night this week was mandatory and required a full-house attendance. Save for his father, who’s working late at the hospital tonight, as usual. Ymir and Gabi had both instantly endorsed the idea, which came to literally no surprise at all, but he knows the only reason Ymir had even indulged in his mother’s not-so-subtle attempts at “bonding time” was just to make his life all the more miserable for her entertainment. He’d tried every possible excuse in the book to skip, but it was no use. He’d even pulled out the only notebook he owned that wasn’t completely torn apart and actually started studying in front of his mother, which always works, but Carla still hadn’t budged a single inch.

At least Ymir got to pick what they watched this time. She may be an insufferable shit, but her taste in films is only boring compared to the absolute horror Eren’s subjected to whenever Gabi’s in possession of the remote. Prickles run up his spine just thinking about what she made them watch last week during that horrible blizzard. He was the one begging Ymir to keep her childish night light on instead of loudly complaining about it blazing in his face at one in the morning.

At the thought of that, he pauses his movements, frowning. His phone suddenly weighs a million times heavier in his back pocket. 

It was torture, being holed up in his house with only his sister and Ymir for company for a week, but the few times he was able to text Armin were definitely a relief, and a welcome one at that. Most of their conversations had just been about the atrocious amount of work their teachers were expecting them to complete, as well as Armin sometimes sending him voice notes on how to do specific problems, but it still felt like major progress to Eren. A month ago, bringing up the idea of having Armin’s number in his phone would’ve sent him into some type of cardiac arrest—now, he’s texting him almost every single day. Little things, sure, but still things. It’s exhilarating in a way he can’t ever possibly hope to explain with words; just the warmth that blooms across his entire body whenever his phone lights up with a notification.

But his small bouts of excitement and giddiness are always quickly overshadowed whenever he remembers that conversation between him and Marco. 

The dread that’s been slowly festering in the pit of his stomach since then is more than likely just him spinning himself into one of his infamous overthinking modes. If Historia were ever made aware about his little predicament— God forbid, he’d never hear the end of it for as long as he lived—she’d certainly say the same and smack him upside the head, too, just because. But no matter how many times he tries to rely on plain logic, to the possibility of all this just being some misunderstanding on his end, he can’t fucking help it. Who’s trying to flirt with Armin? What if he does have feelings for whoever this asshole guy is? Marco was telling him to go for it, so that must mean something, right? 

An image suddenly spurs in his mind: Armin laughing with someone else. Smiling at them, dimples etched in his cheeks. Letting them clean his glasses for him, give him chocolates, wrap a blanket around his shoulders when they find him outside in the cold at night. Pointing out constellations to them and telling every underlying myth with that shiny glow in his eyes.

Things he does with Eren.

His gut gives a churn so harsh the pain shoots all the way through his body. The chips in the pantry start to smell like acid, lodging in the back of his throat, so he quickly closes the cabinet door before the urge to throw up overtakes him.

He refuses to dwell on this any longer if he can help it. So, like he has all week, he pushes any and all thoughts having to do with Armin to the very back of his mind, because he won’t mess this up. He won’t let his and Armin’s already delicate friendship crumble and ruin everything all because of dumb assumptions based on a conversation he wasn’t supposed to hear in the first place.

He won’t. 

Eren makes his way back to the living room after that, hands devoid of any plastic chip bags. Ymir and Gabi make no comment of his arrival; instead, Gabi’s shifted from tormenting him to bugging her, kicking her shoulder lightly enough that it’s painless, but does its job at being horribly annoying. Ymir holds the bowl of popcorn over her head, threatening to tip it over and let it spill into Gabi’s hair. Serves her right, Eren thinks. Asshole.

“Eren,” his mother calls out, startling him. She pats the empty space beside her. 

Eren gingerly places his phone on the coffee table before he settles down on the loveseat, closing his eyes when his head falls against his mother’s shoulder. She hums, lifts up the blanket she’s had wrapped around her since the beginning of the movie, and brings it over his shoulders, too, shielding him in comforting warmth. Any more distressing thoughts about Armin and Marco and the unknown disintegrate in instants. That’s a given, though; Carla’s presence alone has always been enough of a comfort to him in itself. Even Gabi and Ymir’s voices, gradually increasing in volume on the couch, aren’t enough to agitate him right now.

“Are you tired already?” she muses, planting a kiss on the top of his head. He pinches his brows, opens one eye to see her looking down at him with an amused smile on her face.

“I’m not.”

“Mhmm.”

“Really, mom.” He pushes down the urge to yawn. “I can’t physically sleep this early, anyway.”

“I don’t mind if you want to go up,” she continues, as if he hadn’t spoken at all. “I’m sure Ymir won’t hold it against you, either.”

“Uh huh,” Eren mutters. Knowing her, she’d probably follow him back to his room along with Gabi and make him watch the movie on her ten-year-old laptop that’s on the verge of imploding every time she turns it on, just to spite him with the whirring fan.

Silence falls shortly after—save for the shitty sound effects coming from the TV—but it’s not as soothing as before. Not a single word is uttered from her mouth, but Eren can feel Carla’s hawk eyes burning holes into the top of his head anyway. She’d surely picked up on the growing tension in his shoulders when mentioning his cousin. 

“You know,” she starts, and he immediately braces himself. “I’ve never seen you two so… distant, from each other.”

“Dunno what you’re talking about,” he says stiffly, voice muffled by her sleeve. This is really the very last conversation he wants to have with her right now. Coupled with every other horrible thing he’s had to think about on a daily basis, his mother’s meddling will just make the looming feeling in the back of his mind all the more prominent. It doesn’t help that his consciousness is slowly slipping away from him, either, all his energy focused on keeping himself awake and not proving Carla’s earlier suspicions right. 

“Your ears are red,” she teases, and he lightly bumps her arm with his forehead. “I’ve told you time and time again since you were ten years old, Eren, you can’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying, mom.”

Carla chuckles. “You could at least try to make that sound more convincing.”

He tilts his head up, resting his chin on her upper-arm at a slightly awkward angle—not so much so that it hurts his neck—and does his best attempt at a glare. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Carla looks at him for a moment, concern mixed with pity underlining every inch of her features, and a sprout of irritation starts in him. Why is she acting like his and Ymir’s lack of a reconciliation is some big deal? She should’ve expected something like this to happen, anyway. Six years with no goodbye beforehand and barely any contact afterwards was bound to cause a rift. Obviously. And so what if Ymir had given him a pathetic excuse for an apology two weeks ago? She hasn’t made an effort to do anything else since then, so Eren refuses to budge and start anything as long as she continues to do so. It’s more than she deserves, in his opinion.

“I just don’t like seeing you fight,” Carla murmurs finally, stroking a hand through his hair. Eren’s eyes shut again on instinct. “And you may not see it, but she’s trying, Eren.”

He scoffs. “Yeah, right.”

Gabi and Ymir scream simultaneously, the bowl of popcorn tumbling onto the couch, and Eren can only guess what disturbing jumpscare just flashed on the screen. “I’m serious. The only reason she starts things with you is just to get your attention. You barely give her the time of day otherwise.”

“Tell her to apologize properly, then I’ll think about talking to her,” he grumbles. His mother clicks her tongue.

“Both of you are so stubborn.”

“‘S not about being stubborn. She just can’t get away with everything.”

Carla gives him a pointed look. “I never said that. But I think if you just pushed a little—”

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” he repeats, firm. Carla just sighs.

“Fine.”

They revert back into that weird silence again. Carla continues running a hand through his hair, softly humming a tune Eren can’t quite place like she’s always done whenever he’s visibly upset, and he tries not to let it bother him. He hates being coddled more than anything, but he can admit it’s kind of nice, just sitting in bundled warmth and not having to constantly justify his irritation towards his cousin, or deal with a foot hurdling at his side every two seconds. 

The amount of time he spends curled in his mother’s side, floating in and out of light unconsciousness, is lost to him, but when he fully opens his eyes again, the movie credits are rolling on the screen. Gabi’s drooling on Ymir’s shoulder while she sits upright with her arms crossed, head tilted back, and mouth wide open. 

A tiny smile finds its way onto Eren’s face. Gabi was only five years old when Ymir had left the first time, so she doesn’t remember much of anything before that, but the three of them would never fail to end up in the most awful sleeping positions whenever they watched a movie together. Eren’s personal favorite incident sits in the photo Carla still has framed and hung beside the front door. He’d been in the middle, sitting slightly slanted with his arms spread out, while Ymir was sprawled across his lap, facing upwards. Gabi was lying on top of her with her legs dangling off the couch, her little headband slipping from her head and freeing tiny tufts of bangs. They all had their mouths open so wide Eren still wonders how they hadn’t choked to death on their own spit.

In another universe, Eren thinks he would be on that couch right now, too, drooling along with them without a care in the world. He squishes down the thought.

Carla snorts, grabbing her phone from the armrest and snapping a picture. Eren makes a mental note to send it to himself later for blackmail. “Oh my God.”

“They look even uglier than usual,” Eren comments, wincing when his mother lightly smacks the back of his head. “Ow.”

“Don’t say such nonsense,” Carla scolds, though she has a hint of a smile on her face. “By the way, your phone was buzzing earlier.”

Raising a brow, Eren reaches over to the coffee table in front of them and grabs his phone. His heart immediately does a little squeeze at the contact appearing on his screen.

Armin <3 (5 minutes ago, 9:02 p.m.)

Did you see what Mr. Olulo just sent out.

Sent a file (2 MB)

I’m throwing myself off a cliff

HOW DOES HE EXPECT US TO FINISH THIS IN ONE NIGHT???????

He blinks. Opens the file. Stares at his screen for a good two minutes. He’s probably making some ugly, snarling face, considering how disconcerted his mother looks in the corner of his eye.

This is just… insane.

Sixty-five pages. Of math. Sixty-five. He can’t even do three on a good day. 

He takes a deep, painfully grating breath. This is it. This is officially the day his entire academic career is flushed down the drain and sent into whatever fucking ocean to plummet all the way to the endless bottom. Pulling one of his notorious, usually effective last-minute all-nighters won’t even be enough to save him from the life-ending fate that awaits him tomorrow morning. And if Armin, who can be considered a first-class genius in his own right, is freaking out, then he’s beyond fucked. 

Not for the first time—and certainly not the last—he internally prays that a storm cloud will suddenly appear above Mr. Olulo’s stupid apartment and shit out a bolt of lighting so hot it completely fries him from head-to-toe before furiously typing out a response.

Eren

…………………

oh ure serious.

Armin, being the absolute angel that he is, responds almost immediately.

Armin <3

I thought I was hallucinating when I saw it the first time but it’s very unfortunately real

Eren

IS HE FUCKED IN THE HEAD

????/?2?2??2

WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS

Armin <3

I DON’T KNOW.😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 

Oh my god and we haven’t even gone over half of the things in there

I think he’s genuinely lost his mind

Eren

it’s over for us

god bless it was wonderful knowing you

you were a very bright highlight in this miserable life of mine

Armin <3

EREN NO

IT’S NOT

I’ll message him right now and try to get it extended to the weekend at LEAST

He owes me a favor anyway I did help him grade tests that one time

Eren’s fingers move faster than his brain, because before he can even blink, his next, God awful response glares on the screen.

Eren

have i ever told you you’re my favorite person on planet earth

Armin’s typing bubble pops up, then down. It stays like this for about a minute, and Eren doesn’t know whether to scream at his absolute dumbassery, or barf at the thought of reading Armin’s incoming response. Doing both simultaneously is honestly looking to be his future within the next few moments, going off of the way his stomach swoops so painfully he almost doubles over.

It’s fine, he tells himself, over and over, despite knowing he’s pretty much completely deluded. It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fi—

Armin <3

No but I’ll definitely take it

<3

Oh.

Eren’s eyes bear into the screen, the little pixelated symbol in Armin’s message not quite processing through his brain. 

And then it hits him.

He sent me a heart. 

Eren thinks he’s going to explode. He sent me a heart.

It could mean nothing. It could mean absolutely nothing in the grand scheme of things—it’s just a heart, just some stupid heart—but he couldn’t care less. Eren feels his entire body warm in an instant, waves of it fluttering through his veins, and the high crashes into him so harshly his hands practically vibrate.

Eren

good

<3

Armin <3

You really are such a dork, Eren

Eren

am not

Armin <3

Are too

Just accept it

Eren

:/

you’re so mean to me

Armin <3

I’m just stating a fact!!!

Anyways I’ll brb

If I wait any longer to message Mr. Olulo we’re actually doomed

Eren

OKAY armin.

good luck don’t die…………

Armin <3

💔

Eren exhales fondly through his nose, setting the phone down on his lap, his and Armin’s chat still bright on the screen. His cheeks are starting to hurt from how hard he’s grinning, but he can’t help it, really. Not at all.

Sometimes he thinks he likes Armin so much his heart hurts.

“Oh.”

He bristles at the sound of his mother’s voice. He’d completely forgotten she’s been quite literally sitting beside him this entire time, probably wondering why he’s smiling at his phone like an idiot. But when he faces her, she looks… well. Confused isn’t really the right word to describe it. Her lips are pinched, brows slightly raised, eyes crinkled at the corners. It seems to Eren like she’s trying to hold back a smile, or something, but what for, he can’t even think to guess.

“What?” he asks. Her gaze not so subtly flickers to his phone, then back to him.

“Who’re you texting?”

He furrows his brows, not liking the unnatural, leveled tone of her voice. “It’s just Armin. You know, Historia’s twin brother. You’ve met him before.”

“Ah.” She shakes her head. “That explains it, then.”

“… Huh? Explains what?”

Carla does smile then—a small, knowing thing. “Why your eyes suddenly got all sparkly.”

He feels his cheeks get hot. “My eyes aren’t— sparkly. What does that even mean?”

She chuckles, lightly kissing the side of his head. “Never mind. I think I’m gonna head up to bed. Don’t stay up too late, okay? Love you.”

“Love you, too,” Eren says, watching her stand and make her way upstairs. He doesn’t have time to dwell on how weird his mother’s acting, though, because his phone suddenly buzzes against his thigh.

Armin <3

I DID IT

He changed the due date Saturday morning!!!

WE HAVE A WHOLE WEEK!!!!!!

Relief floods into every crevice of his limbs. Maybe perfection really does exist in the form of Armin Smith.

Eren

OH MY FXUKDJNG GOD

MIN

ur my life savior actyally

LETS GIOOIOOOO

Armin <3

KKSKKSJAJ

Omg I really thought he wasn’t going to budge

BUT he did!!!!!!

Also speaking of

Eren

YEAH

Armin <3

Since the due date’s Saturday

I don’t mind if you wanna work on it together after school on Friday

You could technically count it as tutoring

A grin is back on Eren’s face in moments.

Eren

i mean… if we’re TECHNICALLY speaking…

Armin <3

Mhm………

Eren

then i’d love to 

Armin <3

Aksjkskks okay great :)

Eren

:)))

ughhhh i’m so sorry i really wanna keep talking but i can barely keep my eyes open 💔💔💔

Armin <3

OMG don’t worry about it

Istg Eren go to sleep

Eren

i will 🙁

but i’ll see you tomorrow 

?

Armin <3

Of course

Eren

askenksw okay

you better sleep too

if i see you online at 1 in the morning again..

Armin <3

I’ve been sleeping!!!!!!

Eren

uh huh.

Armin <3

Really

But don’t worry about me

I’m fine

You go to sleep

Eren

i’m walking up to my bed literally as we speak

Armin <3

Okay good

In that case goodnight Eren :)

Eren

goodnight min

<3

Armin <3

<33

જ⁀➴♡

Historia gets grounded for the first time since she was twelve years old.

Annoying though it may be, she doesn’t expect anything less. Her parents have always been lenient with most things—the occasional bad grade, squabbling with her siblings, missing a few days of school for a mental break—but walking all the way to Eren’s house in the middle of a snowstorm with no warning beforehand, barely any protective clothing on, and her phone off was more than enough to ebb away the very last of their patience. Levi had calmed down on the way home, knowing she was alive and well and didn’t freeze to death, but the vein bulging in Erwin’s forehead when she’d sheepishly explained her reasons for leaving the house had told her everything she’d needed to know about her fate.

It’s not so bad. Yeah, she’ll have to give them her phone every night for the next week, and Eren won’t be able to come over until they deem her punishment lifted, but she’ll still be able to see him on their car rides to and from school, along with hanging out inside school.

And Ymir will be there, too. So, not bad at all.

She brings the collar of her sweater to her nose, breathing it in. The smell of pine has mostly faded since yesterday, but there are still traces of it lingering, tingling her skin just like they had when Ymir had wrapped her arms around her, bundling her in warmth. It’s like she can almost feel it again now; the tickle of her brown hair atop her head, her scratchy shirt against her cheek, the hot puffs of breath with every exhale. That soft smile after, crinkling the corners of her eyes. Her freckles…

“Tori?”

She blinks, hands falling to her lap. Armin’s looming over her with a steaming mug in his hand, brows knitted together. His glasses are resting on his forehead, pushing some of his wispy bangs away from his face. He clears his throat. “Why are you sniffing your sweater?”

Her cheeks grow hot. “I wasn’t sniffing my sweater.”

“Well, you sort of just—” he uses his free hand to imitate her movements, pulling the collar of his long-sleeved shirt to his face and giving a long, exaggerated inhale. “I mean, not that I’m judging—”

“I wasn’t doing that,” she grumbles, kicking his shin. He gives a small laugh and settles beside her on the couch. “You’re just seeing things.”

“Mhmmm. Still looked like sniffing to me.” She harshly nudges his shoulder with her own, and he shoots her a look. “Hey. I’m holding hot chocolate.”

“‘Kay. Hope you burn yourself.”

“Wow.”

He holds the mug to her, a silent question. She grabs it by the handle and takes a small sip. It’s not hot enough to burn her tongue, but it prickles her throat a little when she swallows. 

“How long have you been up?” she asks, handing it back to him. The sun still hasn’t risen outside, their only source of light being the moon coating the living room in its milky glow. She doesn’t even want to know what ungodly hour of the night it is right now.

“I actually have no idea,” Armin mutters. “An hour, maybe?” He then narrows his eyes. “You should be in bed, though.”

“I tried,” Historia says, which, for once, isn’t a lie. She’d thought, after giving Ymir her stupid gift yesterday, that she’d finally be able to sleep a full night without the usual tossing, turning, and unbearable throbs thundering at the back of her skull, but they’d somehow gotten even worse, cursing her at every failed attempt she made to close her eyes . To top it all off, their heating system had conveniently chosen to shut down in the middle of the night, which had forced her to keep her damned sweater on so she didn’t freeze to death beneath the covers. Every fucking breath she took was coated with that pine smell. Her smell. 

It shouldn’t be a big deal. The lingering smell of Ymir’s clothing shouldn’t stir so much restlessness within her that she can’t function like an ordinary human being. But for some reason, it’s yet to fail at making her head spin so embarrassingly fast she almost throws up. And also giving her the sudden urge to smile into her pillow like an idiot.

That cannot, by any means, be normal. At all. 

“Did you really?”

“Yes, ‘Min.”

“Hm.” He takes a long sip of his hot chocolate. Historia doesn’t like the way he stares seamlessly into nothing, tapping his nails against the mug. Thinking face. “You gave Ymir her present yesterday, though, didn’t you?”

The temperature in her face leaps to concerning heights. “That has nothing to do with this.”

“Uh huh.”

“I’m serious.” She tucks a few tousled strands of blonde hair behind her ear, cursing her past self for ever confiding that particular problem to him two weeks ago. When Armin latches onto a detail he thinks is important—no matter how insignificant it may be—it’ll take forever to convince him otherwise. “It’s probably just school. We have to start this stupid project for English that counts for, like, half our grade, even though it’s so fucking useless.”

Armin raises a brow. “‘We’?” 

“Ymir and I are working on it together,” she says casually, though her heart quickens ever so slightly at the thought. Armin takes another long sip.

“Interesting.”

“The fuck do you mean, interesting?”

“Nothing,” he says innocently, though there’s the hint of a small smirk forming on his lips. “But if that’s what’s been keeping you up at night…”

“Armin.”

“I’m just saying.”

“You can shut up now,” she tells him, her head falling onto his shoulder. He chuckles lightly, presses a small kiss to her hair.

“Sorry.”

Liar, Historia thinks, too exhausted to open her mouth again. She shuts her eyes, and he lets her sit like that for a while, finishing off his hot chocolate as she snoozes lightly. Eventually, sunlight begins to trickle through the windows, blinding her through her eyelids, and it’s when the birds start chirping does Armin gently nudge her off and help her to her room. 

She shuffles back downstairs twenty minutes later, fully dressed with her bag slung over her shoulder, and finds Mikasa helping Erwin stir his coffee in the kitchen. Her sister greets her with a kiss to her forehead, and Erwin ruffles her hair, holding her phone in his hand.

“Remember,” he starts, “no—”

“No hanging out with Eren after school, come back as soon as possible, answer all the texts you and Pa send me,” she interrupts, taking it. “I know, Dad.”

He gives a small smile. “Good. Love you, Tori.”

“You, too,” she mumbles, grabbing a piece of fresh toast from the counter and swiftly exiting the way she came. Mikasa follows her out not too long after.

Eren arrives at eight on the dot, parking in his usual spot right in front of the sidewalk. Historia tries not to outwardly gag, watching Armin run up and give him a hug as soon as he gets out of the car, but it’s hard when Eren’s face reddens so profusely, his hands rigidly hovering over Armin’s upper back as if he doesn’t know whether to touch him or explode. She shares a glance with Mikasa, who looks just as exasperated as she feels. What an idiot.

“Hi,” Armin grins as he pulls away, seemingly unaware of how badly he’s rendered Eren speechless. Eren visibly swallows, the flush in his face migrating to his ears and neck. 

“Are those earrings?” Historia yells, just noticing the tiny, circular black studs he’s put on. The comment does its job of snapping him out of his little trance, thank God. 

“I reopened the holes last night,” he says, helping Armin into the passenger’s seat. Historia focuses her gaze on him, definitely not avoiding looking at the backseat. Not at all. “Hurt like a bitch, though.”

“Your fault for not going to a professional,” she yawns. “Don’t come crying when it gets infected.”

“It won’t. I used ice and lemon and shit.”

“Mhmmm.”

The slight screech of the backseat window rolling down sends a spike of dizziness within Historia. Don’t look, don’t look, don’t fucking look—

“They’re absolute shit, by the way,” comes Ymir’s smug voice. “I could do better with a blindfold on.”

“Fuck off. That dumb beanie makes you look like a smurf with an overgrown head, I can’t take your dumbass seriously.”

“At least I can pull it off without turning into a wannabe edgelord.”

It takes about point-five seconds before Historia succumbs to herself, eyes flickering to the girl that’s continuously kept her up at night for three weeks straight. She’s wearing the beanie I got, is the first thing that comes to mind, her cheeks flushing at the sight of it pulled over her head, pushing her bangs further into her eyes. Ymir looks at her, smiles softly, and she faintly wonders how she’s managed to go on this long without falling to her knees and imploding in on herself. 

She’s so lovely follows very quickly after. Historia doesn’t allow herself to dwell on that for long at all.

“Hi, Blondie,” Ymir says, folding her arms atop the new gap in the car door and resting her chin on them. Eren drags out an overblown eugh and gets into the car.

Historia leans forward and flicks the spot between her eyes, grinning at the way she scrunches her nose. “How can you even see with that thing on?” she muses, pulse quickening when Ymir opens the door fully and pulls her onto her lap by the hand. An arm is wrapped around her waist, holding her close as Ymir straps the seatbelt over both of them, and Historia wouldn’t be surprised if she suddenly melted into a puddle of goo and nothingness. 

“I think it gives a nice flare, personally.”

“Uh huh.”

“You two are so weird,” Gabi says, eyeing them up and down. Mikasa snorts, piling into the car beside her, and Historia shoots her a very pointed glare. “Like, even weirder than my stupid brother, and that says a lot.”

“I heard that,” Eren mutters, starting up the engine. “Fucking asshole.”

“I’m gonna tell mom you swore at me.”

“Asshole.”

As soon as they arrive at school, Mikasa bolts off to help Sasha with last-minute studying for the biology test she has first period, leaving them to their devices. Historia forces herself to leave the comforting warmth of Ymir’s lap and face the bitter cold outside, ignoring the questioning looks Armin throws in her direction. It’s scary how fierce the desire to stay put is, listening to her cackles and crows and all the insults she never fails to hit Eren with. She hadn’t realized until now how much she just wants to hear Ymir’s voice in general, no matter the annoying things she always spews.

“I’d seriously rather write a million essays than watch this,” Ymir mutters, nodding her head at Armin and Eren, who are walking in front of them in the crowded hallway. Armin has one hand on Eren’s forearm, the other holding his phone up, some file flashing on its screen. Eren promptly looks like he’s going to combust any moment. Historia barely registers what they’re doing, much more focused on the tiny dimples that surface on Ymir’s cheeks each time she moves her mouth. How has she gone six years without noticing that? “Speaking of, we still have that stupid English thing to work on, don’t we?”

“Mhm,” Historia says absently. The dimple on her right cheek is deeper than the left, she realizes. Like a tiny crater. Pretty. “Stupid English thing.”

“Yeah,” Ymir says, slowly. She clears her throat; her cheeks turn the faintest of reds. “Is there something on my face?”

“What? No.”

“‘Kay. ‘Cause you’ve been staring at me like this—” she widens her eyes—“since you got in the car.”

Historia’s eyes drift to the ground, heat rising to her face. There must have been some fucked up alteration done to her brain in the midst of all her stress, because what kind of person just— does this? Has the urge to trace someone’s dimples with their fingertips, to map out every single freckle on their cheeks like a constellation? Not anyone who isn’t absolutely fucked in the head. 

“You just have a stupid face,” she settles on after a moment. “Not my fault I have to gawk.”

Ymir grins. “So you admit you were gawking?”

Historia flushes harder. “Shut up. It was an over exaggeration.”

“Mhmmm.” Ymir lightly bumps her side, sending little prickles of heat all over her body. “And what makes my face so stupid, huh?”

“Everything.” Freckles. Dimples. Crinkled smile.

“Ouch, Blondie. You’re breaking my heart over here.”

“And you’re making my ears bleed over here,” Eren cuts in, grimacing. Historia wonders why he suddenly looks so gloomy, before her eyes drift over to Armin, who seems to have left them to join Marco at his locker. The both of them are talking in such a rush it hurts to watch. “Could you two weirdly flirt with each other somewhere else?”

Oh, Historia really could kill him, she could. “Eren,” she hisses.

Ymir just eyes him up and down. “You’re talking about weird flirting? The same guy who decided to buy his crush a singular white chocolate bar as a way to get his number—”

“It wasn’t to get his number!” Eren gasps. “Where the fuck did you get that from?”

“‘Cause I know how your mind works.”

“No, you just think you know,” Eren says coolly, tugging on the straps of his backpack. “I’m gonna go. See you at lunch, Tori.”

He’s rushing off before she can get a word in. Ymir furrows her brows. “Jesus, what’s he pissed off about now?”

You and your tendency to be an asshole, Historia wants to say, but she thinks that’s only part of it this time. “He’s probably just butthurt Armin left him to talk to Marco.”

“Okay, well, that’s not my problem.”

“Sure, Ymir,” Historia snorts, grabbing her arm and giving it a tug. “C’mon. We should get good seats before everyone starts piling in.”

They secure two desks in the very back of Ms. Ral’s classroom just as the bell gives its screeching ring. Since the English project doesn’t officially start until next week—the beginning of March—Ms. Ral just goes over the poetry packets they’ve been working on since January. Bored out of her mind is definitely one way to put Historia’s current mental state; her brain feels like it's going to leak out of her ears any minute now. 

A nudge to her shin puts her out of her misery. She glances beside her, and Ymir slides a crumpled paper over to her desk. Her horrible handwriting is clear enough to make out.

blondie

What? Historia mouths. Ymir scribbles something else.

i’m so bored i think my head might explode

Historia fondly shakes her head and fishes a rogue pencil out of her bag. 

Same.

A grin splits Ymir’s face.

your handwriting is so prissy

Historia flushes. Is not.

is too

Is not.

ur adding periods to every sentence

You mean basic punctuation?

prissy

I hate you.

no you dont

I very much do.

whatever

Ymir pauses, then writes out something else.

when do u wanna start working on the project

Historia thinks for a moment. I can’t start this week.

why

She furrows her brows, knowing there’s no way Ymir’s not going to tease her for this.

I got grounded.

Ymir snorts loudly enough that the entire class turns to look at them. Ms. Ral stops mid-explanation. Historia immediately wants to sink into her chair and never resurface, ever.

“Is something wrong, Ymir?” Ms. Ral asks. It takes Ymir a split second to compose herself, her cheeks puffed in the way Historia knows she’s giving it her all not to let one of her infamous cackles loose.

“No, Ms. Ral,” Ymir says, rather hoarsely. “I just—have a sore throat.”

“Hm.” She turns back to the presentation she has projected on the board, Ymir still giggling into her hand. Historia kicks her foot underneath the table.

Can you shut UP.

It feels like forever, but Ymir finally calms down enough to write a response. 

ARE YOU SERIOUS

The skin on Historia’s face feels like it’s melting. It’s your fault.

how the fuck is it my fault????

Because I walked all the way to your house to give you your gift.

weeelllll ure the one who chose to do that

Forgive me for wanting to do something nice.

something nice for Me ;)

Historia thins her lips, desperate not to give Ymir the satisfaction of knowing she made her want to laugh. Don’t get used to it.

:’(

Why are you drawing faces now?

i am expressing my EMOTIONS 

Those are some ugly ass emotions.

WHAT THE HELL??

♡

oh my god even the way you draw hearts is prissy i’m crying

CAN YOU STOP??

;) no

Bye.

“I’m literally sitting right next to you,” Ymir whispers. Historia harshly kicks her foot. “Ow.”

“Stop talking.”

“Your face is so red right now,” Ymir says gleefully. Historia kicks her again. “Ow?”

Historia rolls her eyes, trying to focus on anything but the searing heat bundling underneath her skin. “I swear, it’s like you’re asking for us to get detention again.”

“Maybe we’ll get put together this time.”

“Oh, yes. Getting stuck with you for an hour? Exactly what I need.”

“Do you two need to be separated?” Ms. Ral suddenly says, her piercing gaze fixed on them. They share a glance, and Historia clears her throat.

“No, Ms. Ral.”

“Sorry, Ms. Ral,” Ymir says at the same time. Ms. Ral sighs, shakes her head, and mutters something incoherent.

Idiot, Historia writes out. The remaining space on the paper is becoming increasingly scarce.

that was your fault

You’re the one who talked???

whatever!!!!!

anyways will u be grounded on saturday

Historia raises a brow. Why?

so we can work on the project

It’s due in a month.

ok and

Since when were you so productive?

believe it or not im doing this for ur sake

Uh huh. Historia exhales through her nose. I guess my parents couldn’t technically say no to me going out for studying purposes…

okay then i’ll pick u up at noon and we can go to the mall

or something

Do you even know how to drive?

kind of

…?

okay i don’t but i’ll learn for you

Idiot. 

( ˘ ³˘) ❥

Historia allows herself a tiny laugh, setting down the pencil and laying her cheek on the table. Ymir mirrors her movements, facing her. Prissy, she mouths. 

Her bangs push further into her eyes, all uneven and ruffled. It shouldn’t be so endearing. Historia shouldn’t be so utterly captivated by how brown her eyes are, even when hidden.

She doesn’t know why she does it. She doesn’t know what demon from the underworld possesses her hand to reach upwards, brush up against Ymir’s cheek, those soft locks of hair, and tuck them behind her ear, the stubborn strays staying put at her temples. Ymir’s eyes widen, more golden now that the sunlight from the window is properly hitting them. Historia swallows, takes back her hand, and digs her nails into her palm to stop the prickling, leftover tremors of skin against skin.

“They were in your stupid face,” she manages to breathe out, turning her head, not bearing the sight of her any longer. 

She expects Ymir to say something, to poke her and tease her for the redness in her cheeks, the airiness in her voice. Anything to dissipate the thickening tension growing between them, a vast distance . But she stays silent. Lets it flow. Historia makes herself feel glad for it.

Definitely something wrong with me, she thinks, squeezing her eyes shut. 

જ⁀➴♡

Friday eventually rolls around in the longest yet shortest four days of Eren’s entire life. It almost feels as if crackles of restless electricity are bursting beneath his skin, a mix of all the nervousness and frustration he’s been harboring for the past week. Mostly at the prospect of having Armin over at his house, alone, for hours on end without Historia or Ymir or any of their other friends interrupting him every time he so much as attempts to speak. But also because it seems his little mood has somehow managed to… expand.

That’s an understatement. A very grave understatement, in fact. 

If he thought his constant brooding was awful to deal with, then whatever the hell is going on with Historia has begun to rival the worst of it. He has no idea what happened on Monday, but the moment he’d caught up with her at lunch, he’d spotted the rigidness building in her shoulders like clockwork. She’d harshly brushed it off when he’d asked, claiming she was just tired and in need of a nap, but he’s known her long enough to pick up on when something is genuinely bothering her. He’d sensed it a month ago, when she’d found out about his feelings for Armin and nearly blew her head off trying to keep it from him, and it’s even more prominent now, weirdly, with Ymir. 

It’s not to say he wasn’t expecting this to happen at some point. Historia’s always been a complete idiot when it comes to her own feelings, choosing to ignore every obvious sign that happens to inconvenience her, but she can only manage it for so long until she implodes in on herself. From the looks of it, either she’s finally fucking realized that she still has a crush on his cousin and is spiraling as a result, or she’s well on her way to doing so and still desperately trying to patch up the seams of that little revelation. It’s a bit sad to watch, really, but he won’t interfere, as much as he wants to bonk her upside the head and loudly tell her how stupid she’s being. This is something she has to figure out on her own, for both her sake, and Ymir’s.

Anyway, that’s their problem. He can’t be concerned about whatever weird tension is brimming between them, because he’s much more focused on the fact that a certain blond is going to be physically inside his house in less than two hours, with all his math notebooks and fancy pencils and glasses that slide down his nose whenever he dips his head, like they’re torturing Eren with the urge to nudge them back up with his thumb. The mere thought is enough to send a startling rush of blood to his brain.

He’d set everything meticulously into place the night before. The first and most annoying order of business was bribing Ymir to bring her mattress into Gabi’s room and sleep there using the fifty bucks he’d managed to save in the last six months by purely doing chores. It’d been a blow, to say the least, watching her triumphant grin as soon as he’d handed her the pathetic rolled up wad of all he had to his name, but it was worth it to finally drag her dingy mattress out of his room. The old thing is already starting to smell. He doesn’t even want to know what sort of stains lay beneath the ugly flower-printed sheets.

Next came the five-year-late deep clean of everything he owned. It was after about ten youtube tutorials, three bottles of the expensive soap his mother stored in the pantry, and almost breaking his big toe by kicking his bed frame in a fit of frustration that he was able to completely rid his room of its mutinies, dirt and dead bugs and all. That’s mostly because of all the expired candy he still keeps in the back of his closet, but it’d felt wrong to throw out the enormous bag he’s hidden for God knows how long. Not that it matters. It isn’t as if Armin is going to whip out a magnifying glass and closely inspect every corner of his room as soon as he gets there. Eren is clean enough.

Or is he? Sweat beads at his temple, and he stares blankly into his locker, hundreds of rogue papers he’d shoved in there since the beginning of the year threatening to escape through the small crack in its open door. God, what would Armin even think if he ever had the misfortune of looking into this thing? He’s always been so rigidly organized when it comes to school—it’s one of the first things Eren remembers noticing about him. How he’d distinguish his notebooks by color and separate his pencils and highlighters in his pencil cases, labeling them with stickers. He’s never really understood the need for it—his life has always been just a whirl of impulse and static—but watching Armin’s eyes get so wide and sparkly whenever he talks about his studying plans for the week stays consistent in setting off sparks in his chest. He would gladly listen to him drone on and on about it for eternity if it meant getting to hear his voice.

But what if he’s only interested in people who like those sorts of things? 

Eren lightly hits his forehead against the locker’s metal door, muffling a groan. The dumb guy who flirted with him probably likes agendas and studying and—and binders. Maybe that’s why Marco had been so insistent on Armin returning his stupid affections. Stupid fucking binder guy. Eren can talk about binders just as much, even though he hasn’t owned one not falling apart at the seams since middle school—

“Eren?”

He nearly smacks his head against the locker door, cheeks flaming at the sight of Armin looking up at him with a tiny smile. His hair is up today, tied into a ponytail that nearly reaches his shoulders. It’s gotten so much longer since January, Eren thinks, holding the sudden urge to pull out the tie and run his fingers through those golden locks.

“Armin,” he blurts out, cursing his squeaky voice. “Sorry, I didn’t—hi.”

“Hey,” Armin says, a hint of amusement in his voice. Behind him, Marco leans against the closed lockers, smirking as he gives a small wave. Eren tries for a smile back, though he’s sure his face just contorts into a grimace. Him and Armin have been stuck together all week, leaving the group during every break to have their weird little whisper sessions. Eren can admit he’s more than a little irritated about it, seeing as he’s barely able to hang out with Armin alone as it is. He’s also ninety-nine percent sure they’re talking about stupid Binder Guy, which makes it even worse. “Are you alright?”

“Huh?”

“You were muttering a lot of stuff under your breath just now.”

“Oh.” Eren instantly wants to smack himself. Idiot. “I was just—planning.”

Armin blinks. “Planning?”

“Mhm. About—” he thinks for a moment. “Uh, binders?”

“...Binders?”

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Eren forces out a laugh that sounds more like a cry for help than anything. Marco’s very obviously stifling his own laugh with the back of his hand. “Yeah. I’ve been, uh, planning to get some more. So.”

Armin peers into his locker. “How long have you been shoving stuff in there without one?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Eren coughs, slamming the locker door shut. “It’s all useless. Whatever.”

“Mhmmm.” Armin tucks a few loose wisps of hair behind his ear, and oh, Eren might cry from the sheer amount of pressure he’s putting on his hands to stop them from reaching out and doing something stupid, like cupping his face and bringing him close enough that their lips meet. “Anyway, I just wanted to make sure—we’re still on for today, right?”

Eren nods, turning back to the locker in a desperate attempt to hide his most likely reddened face. We’re still on for today. If he deludes himself enough, it almost sounds like they’re going on a date. His insides melt into goo at the thought. “‘Course. As long as you’re willing to put up with my sister and her nagging.”

Armin grins and shakes his head. “I think I’m more worried about you and Ymir trying to kill each other on the way home, actually.”

“They might gang up on us,” Eren says seriously, and Armin laughs, a low-pitched sound that trickles like honey into Eren’s ears. “I swear! Yesterday they tried stealing my wallet from my pocket as I was on the fucking highway.”

“What were you doing on the highway?”

Eren flushes. “Getting snacks. For movie night. I’m sorry in advance if my mom makes you watch with us.”

Armin pats his shoulder, and Eren’s eyes trail to his hand, drinking in the little golden ring he has on his forefinger. So pretty, he thinks weakly. “Honestly, that sounds a lot better than doing Mr. Olulo’s stupid math packet.”

“God, don’t remind me. My head already hurts thinking about it.”

“Armin,” Marco says suddenly, pointing to his watch. “Bell’s gonna ring in a minute.” He gives Eren a sheepish look. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Eren mumbles, scratching the back of his head. “I’ll see you later, ‘Min.”

Eren thinks his heart is beating so quickly he might be hallucinating, but Armin’s cheeks suddenly turn a rosy pink. “Yeah. Later. Bye, Eren.” 

Just as quickly as he’d startled Eren earlier, he’s pulling Marco away by the sleeve, the two of them immediately jumping into a frenzy of hushed back and forths. Dread fills his chest. There’s no way that can possibly be any good.

He replays the sound of Armin’s laugh in his mind all the way until he sees him again at the end of the day, waiting by the car with Mikasa and Gabi in tow. Historia and Ymir are trailing behind him as they walk over, caught up in their usual back and forth quips that are just thinly veiled attempts at flirting. He almost hits his forehead out of sheer frustration, but refrains himself. The last thing he needs is Armin seeing his resolve crumble into less than atoms in real time.

“Your hair’s all ruffled,” Ymir says in her usual annoying tone, reaching down to card her hand through Historia’s blonde locks in one quick movement. Historia’s cheeks bloom so brightly Eren’s surprised she doesn’t explode on the spot. 

“You cannot be talking with that thing on your head.”

“You mean the thing you gave me? For my birthday? The thing you walked through an entire snowstorm just to—”

“I’m never getting you anything ever again,” Historia grumbles, smoothing out the strands of hair that stuck up near her temples. 

Ymir gasps. “Blondie.”

“Please save me,” Eren says urgently as soon as he meets Armin at the passenger’s door. One of Gabi’s hands is laced with his, the other holding her iPad. “Seriously, ‘Min, I’m gonna barf.”

“I’m so sorry,” Armin tells him, a few giggles leaving his mouth. Gabi looks between them, her lips pursing. 

“Why are you gonna barf?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Eren says breezily, ushering her into the backseat. She sticks her tongue out at him.

They manage to make it to Historia’s place in one piece, at least. As soon as Eren pulls up to the sidewalk, Historia quickly unbuckles the seatbelt fusing her and Ymir together, kicks open the car door, and scrambles out like she’ll die if she has to spend another minute in her presence. Eren almost takes out his phone and snaps a picture of her reddened face, but she’d probably kill him for real if he ever did anything of the sort, so he just burns the image into his memory to tease her about it later.

Mikasa meets her on the steps, the two of them starting to make their way to the front porch, before Historia stops dead in her tracks. Turns around and stares at Armin, who hasn’t gotten out of the car, with her eyes narrowed like a cat’s. “‘Min?”

A droplet of sweat rolls down Eren’s face, and he gulps. Fuck, he’d completely forgotten to tell her about their little study session. He’d focused so much on the fact that Armin was even coming over at all to factor in how she’d react to the whole thing. God only knows what’s in store for him in the next few moments. He should just take the stupid picture of her now—if he’s going to die anyway, he may as well do it as one last hurrah to his pathetic existence.

“I’m going over to Eren’s to study for math,” Armin tells her, giving Eren a curious glance. “I thought he mentioned it to you.”

“No, he didn’t,” Historia says flatly. Eren sees Ymir give one of her shit-eating grins in the rearview mirror and mouth, you’re so dead. Since flipping her off will just get Historia even more irritated, he makes himself keep his hands tightly wrapped around the wheel, glaring at her instead.

Gabi instantly perks up in the backseat. “You’re coming over?”

“Yep,” Armin says, leaning back and ruffling her hair. 

“Finally.”

“He’s coming over to study, Gabi,” Eren reminds her, “not to indulge in your shit.”

“He can hang out with me during your breaks.”

“Who said that?”

“Me, duh.”

Historia loudly clears her throat, and Eren winces. “Sorry, Tori.”

“Uh huh.” Her eyes narrow even further. “You guys are only doing math?”

Eren rolls his eyes. “Armin literally just said that, idiot.”

“‘Kay.” She tugs Mikasa’s arm, the both of them sharing an indecipherable look, and starts walking up the steps again. “If you do anything stupid, I’ll know about it,” she yells.

“How the fuck would you know?”

“I just will,” is the last thing she says before shooting him a venomous look and slamming the front door behind her. 

Armin raises a brow. “What was that all about?”

“She’s just trying to be annoying,” Eren mutters, thankful that Armin hadn’t caught on to her not-so-subtle threats should he try to imply their hangout was something more. “Anyway, do you need to get anything from inside before we go?”

Armin shakes his head, gives the dimpled smile Eren loves so much, and it takes all his willpower not to stare and force himself to look back at the road, his foot harshly pushing the gas pedal.

“Are you sure you just wanna study?” Gabi pesters Armin for what seems like the millionth time, entangling her hand with his again as they follow Eren and Ymir up the front steps of their house. “I haven’t shown you my new PC yet.”

“Gabi,” Eren warns. She pouts. “What did I say in the car?”

“It’s fine, Eren,” Armin chuckles, turning to her. “Tell you what—if we end up finishing early, I promise you can show me all the games you got.”

She looks at him pointedly. “And teach you how to play them?”

“Of course.”

“Hm.” Gabi seems to ponder this for a moment, before she huffs out, “Fine.”

“Wow,” Ymir grins, unlocking the front door and letting out a burst of heat from inside. Armin steps closer to Eren, letting their shoulders brush, and he swallows. “I think that’s a world-record for how fast anyone’s gotten you to agree to anything.”

“I like him more than you,” Gabi tells her coolly before smacking her shoulder and rushing inside. Ymir shoots Armin a thumbs up and follows suit, screaming profanities after her.

“Dumbasses,” Eren mutters, and Armin laughs, his breath fogging in front of his face. His cheeks and nose are flushed red from the cold, almost vibrant. He looks so beautiful Eren might cry. “Sorry about Gabi. I know she can be a bit—” he grimaces. “Intense.”

“I think it’s sweet,” Armin muses, following Eren up the rest of the steps and closing the door behind them when they enter the house. Warmth settles into Eren’s frozen joints, and he lets out a small sigh of relief. “She doesn’t beg any of our other friends to hang out with her nearly as much.”

“Eh. I can’t really blame her anyway.” Eren bumps their shoulders together, relishes in the way Armin’s flush deepens slightly. “Plus it gives you an excuse to, y’know. Come over more.”

A tiny smile plays on Armin’s lips. “Really?”

“Well, yeah,” Eren coughs. He shrugs off his coat and hangs it beside the door, suddenly feeling too warm to keep it on, and lightly tugs on Armin’s sleeve to help him do the same. The contact is minimal, but still sends sparks flying against his fingertips. “She’d, uh, she’d definitely like that.”

“She would?” Armin asks softly. He steps a little closer, letting Eren’s hand brush against his coat. Eren hopes he doesn’t notice the way his eyes flicker down to his lips, only mere inches away. If only he had the courage to cup his face and bring him upwards—and he would’ve, if it were anyone else.

But this is Armin. His best friend’s brother, the boy he’s liked for as long as he’s known what liking someone means. Their first kiss won’t happen because of his stupid impulses, in his living room where his annoying sister and cousin can walk in on them at any moment. Not if he has anything to say about it.

Eren gently tugs off Armin’s coat, letting it fall to his side in his limp hand. Armin looks at him so intently. Like he’s waiting for something that Eren isn’t aware of. 

“And—” Eren swallows, “I would, too. A lot.”

Armin presses his lips together, obviously trying to fight a grin—it makes his dimples all the more prominent in his cheeks. Blood courses through Eren’s veins in a rush. “Your face is so red right now.”

“Shut up, it’s not.”

“It really is,” Armin snorts, reaching up and brushing a stray hair behind Eren’s ear. He’s pretty sure his heart is about to explode, along with his brain. “But… I wouldn’t mind hanging out more. Here. If that’s what you want, of course.”

“Yeah,” Eren squeaks. “Sure. Sounds—sounds good.”

Then comes the sudden sound of someone clearing their throat, and Eren practically jumps, dread creeping through him when he realizes his mother is standing behind them, leaning against the kitchen’s door frame and holding a mug of steaming coffee in her hands. 

“Hi, Armin,” she says, bringing the mug to her mouth and taking a sip. At least Eren isn’t the only one with his face on fire; red splotches quickly begin to bloom on Armin’s cheeks. “Lovely to see you. Eren didn’t tell me you were coming over today.”

“We’re studying,” Eren says quickly before Armin can get a word in. He loves his mother to death, truly, but the mischievous little smile on her face is nothing good. “For math. I said that yesterday.”

“Did you now?” She takes another long, excruciating sip. “Can’t seem to recall…”

“I didn’t mean to intrude, Mrs. Jeager—” Armin starts, but she cuts him off with her hand immediately.

“Intrude? Nonsense. You’re always welcome here,” she says, way more enthusiastic than she has to be. The bad feeling in Eren’s gut only grows. “And just Carla is fine. Or Auntie, even.”

“Can I talk to you for a sec, mom?” Eren asks, loudly. “Alone?”

She shrugs. “I suppose.”

He nudges Armin’s foot with his own. “I’ll meet you upstairs. Give me a minute, tops.”

“Okay,” Armin murmurs. He turns to Carla again, giving a meek wave. “It was really nice seeing you, Auntie.”

“You too, honey. Please tell your parents I said a big hi,” she tells him, and he nods, shuffling upstairs a moment later. Carla grins widely, glancing between Eren and the stairs. “Well?”

“What was all that for?” Eren hisses. Carla’s shoulders shake with silent laughter. “You freaked him out so bad, mom!”

“I’m sorry,” she chokes out, holding her mug with both hands as if to steady it. “That wasn’t my intention, honest. I just haven’t seen you that flustered in so long— God, your ears are still bright red.”

“Stop.”

“What? It’s true!”

Eren takes a deep, steadying breath, allowing her to let all the giggles out of her system. She sighs after a few more seconds, wipes away the tears that’d fallen onto her face. “I was also just taken by surprise a bit,” she continues. “I mean, you could’ve at least warned me about bringing your boyfriend over first—”

“What the—he’s not my boyfriend!” Eren squawks, feeling the heat in his face crank up to an even higher temperature. “How’d you even get to that conclusion?”

“You two were standing a tad bit too close for comfort.”

Just how much had she seen? He forces himself to shake away the thought. “Okay, well, he’s literally just here so we can finish the stupid math packet Mr. Olulo sent out. So drop it.”

Carla holds a hand in the air. “Alright, alright, I will.” Then she smirks. “But you do like him, right?”

Eren blinks, not quite knowing how to process his mother pointing out his feelings so casually. “How did you…?”

“Oh, my love,” she muses, patting his cheek. “I’ve known for years.”

“What?”

“It really wasn’t that hard to guess.” Carla smiles fondly, watching the coffee slosh around in her cup as she moves it back and forth. “Every time you mention him, your eyes get all big and sparkly. It’s so cute.”

“Okay, mom,” he mutters, turning away, too embarrassed to meet her gaze. God, he really does need to get a grip—how has everyone except for Historia managed to figure out his feelings for Armin so quickly? There’s no way he can possibly be that obvious.

His mother lets out another chuckle. “Sorry, I’m done teasing now. You can go up.”

“Thank you,” he grumbles, making a beeline for the stairs.

“Oh, and one more thing!” Carla calls. Eren stops in his tracks, and she gives a cheeky grin. “Make sure to keep the door at least three inches open, ‘kay?”

“Bye, mom!” he yells, running up before she can spew any more embarrassing nonsense.

Armin’s sitting criss-crossed on the floor in front of the bed with his laptop opened when Eren finally enters his room, scribbling things down in his notebook. Despite it being the absolute last thing he wants to do, Eren shuts the door just enough to leave a tiny crack; his mother had been mostly joking earlier, but it wouldn’t be unlike her to come up and check. He shudders at the thought.

“Hey,” Armin smiles as Eren takes a seat beside him, leaning back against his bed frame. His glasses have already begun sliding down the curve of his nose. Eren itches with the urge to push them back up. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Sorry about my mom,” Eren says sheepishly. “She just thought she was being funny. And she wasn’t.”

Armin raises a brow. “About what?”

“Nothing,” Eren says quickly, bringing the laptop closer. Armin looks like he wants to say something else, but keeps his mouth shut, which Eren is grateful for. “Anyways. Which shitty question do you wanna start with first?”

They actually get quite a bit of work done, which is both a relief and so irritating Eren wants to rip shreds of his hair out. His brain has never been one to comply during long periods of study time, but Armin patiently deals with all his threats of quitting regardless, and proves to be an even better teacher in person, guiding him through each question more effectively than stupid Mr. Olulo has the entire year. Eren even finds himself kind of enjoying it after a while, but that’s only because Armin’s chosen to suffer alongside him. He would’ve given up ten minutes in had he chosen to study all by himself like an idiot.

A glance at the digital clock on his bedside table tells Eren an hour has passed since they started, and he’s just about ready to jump out of his own skin. Armin must notice, because he blessedly sets down the notebook they’d been sharing between them and closes his laptop.

“My brain hurts,” he mumbles. A bout of warmth abruptly shadows Eren’s shoulder, and he realizes with a start that Armin has rested his cheek against it, his small puffs of breath tingling the skin on Eren’s collarbone. “This doesn’t even feel like math. Just gibberish.”

“Yeah,” Eren forces out, not having the slightest idea what to do with himself. His heart is beating so quickly Armin can probably feel it. God, he hopes not. “You wanna take a break?”

“Please.”

Eren balls his hands in his lap, squeezing so hard his knuckles bloom white. Then, before he can mentally talk himself out of it, he lets his head fall against Armin’s hair, soft strands tickling his cheek. A small, terrified part of him expects Armin to sit up and break away, leaving him cold, but all he does is snuggle closer, wrapping one of his arms around Eren’s bicep. So warm, he thinks. So warm, so warm so warm—

“D’you think Mr. Olulo will be pissed if we don’t finish?” Armin asks. 

Eren exhales through his nose. “That’s like asking hell if it can freeze over, ‘Min.”

“True,” Armin sighs. “But I kind of don’t care either way.”

“Hello?” Eren grins, pretending to cower when Armin playfully swats at his chest. “Who are you and what did you do to the Armin that used to stay home from school in fear of not getting his homework done?”

“This isn’t even homework, Eren, it’s torture. And I’m saying that.”

“Yeah, that’s bad,” Eren murmurs. He feels Armin nod against the crook of his neck. “I guess we can just— not do it. ‘S not like he’s gonna suddenly pop up out of nowhere and start yelling at us for it.”

“Don’t manifest that,” Armin says seriously, and Eren laughs. “Ugh, I can already hear his whiny voice in my head.”

“Eugh.”

“I know.” Armin sits up, and Eren instantly misses his warmth. “What do you wanna do, then?”

Stay here with you. 

“Anything.” Gabi and Ymir’s screams suddenly echo from downstairs, and he fights a groan. “Jesus, they’re still going?”

“You of all people cannot be talking right now.”

“It’s been an hour!”

“May I remind you of the many times—”

Eren coughs, effectively cutting him off. Armin rolls his eyes fondly. “I’d recommend saving some of your peace now. They’re probably gonna come up any minute.”

“God help us all,” Armin says solemnly. 

“It’s no use. We’re fucked.” Eren lightly hits his head against his mattress, eyes searching the ceiling, before they widen. “Unless.”

“Unless…?”

An idea suddenly springs to mind, and Eren stands up, holding out his hand for Armin to take. “We can escape them and my mom altogether.”

Armin glances at his outstretched hand for a moment, cheeks pinkening, before he takes it and allows Eren to pull him up. “And how would we do that, exactly?”

Eren rushes to his closet, rummaging through it until he finds the fluffy blanket he and Ymir have been fighting over since they were kids. He then grabs one of his gym bags and stuffs the blanket inside. “You’re not afraid of heights, right?”

“Uh, not really?” Armin says, confusion written all over his face. “Why?”

“You’ll see,” Eren tells him, tangling their hands together and rushing out the door.

જ⁀➴♡

“A gas station?”

Eren bounces back and forth on his heels, taking in the familiar smell of gasoline filtering through the station’s open door as they walk in. One of the lights in the back is flickering—the same one that has been ever since he and Historia had found this place in middle school—which means the slushie machine is probably still malfunctioning and will give them as many refills as they please.

“You mean the gas station,” Eren says cheerfully. “This is like heaven on Earth, ‘Min.”

“Mhmmm.” Armin makes a show of inhaling deeply, then starts coughing. “Totally. Love the smell of gas burning in my throat.”

Eren pats his back sympathetically. “Just—try not to breathe too much. Or at all, actually.”

“Noted.” Armin pinches the tip of his nose with his fingers. “I hope we don’t get some sort of infection, though. My allergy meds just ran out.”

“We won’t stay for that long. And, the best part about this place isn’t even in here.” Eren puts his hands on his hips. “This is just a pitstop.”

“For what?”

“Well,” Eren starts, his eyes drifting to the singular shopping cart tucked in the corner behind them. Armin follows his gaze, brows raising. “They have good candy deals.”

“That singular chocolate bar over there is eight dollars,” Armin comments, nodding to the stack near the empty cashier table. Eren blinks; Flegel must be taking his break right now. “And there’s tax? What the hell?”

“I know a guy that works here who’ll give me a discount,” Eren reassures him, tugging the shopping cart over by its handle. “So you have your pick of whatever you want.”

Armin flushes, and Eren’s heart squeezes at the sight. “You don’t have to get me anything, Eren.”

“Shhh. Think of it as repayment for being the reason I haven’t completely failed math yet. And,” he adds as Armin tries to cut in, “I wanna treat you either way. So pick.”

Armin purses his lips, looking between him and the chocolate bar. “As long as there’s a discount…”

“Twenty bucks off for everything I buy.”

“Jesus. How’d you even manage to get that deal?”

Eren mimics zipping his lips shut and locking them with a key. “Can’t say. I’ll get mine and Historia’s asses kicked.”

“What does my sister have to do with this?” Armin snorts.

“Everything,” Eren says seriously, skipping down the first aisle with the shopping cart rolling in front of him. Its wheels screech painfully against the dirty, tiled floor. “Man, this thing is so slow.”

“Try pushing it harder,” Armin suggests. Eren does, and it gets caught on one of the tiles, lurching him forward and almost crashing into the racks full of chips and other junk. “That has to be some sort of safety hazard.”

“It’s the dumb floor,” Eren complains. “Flegel always forgets to clean it, even though we remind him every fucking time we’re over here—”

“‘Flegel?’”

“The guy that I know here. He’s the cashier.” Eren clears his throat. “And… manager.”

Armin shakes his head. “So he’s the one that got you the deal, isn’t he?”

Eren puts a finger to his lips, and Armin giggles. “Careful, ‘Min, he might hear us.”

“There’s literally nobody in here but us.”

“He has eyes everywhere.” Eren waves at the security camera to their left. “Hi, Flegel.”

“Hi, Flegel,” Armin echoes. “That’s not creepy at all.”

“Security’s security,” Eren shrugs, attempting a right turn into the second aisle. The wheels almost get caught between the lower levels of the rack and the floor, but he swerves it out of the way just in time. “For the love of—”

“Can I try?” Armin asks. Eren purses his lips, stands aside, and Armin takes control of the handle. He pushes it back and forth a few times before looking up at Eren, the hint of a mischievous grin playing on his lips.

Eren raises a brow. “What is it?” 

“Maybe it just needs extra momentum,” Armin says, almost too innocently. He lifts himself up using the metal wires at the bottom and points inside the basket. “And to get that, we have to add a bit more weight.”

It takes Eren a few seconds to understand what he’s implying, but when he does, excitement takes over him in a rush. “You’re saying I have to ride in the shopping cart?”

“Technically, yes,” Armin smirks. “For physical purposes.”

I like you so much, Eren thinks giddily, climbing into the basket and sitting with his knees against his chest. “You’re so smart, ‘Min.”

“I try,” Armin says, though Eren catches the slight airiness in his voice. He lets his head fall back slightly to catch a glimpse of Armin’s face, pulse quickening when he sees the redness in his cheeks. “What?”

Swallowing, Eren reaches up and gently brushes his thumb near the corner of his mouth. A faint buzzing sensation starts against his fingertip, crackling through his entire body like a bolt of electricity. Armin doesn’t make any move to push him away; he just stays perfectly still, flush migrating to the tip of his nose.

“You had something on your face,” is all Eren says, taking back his hand and looking straight forward in an instant. He hears Armin cough behind him.

“Right. Thanks.” 

Idiot, Eren thinks, fighting the urge to bury his face in his hands and scream until his lungs disintegrate. Why does all common sense leave him the moment Armin enters the room? Why does he always have to give in to his stupid impulses without a second thought—

“I’m gonna move now,” Armin says suddenly. He shakes the cart, and Eren startles, grabbing its wired sides with both hands. “The wheels seem a bit more stable, at least.”

“And that’s because…?”

“There’s equally distributed weight in the cart,” Armin tells him. “So when I push forward—” the cart gives another lurch, not as aggressive as the one Eren was subjected to three minutes prior— “it should be a lot smoother. Like that. Depends on how fast it goes, too.”

“How fast are we talking?” Eren asks, looking up at Armin again with a coy smile. 

“The aisle is kind of long…” Armin says. He pulls the cart back to the very start of the aisle, steadying it with his foot at the bottom. “I guess we could go pretty fast. Assuming we don’t break anything.”

“We won’t,” Eren says breezily, trying not to think about the look on Flegel’s face if he were to see them right now. “Okay, push me.”

Armin nods, yet keeps them in place. Eren’s about to ask if he’s having second thoughts before, not even a split-second later, they’re racing down the aisle in a blur, Armin whooping as Eren screams bloody murder and holds onto the cart for dear life. They screech to a halt just before smacking into the station’s entrance, skidding sideways when Armin gives a quick turn.

They stay like that for a moment, both heaving breaths and recovering from the rush of adrenaline, before Armin bursts into giggles. All it takes is one look in his direction for Eren to do the same, and then they’re doubling over in the kind of laughter that seizes up their throats. The tremors of it shake Eren’s shoulders so harshly he nearly falls out of the cart, and he grabs Armin’s hand for support, feeling his entire body vibrate the same. 

“That—” Eren wheezes, a string of coughs leaving his throat. Armin’s head falls onto his shoulder, the warmth of it almost enough to suck out the remaining air in his lungs completely. “What the fuck, ‘Min?”

“Oh my God,” Armin chokes. “I didn’t expect you to start screaming.”

“You scared the shit out of me!”

“But you told me to push!”

“Not like that.” Eren chuckles, squeezing Armin’s hand. “I think I almost pissed myself.”

“Eren.”

“I’m kidding! Mostly.”

“Uh huh,” Armin muses, pulling back and wiping away the tears on his cheeks. “This shopping cart really is shit, though. Its wheels were still rattling even at that speed.”

“Maybe it needs another test run?” Eren whistles. Armin grins widely. “Just to make sure.”

“Of course.”

A sharp cough suddenly comes from behind. “What are you doing in my shopping cart?”

Eren and Armin shriek, holding onto each other for dear life, which makes Flegel shriek even louder, the cigarette previously seated in his mouth plopping onto the floor. “The hell, Eren!?”

“Christ,” Eren swears, putting a hand atop his chest. Armin loosens his grip on him, but still keeps his hands wrapped around his arm. “You can’t just sneak up on people like that!”

“I didn’t sneak up on you. You just have no awareness of your surroundings.” Flegel picks up the cigarette, grimacing. “Also, this is my store, in case you forgot.”

“Sorry,” Eren mutters. Flegel glances at him, then Armin, his eyes widening.

“Did Historia cut her hair, or something?”

“Not Historia,” Eren corrects. “Her brother.”

“She has a brother?”

“Hi,” Armin says tentatively. Flegel blinks rapidly, like he’s disoriented. This isn’t really an unusual occurrence—people are always a bit put off whenever they see Historia and Armin side-by-side for the first time. Eren’s been around them for so long that he’s caught on to the subtle differences in their features, like how Historia’s hair is slightly lighter than his, or how the tip of Armin’s nose is smaller, but to Flegel, Armin’s probably just a clone of her with a deeper voice and shorter hair. “I’m Armin. Nice to meet you. Sorry for, uh, screaming earlier.”

“No problem,” Flegel says lightly, glancing at Eren with his eyes narrowed. He tries not to wince. “You. Come with me to the register for a sec.”

“Okay,” Eren coughs. He climbs out of the shopping cart with Armin’s help, giving him a sheepish look. “You can look around for stuff, if you want. I’ll get you when we’re done.”

“Alright,” Armin says warily. He retreats to the aisle on the far left. 

Flegel makes his way over to the register and gestures for Eren to follow him, tossing the ruined cigarette into the trash and fishing out a new one from the battered box he has lying on the counter. “Look, if you’re mad about the shopping cart—” Eren starts, but the older man cuts him off with his hand.

“I’m not mad,” he says, plucking the cigarette into his mouth and lighting it. Eren scrunches his nose at the smell. “A bit confused, sure, but not mad. You and Historia have pulled stupider shit in here, anyway.”

Eren lets out a small laugh. 'Stupider shit' is definitely one way to put it—Flegel’s dealt with them and their extremely unhealthy addiction to snacks since they were fourteen years old. He claims the only reason he keeps them around is because they offer to help him out with the store on weekends in exchange for free stuff, but Eren likes to think he’s secretly fond of their company regardless. 

“O- kay. So why’d you wanna talk to me, then?”

Flegal nods to the aisle Armin had gone into earlier. “What’s up with him?”

“Huh?”

“You and him, I mean,” Flegel clarifies, exhaling a small puff of smoke. Eren feels his cheeks get hot. How is he having this conversation a second time today? His mother questioning the status of his and Armin’s relationship was already enough, but Flegel?  “Not that I care. Like whoever the hell you want.”

“Can you keep it down?” Eren hisses, nervously glancing behind him. Thankfully, Armin still seems to be browsing around, nowhere in sight. “I don’t like him like that.”

“Mhm.”

“He’s—he’s my friend. We’re just friends.”

“I don’t think friends like to cuddle each other on a shopping cart,” Flegel says, amused. “Why you were doing all that on a shitty shopping cart, I have no idea—”

“We weren’t cuddling!”

“You were holding hands and giggling. He literally had his head on your shoulder.”

Eren huffs out a breath, runs a hand through his hair. “He was pushing me in the shopping cart. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Have we not just established that this is my fuckin’ store?”

“Whatever.”

“Hmph. So you do like him, then.” Flegel grins and tips specks of ash from the cigarette into his makeshift ashtray. Eren attempts no further protest, because it’s obvious nothing he says will try to convince Flegel otherwise. “Does Historia know?”

Eren looks away. “...Yeah.”

“You willingly told her?”

“No. She kinda just… found out?”

“Damn. Did she kick your ass?”

“What the—no!”

Flegel grins wider. “She definitely did.”

“You’re horrible,” Eren grumbles, earning a low, rumbling laugh. “Just please, for the love of God, don’t tell her I brought him here. She might actually try to kill me.”

Flegel waves his hand. “I wasn’t even planning to, if it makes you feel better.”

“I never know with you.”

“Little shit,” Flegel mutters. Eren sticks his tongue out at him. “I was just curious. But I’ll stop asking about the whole thing, since you look like you’re gonna explode. Don’t need you to start screaming again, or something.”

“Thank you.”

“But a word of advice?” Flegel starts. “Maybe don’t take him to a smelly gas station for a date next time? Just a thought.”

“For the last time, this isn’t a date, okay?” Eren sighs. “I wasn’t lying earlier. About him just being my friend. So.”

“Hm.” Flegel sets down the cigarette, crosses his arms atop the counter. “You don’t have to explicitly classify it as a date for it to be a date, though.”

“Isn’t that, like, the whole point of a date?” 

“I’m just trying to say—show him you care, or whatever,” Flegel grumbles. He gestures to the piles of snacks stacked on the aisles’ racks. “Get him something he likes. You can have it for free.”

Eren beams. “Really?”

“Don’t make me say it again.”

“Okay, okay,” Eren laughs. He glances at the chocolate bar on the counter’s rack. “You wouldn’t happen to have any white chocolate, would you?”

He finds Armin browsing near the slushie machine, his face breaking out into a grin when he sees him. “You didn’t die.”

“Flegel loves me, even if he won’t admit it,” Eren says, standing beside him, and Armin snorts. He nods to the slushie machine. “Are you getting any?”

“Nope, just looking,” Armin muses, clicking the button for blue raspberry. A tiny drop plops onto the cup holder. “Half of them aren't even filled with anything.”

“That one tastes like shit, anyway. ‘S only good when you pair it with cherry.”

“True,” Armin sighs. He glances at the plastic bag now in Eren’s hand. “What’s all that?”

“A surprise,” Eren responds casually. Armin raises a brow. “There’s something I wanna show you.”

Eren beckons him out of the store, shooting Flegel a thumbs up goodbye and mouthing thank you . They make a quick stop at the car so Eren can take out the gym bag stuffed with the fluffy blanket, and then Eren’s leading him to the alley behind the gas station, ignoring all the questioning looks Armin throws in his direction. Relief floods through him when he sees the rusted ladder already propped up against the wall from the last time he and Historia were here a month ago, so they won’t have to waste time hauling it up again. He lifts his foot onto the first leg, balancing both bags on his shoulder. 

Armin looks up at him warily. “Are you sure it’s a good idea to climb this thing?”

“I’ve done it a million times,” Eren says, lifting himself up onto the second leg. Armin still seems pretty nervous, so Eren pauses his movements, gives him a genuine look. “‘Min. I wouldn’t ever take you somewhere if I thought it was dangerous. Promise.”

“I know,” Armin says quietly. 

“If you really don’t wanna come up—”

Armin shakes his head. “I do. I just—” he flushes. “I was lying earlier. About not being afraid of heights.”

Eren frowns. “Huh? Why would you lie?”

“I don’t know.” Armin scratches the back of his neck and avoids his gaze. “You just seemed so excited about wanting to come here, and even though I didn’t know what exactly it was we were doing, I still wanted to spend time with you.”

Oh. 

Eren swallows, warm tingles starting all over his skin. Suddenly, it’s as if his lungs have forgotten how to take in air, keeping it hostage in his chest. He wants to spend time with me.

He wants to spend time with me.

“‘Min,” he manages to croak, heart bursting with all the more affection when Armin meets his eyes again, cheeks glowing red. “You can’t just say that. Jesus, give me a second—” he hops off the ladder, nearly stumbling, and takes Armin’s hands in his. So warm, so warm, so warm. “I wanna spend time with you, too. Always, okay? It doesn’t matter what we’re doing. You never have to lie to me about anything.”

“Yeah,” Armin squeaks. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Eren exhales fondly and guides him to the start of the ladder. “Listen, I know it looks high up from here, but I swear it’s not. You don’t even feel it when you’re on the roof.” He squeezes his hands, warmth fluttering through him when Armin squeezes back. “Trust me.”

The corners of Armin’s mouth quirk up, dimples showing in his cheeks. There’s that smile.

“Okay.”

It takes a bit longer than usual to make the climb, but Eren doesn’t mind, pausing when Armin needs a break to breathe and encouraging him to continue upwards with his words. When he reaches the ledge, he throws both bags onto the roof, lugs himself over with a grunt, and helps Armin do the same a moment later. Armin scrambles away from the ledge, clutching onto Eren’s arm tightly. It should hurt, yet Eren doesn’t feel the sting at all; mostly because it’s Armin, and any touch from him is a blessing, but also because the air up here is so cold his nerve endings have probably frozen off already.

“See?” Eren says gently. He pulls Armin closer, feeling him shiver. “That wasn’t so bad, right?”

“Not really,” Armin grits out through chattering teeth. “Jesus, it’s so fucking cold.”

Eren holds up the gym bag. “That’s why I brought this. C’mere.”

They huddle up in the middle of the roof, far enough from the ledge that they can’t see the bottom. Eren digs out the blanket and drapes it over them, face growing hot when Armin snuggles against him, resting his head in the crook of his neck like he had back at the house. This time, Eren doesn’t hold back; he locks his arms around Armin’s shoulders, leaving no space between them. Armin makes a low sound, right against where Eren’s pulse beats against his throat, and he almost collapses from the sensation alone.

“This is nice,” Armin murmurs. “Just wish it wasn’t so cold.”

“Uh huh,” Eren coughs, trying very hard to focus on keeping his breathing in check. He drags the plastic bag over, plopping it in his lap. “Here. You can open it now.”

Armin raises his head, his cheeks pink with what Eren presumes to be the icy winds, and opens the bag. His entire face lights up as soon he pulls out the three white chocolate bars and mini box of cookies. “Oh my God.”

“I’m really hoping that’s a good ‘Oh my God.’”

Armin laughs, leaning into Eren again, and he wouldn’t be able to keep the stupid grin off his face if he tried. “How dare you. I can’t believe you thought I’d ever like such horrible tasting chocolate.”

“And cookies,” Eren says, nudging his shoulder. “Don’t forget the cookies.”

“Such horrible, horrible looking cookies.” Armin cradles them to his chest, smiling so sweetly Eren thinks his heart might actually explode. “Thank you, Eren.”

“Always,” Eren murmurs.

Armin’s smile falters for a moment, his gaze flickering downwards. Then, in one horrible movement, he freezes, sucks in a breath, and scooches away. The newfound space between them is minimal—they can’t sit too far apart with the blanket caging them in—but it still feels like miles to Eren, only becoming larger in size when Armin ducks his head. “Sorry. I think the cold’s getting to my brain.”

“Yeah,” Eren says carefully. That dreaded feeling in his chest—the one that’s been there ever since he’d heard that conversation between him and Marco—deepens into a hollow crater. 

“We should eat,” Armin says quickly, breaking a piece off one of the chocolates and placing it onto a cookie. “The cookies are still warm. Maybe then we won’t die of hypothermia, or something.”

He’s deflecting. Eren can see it in the way his brows pinch together, forming a tiny crinkle in his skin. “Okay. But, Armin—”

“Hm?” 

Eren looks at him for a moment. Turns away. “Never mind.”

The crater grows. 

જ⁀➴♡

When the rest of the sun’s light bleeds into the horizon and the wind gets too cold to bear any longer, Eren drives them back to his place so Armin can get his bag and coat. The offness that’d settled in him had mostly dissipated by the time they’d arrived, but Eren could still sense something wrong. Armin hadn’t looked him in the eye since the rooftop—he’d even shied away from his touch when their hands had briefly brushed against each other on the way back up to his room, mumbling an apology and speeding up his movements so that he stayed firmly in front. Eren genuinely doesn’t know if he did something, or said something, but he must’ve been the catalyst for pissing Armin off somehow. It’s the only explanation for his sudden switch-up.

Leave it to me to always mess shit up, he thinks miserably, pulling up to Armin’s street. They’d barely said a word for the five minute drive, letting the low murmur of radio music coming from the speakers fill the stillness. It feels too empty—Eren misses the sound of Armin’s voice and laughter like a phantom limb.

He stops the car beside the sidewalk. Armin doesn’t make any move to unbuckle his seatbelt, so Eren turns off the radio, then the engine, letting it fizzle out into tiny tremors that rumble throughout the car. 

They stay like that for an agonizing moment. Eren opens his mouth, ready to spew something, anything, to fill the silence, but Armin beats him to it. 

“Eren?”

“Yeah?” Eren replies, feeling warm all over at the sound of his name on Armin’s lips. Armin finally turns to him, tucking a loose lock of blond hair behind his ear—his ponytail had come loose in the wind earlier, letting his hair sit at his shoulders. The urge to run his fingers through the tousled strands is so intense it’s nearly painful.

“Thank you,” Armin murmurs, so quiet Eren scarcely hears him. “For everything today. I had a lot of fun.”

“Me, too,” Eren says, relief flooding through him when he sees the corners of Armin’s mouth quirk up. He sucks in a breath. “And, uh, you don’t have to thank me. I always have fun with you.”

Armin’s lips part for a moment, then close, and Eren has just enough sense to start internally panicking. Was that too much? Did he just fuck up again? The last thing he wants is to scare Armin off even more, but it’s like his mere presence causes Eren’s brain to malfunction, breaking down every wall he’d desperately tried to put up to keep away the dam of feelings he’s hidden for six years—

Armin cups his face with one hand, pulls him close, and presses a gentle kiss to his cheek.

Eren doesn’t register it at first. The softness of his lips against his skin. The familiar, electrical buzz that always tremors within him whenever Armin is near—this time increased by tenfold—simmering in his bones, ready to burst. The way Armin jerks back in an instant, color blooming in his cheeks, his nose. It’s almost as if he’s glowing in the moonlight.

He looks so beautiful, is the first thought that echoes in Eren’s mind. And then, he kissed me.

Armin just kissed me.

Every essence of time screeches to a halt. Eren doesn’t know how to breathe, how to exist, stuck in the moment that just passed and pleading with whatever higher power is out there to let it stay. To let Armin stay.

“I didn’t—” Armin blurts out, hastily grabbing the plastic bag Eren gave him and his own from the floor. “Sorry—um, you know what, I’ll just see you—” he opens the door, nearly falling out face first, and curses. “Tomorrow. Or Sunday? Doesn’t matter. I’ll just—yeah. Bye.”

“Wait—” Eren yelps, just regaining his wits, but Armin’s running before he can get another word in, stumbling over his front porch and slamming the door behind him so hard its frame rattles.

Eren sits there, dazed, feeling his jaw go slack.

What the fuck? 

What the actual— huh?

He buries his face in his hands, trying to steady his breathing. He kissed me. Armin kissed me.

He kissed me?

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Eren gulps, lost in space and time and matter and whatever the hell else the universe is made up of. He’s half convinced the last ten seconds were a hallucination—because there’s no way, no way in hell, that Armin, his crush of six years, his best friend’s brother, just kissed his cheek, ran like the wind, and left him in the car with nothing but his thoughts and the never-ending darkness surrounding him. There’s no possible way that occurred and still left him breathing and alive. 

Is he even alive? Or is that a hallucination, too?

He pinches the inside of his forearm and winces. Yup. Real. All of this is real, which means that Armin did just kiss him and leave, and he isn’t going completely insane.

“Oh, you idiot,” Eren groans, smacking his hands to his forehead again.

What the hell is he doing, gawking like this? He should be chasing after him, shouldn’t he? He should be ringing the doorbell, brushing past Historia and all her questions, finding him, and kissing him properly. Kissing him until he loses every last bit of his senses in it, until all he knows is Armin and his gentleness and the way his lips feel against his.

But he ran away.

So what the fuck does that mean for him, then? Just let him go? Drive home like he didn’t just—just kiss him? What the hell is he supposed to do with that?

I’m so fucked. He screams into his hands, tugs at his hair. I’m so fucked. 

Dammit.

Chapter Text

Historia should’ve known something had gone horribly wrong the moment she’d heard the rush of footsteps scurrying down the hall and the muffled sobs that accompanied them.

For the past hour or so, she’s been sitting—well, marinating, more like—at her desk, trying and failing to study for the history test she has first thing on Monday morning. Her phone sits just an arm’s reach away, taunting her. Erwin and Levi won’t be collecting it for another thirty minutes, but even doom scrolling hadn’t been enough of a distraction against the bundling nerves in her stomach, sitting there for days and slowly consuming her whole.

Actually, now that she thinks about it, nothing she’s tried this entire week has quite worked in that department, really.

She’s fully convinced there’s something wrong with her. If the stupid stunt she’d pulled in English with Ymir isn’t enough of a confirmation—don’t even get her started on that, she’ll throw up just thinking about it—then the restlessness that’s trembled through her since, multiplied by a million at the thought of seeing her tomorrow, definitely is. 

Historia’s always considered herself to be a somewhat sensible person. Maybe not as much as her brother or sister, sure, but she’s pretty confident that, up until the last few days, she’s never done something dumb enough to par on the same level of idiocy as some of their friends. However, thanks to Ymir and her stupid freckles and face and hair, that’s very quickly beginning to change.

The English Thing was only the start of a frankly diabolical turn of events. Of course, wanting to push the hair out of Ymir’s face and actually doing it wasn’t enough to satisfy the universe’s desire to see her suffer, so it’d decided to torture her even further by—by making her notice things. Things like how there’s a slight dent near the tip of Ymir’s nose, making it look like a mini ski slope. Or how, depending on her mood, she’ll match the jewelry she wears to the color of her nose ring—gold on most days, but sometimes silver. Her hair has begun to grow out, too, fluffy brown tufts nearly reaching her collarbone in waves. Ymir must style them in the mornings; nobody Historia knows has natural hair bouncy enough to pull off a wolf cut so nicely. Or maybe, like she does with everything else, that’s just perfectly effortless, too.

And Historia can’t stop staring.

At first, it’d be subtle. When she was sure Ymir wasn’t looking, she’d allow her eyes to roam the plains of her face like she was analyzing a painting; they’d flicker up to her bangs, always in her eyes one way or another. Then they’d droop to her golden brown irises, then her nose and cheeks, along with the thousands of freckles scattered across them, creating their own little constellations. Then to her lips—specifically her cupid’s bow, which Historia has had the urge to trace with her thumb for God knows how long. Ymir had caught her doing it a few times, but she’d always played it off as zoning out and staring at something behind her during their teachers’ boring lectures. There’s no way anyone remotely smart would believe that—and Ymir is smart most of the time—but she’d never taken it further, so maybe Historia’s awful attempts at deflection had worked after all.

It shouldn’t be this difficult. She shouldn’t have to fight her way through each day without attempting to count all the freckles on Ymir’s face every chance she gets. Even when she’d had feelings for her as a kid, they hadn’t been this intense; it’s as if a switch has suddenly been flicked within her, letting every Ymir-oriented thought she’s suppressed for the past two months burst into her brain like a broken dam—

Wait— no. She can’t compare then to now, because she’d had feelings for Ymir then, and she certainly can’t have feelings for Ymir now. That would be absolutely ridiculous and not viable at all—

Before she’s able to spiral, her phone begins ringing in what she thinks is finally the act of some sort of divine intervention. Her mood isn’t even ruined further when she sees Eren’s contact flashing on the screen. Being pissed at him for failing to mention the fact that he’d be studying with her brother today will just be another, more effective distraction from thinking those thoughts about his stupid cousin. 

She picks up, readying every curse she knows on the tip of her tongue, but they die down in an instant when she hears the tiny sniffle on the other end of the line. “Eren?”

“Tori,” he says hoarsely. It doesn’t really sound like he’s crying, but it’s obvious he’s distressed from the way he inhales and exhales in grating breaths. “I need you to come outside. Like, right now.”

“Outside? As in my house?” she asks, and he hums. “I thought you and Armin were studying at your place, though.”

“Just come. Please.” He hangs up immediately after.

What the hell? she thinks, a bit dumbfounded, before she quickly grabs one of the thick coats hanging on her door and the plastic wrap in her trash can to use as an excuse for her parents. Her grounding period finally ends tomorrow morning, and she really doesn’t want to irritate them further by obviously meeting Eren. He’s not technically on their property, but seeing him outside of school hours will still be a violation of their rules.

Mikasa’s door is wide open when she steps into the hallway and peeks through it; her sister, equivalently, is also nowhere to be found. Armin’s is shut tight, though, which can only mean he’s debriefing her on whatever the hell happened at Eren’s house. Historia heaves a sigh. It seems she’s just going to do this without any extra backup, then. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Levi asks as she skips past him and Erwin on the couch. Erwin has his head on Levi’s lap, reading glasses tilting down his nose as he rapidly taps the screen of his ten-year-old iPad. Armin really has to stop showing him those puzzle games—it’s become an addiction, at this point.

Historia holds up the trash wrapping, stuffed with tissues she’d shoved in there a minute prior. “I’m just throwing this out.”

Levi narrows his eyes, but doesn’t say anything else, so she takes the opportunity to swiftly exit out the front door. Just as Eren said, his car is parked right outside her house near the sidewalk, a little slanted. She nervously glances behind her, just to make sure she hasn’t been followed, before she jogs over to him.

Eren doesn’t notice her at first, staring into space like he’s just been smacked. She furrows her brows and taps on the passenger’s window with her nails. He gives a small jump, looking at her with wide eyes, then gestures for her to come inside.

“Okay, what the hell is going on?” Historia asks, shutting the car door as she settles in. He still seems pretty out of it, peering at her as if he’s trying to decide whether or not she’s actually there. “You’re sweating buckets, dude.”

“I…” he trails off. She notices his leg has begun to bounce like it always does whenever he’s nervous. “I actually don’t know?”

“...Excuse me?”

“Wait, no, I do know,” he continues distantly. Historia tries not to look too concerned for his sake—she knows he’d rather die than ever be coddled by her, of all people—but this is just… not like him. At all. “‘M just—in shock. Yeah. I’m definitely in shock.”

“Uh huh,” she says carefully, furrowing her brows. “And you’re in shock because…?”

Eren swallows, purposefully not meeting her eyes now. It takes another bout of long silence before he says in a small voice, “Armin kissed me.”

Oh.

Historia stiffens, the information taking a moment to settle in her brain. Well. That’s not exactly… unexpected. They’ve been dancing around each other and flirting and talking for months, even before she’d figured out Eren’s little crush on him. 

But this? Armin kissing him?  

Surprisingly, she’s not as disgruntled as she’d thought she would be. Just… confused? A little disgusted and somewhat glad that their horrible and frankly vomit-worthy pining may finally be put to an end? Mostly confused, though. She’d been certain that Eren would be the one to snap eventually and make the first move, seeing as he’s looked like nearing the brim of imploding in on himself whenever Armin enters the room lately. Armin hasn’t been much better—sometimes worse than him, honestly—but Historia would’ve never guessed in a million years that he would choose to cut through the thick tension festering between them. He rarely ever acts on pure impulses, nor goes through with something without a plan. Or had he planned to kiss Eren today? For probably the first time in her life, she can’t really tell what he might’ve been thinking.

It scares her, a little.

What’s also weird is that Eren isn’t happy about it. Armin kissing him would surely mean at least a bit of excitement, wouldn’t it? He’s liked her brother since he was eleven, after all. There’s no way his feelings could’ve changed so abruptly.

Which means something must have gone wrong.

“Okay,” Historia says slowly, watching color flood into Eren’s cheeks. She doesn’t even have the urge to tease him for it. “Well—”

“On the cheek,” Eren adds quickly. “He kissed me on the cheek. So.”

Historia blinks. “I mean, that’s still a kiss, isn’t it?”

“Christ,” Eren groans, burying his face in his hands. A twinge of sympathy settles in Historia’s chest, and she gently pats his back. “I’m so fucking stupid, Tori. I don’t even know what the hell I’m doing.”

“Y’know, berating yourself for whatever reason isn’t gonna make things any better,” she tells him, and he faces her, frowning. “Can you tell me exactly what happened, at least? ‘Cause usually, getting a kiss from someone you supposedly like—”

“He ran away,” Eren whispers. Historia clamps her mouth shut. “As soon as he did it, he looked like he’d seen a ghost, then just—ran inside. Like he’d made a mistake. I didn’t know what to do. I was so shocked he even did it I wasn’t even able to get a word in.”

Historia purses her lips, tries not to bonk her head against the window from the sheer frustration of it all. Okay, so, Armin definitely hadn’t planned on doing that. It explains why he’d immediately gone to Mikasa about it as well—God only knows how much he’s panicking right now. Idiots. 

“That’s not your fault, though,” she says once she’s sure she won’t scream. “Not really, anyway.”

“Still. I wanted to go after him, but I just sat here and gawked like an absolute fucking dumbass—” he starts, but she cuts him off with a shake of her head.

“I want you to just—think about this for a moment, okay?” Historia says, taking a deep breath. “First of all, freaking out a bit is valid. You’ve liked him since you were eleven, Eren, obviously you’re gonna be conflicted between celebrating and also being confused. Hell, I know I’d do the same if the person I liked for that long kissed me and ran off right after, too.”

For whatever reason, her brain decides to then curse her with the image of Ymir doing just that: kissing her cheek and running off into the night without another word. She gulps, hoping the flush on her cheeks isn’t too obvious. Seriously, what is wrong with her? The words “like” and “Ymir” should not be anywhere near each other in any sense. Scratch that, kissing should be completely out of the question.

Just focus on calming Eren down, she tells herself. Ymir isn’t important right now. As far as I’m concerned, she doesn’t even exist.

“I guess,” Eren frowns, bringing her back to the present. “But—he still ran away. That’s, like, the worst possible sign ever.”

“Which brings me to my second point. You know how Armin is, right? Like, he always has a plan for everything.”

“Yeah,” Eren murmurs. The ghost of a smile finds its way onto his lips, and Historia suppresses a sigh. Even when he’s so upset he can barely form coherent sentences, just the mere mention of Armin is enough to get him all smiley and lovesick. She would find it kind of sweet if it weren’t her brother. 

“So, again, my brother’s rarely ever impulsive like that,” Historia continues. “He doesn’t just do things in the moment. You see how badly you’re freaking out?” She pokes his forehead, and he shoots her a dirty look. “Armin’s probably freaking out a thousand times more right now in his room.” 

“But—”

“And,” Historia continues, “the fact that he even did anything at all just tells you how much he’d wanted to in the first place. It wasn’t a mistake, Eren.”

Eren’s eyes drift to his hands, cheeks burning with even more color than before. “So you think he… he genuinely wanted to?”

Historia bites her lip to stop a groan. “Of course he did, idiot. Do you really believe Armin would just go and kiss someone for no reason?”

“Well, I wouldn’t know,” Eren grumbles, so low Historia barely catches it. Her brows raise. 

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

Eren tenses up instantly. “Never mind. I’m just out of it, I think.”

“Nuh uh, your ears are bright red,” she says pointedly. He covers them with his hands, shooting her a glare. 

“Why do you always have to be such a pain in my ass?”

“Eren, there’s no point in trying to deflect if I know, ‘cause I’m gonna wheedle whatever it is out of you whether you like it or not. So you should just spit it out already.”

“I hate you so much,” he sighs, but there’s no bite to it. She gives him another look, pinches his shoulder, and he winces. “Alright, fine. But you have to promise not to say a word to anyone. Not even to Ymir. I mean it, Tori.”

Historia feels her cheeks grow warm. So much for pretending she doesn’t exist. “What gave you the idea that I was just gonna immediately go to her with whatever it is? The hell?”

“You tell her everything.”

“No I fucking don’t?”

“You kind of do—”

“It doesn’t matter,” she interrupts, ignoring the smug grin that’s made its way onto Eren’s lips. “Just spit it out, Eren, for the love of Christ.”

His grin fades, replaced with a grimace that contorts his entire face. “You remember when we went to the mall right before that blizzard, right?”

“Yeah.” When I was freaking out over what to get your cousin for her birthday. Neither of them say it, but it’s clear they’re both thinking it from the way their eyes meet for a split-second.

“So,” he coughs, “I don’t know how long it was after we started studying back at your place, but I wanted to say hi to Armin. I figured, y’know, Marco couldn’t have been there for that long, right?” He furrows his brows. “Turns out he was. Which, again, I have no problem with. Armin can hang out with whoever he wants. ‘S not my place to say anything.”

Historia hums, not believing him in the slightest. Eren’s had a bit of a jealous streak for as long as she’s known him—she didn’t really put two-and-two together when they were younger, but looking back now, he’d always get visibly antsy whenever Armin would walk with someone else at lunch break, or not-so-subtly stare daggers at whichever one of their friends Armin had chosen to rest his head on. Freshman year was arguably the worst of it; things had just grown all the more sour between him and Jean after he’d admitted to having a crush on Armin during one of the group’s many truth or dare sessions. Armin hadn’t reciprocated, obviously, and had let Jean down as gently as possible, but the fights that’d ensued afterwards made Eren and Ymir’s little scuffle in his car look like child’s play.

“Anyways,” he continues, “I was gonna knock, and then—” he pauses, clears his throat. “I, uh, overheard some stuff.”

“So you mean you were eavesdropping,” Historia says, not even trying to hide the amusement in her voice. 

“Shut up, I wasn’t eavesdropping.”

“Mhm, mhm. Whatever. Carry on.”

“Fuck you,” he mutters, and she gives a tiny laugh. “I didn’t mean to listen in on anything, okay? Seriously, I just froze.”

“What’d you even hear that got you so worked up, anyway?” 

Eren tucks one of his growing side-parts behind his ear. “Apparently, some guy was flirting with Armin. And Marco… he made it seem like a good thing. Like—like Armin wanted him to, or whatever.”

Historia’s lips form an ‘o’. How was Eren able to keep something like that for so long without spilling? Combined with his and Ymir’s continuous arguing, it’s no wonder he’s been so visibly irritated and drawn back recently.

“Did Marco say who the guy was?”

“I didn’t stay long enough for that,” Eren murmurs. “This is all stupid, I know, but—I wanna know who it is so bad. Like, what if it’s someone we’re genuinely good friends with? Like fuckin’ Jean or something?” He wrinkles his nose. “Actually, knowing him, that’s not so far off—”

“I think the first thing you need to do is chill the fuck out,” she interrupts, and he heaves another long sigh. “There was literally no context beforehand. And because there are feelings involved on your part, you may have just been convincing yourself into thinking that that’s what Armin wanted, you know? ‘Cause trust me, if anyone we’re friends with had been flirting with him, I would’ve known about it.”

Eren gives her a miserable look. “Really?”

“Yes, Eren,” she says, patting his arm. “And if Armin hadn’t told me about it, he would’ve a-hundred-percent told Mikasa about it, and she would’ve told me immediately after. So. Nothing to worry about.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive. ‘Kasa can’t physically keep anything from me when Armin’s involved, it stresses her out.”

“So…” he frowns. “It must’ve been random, then.”

“I honestly don’t know. But seriously, dude, you shouldn’t stress yourself out over it.” Historia sighs and slumps back in her seat, feeling a sudden wave of exhaustion take over her. She’s not even involved in any of this, and her head is spinning. “I mean, Armin literally kissed you, like, not even an hour ago. That should tell you everything you need to know.”

Eren stays silent for a moment, giving her an indecipherable look, before breaking into a fit of coughs, cheeks glowing bright red. “Jesus, this is so fuckin’ weird.”

“What? Armin kissing you?”

“No,”  he says. “You being so… okay with it. If I’d told you all that two months ago you probably would’ve seriously popped a vein, or something.”

Historia snorts, shakes her head. “Yeah, well. I had to get used to everything at some point. Doesn’t mean I don’t still think you guys are gross as fuck.”

“Okay, Tori,” Eren says sarcastically, though Historia sees the corners of his lips quirk up. 

“Eren,” Historia says quietly after a small bout of silence, “I don’t want you stressing out over this. Seriously.” 

“Don’t stress out over the fact that the guy I’ve liked for a quarter of my life just kissed my cheek and ran before I could kiss him back properly, and that some other asshole I don’t know about is flirting with him on top of that,” Eren grumbles. “Totally.”

“A lot easier said than done, I know. But you have to try.”

“Yeah,” Eren murmurs. He gives her a small smile then. “Sorry I freaked out on you.”

She rolls her eyes, and he laughs. “Idiot. Don’t apologize, it’s fine. I’d be more shocked if you didn’t.”

“Well.” He clears his throat, cheeks reddening even further. “It’s Armin.”

“Eugh, you’re so sappy ,” she gags, swatting his shoulder, and he shields himself with his hands, chuckling. “I’m gonna throw up.”

“Please do not barf in my mom’s car.”

“No promises,” she whistles. He flicks the side of her head, grinning when she shoots a glare in his direction.

“And you call me the gross one.”

“‘Cause you are.” She glances back at her house, exhaling lightly when she sees the front door still shut tight. “Now, unless you have anything else you’d like to share—”

“You can go in, Tori,” he says, giving an exaggerated yawn and stretching his arms behind his head. She raises a brow at the sudden shift in his mood. “‘S all good. Wouldn’t want you to get grounded for another day and miss your little study date tomorrow.”

Historia blinks, not quite registering what he just said, before her jaw goes slack. “My what?”

“Your date with my cousin.”

“You—” she feels her cheeks heat to an embarrassingly high temperature. “How do you know about that?”

“So you admit it’s a date?” he asks cheekily. 

She swats his arm, and he yelps. “It’s not. We’re literally just going to the mall, idiot.”

“Whatever you say, Tori,” Eren snorts, shaking his head. “Man, you’re so fucked.”

“Huh?”

He lets out a string of giggles, covering his mouth with his hand. “Never mind.”

Historia opens her mouth to retort, but she’s cut off by the sudden vibrations coming from her phone. She clicks it open, ignoring Eren’s questioning look, and tries not to facepalm at the messages glowing on the screen.

kasa 👻🖤

2 Missed calls, 1 minute ago.

Historia. 

Where are you????????

I need you to come to Armin’s room like RIGHT now.

Emergency.

“God help me,” she sighs, opening the car door and hauling herself out. It’s honestly impressive Mikasa was able to deal with Armin for this long without calling her in a panic—Historia’s only seen her lose her composure when he’s in any sort of distress. “I can already feel a migraine starting from all this shit.”

“What’s going on?” Eren asks.

“Don’t worry about it,” she tells him, pushing back the few wisps of hair in her face. “Just—go home, try to sleep, all that shit. If you feel like you’re gonna freak out again, text Mikasa and she’ll give her phone to me so I can call you and tell you you’re being an idiot.”

Eren grins, shakes his head. “Okay, Tori.”

“I mean it.” She leans forward and flicks his forehead, slamming the car door shut before he has the chance to retaliate. Eren sticks his tongue out at her, starts up the engine, and slowly backs out of his makeshift parking space. 

Once Eren’s car is safely out of view, Historia actually throws out the trash wrapping still in her hands, then walks through the front door as casually as possible. Her parents are still cuddled up on the couch; it seems Levi’s managed to convince Erwin to put down his iPad, rumbling snores sounding from him as he snoozes away. She just about makes it to the foot of the stairs before Levi clears his throat.

“You were throwing out trash for twenty minutes?” he asks, innocently enough that she knows he can smell the lies coming off her from a mile away. 

She gives a pained grin. “I was…” she starts, cursing her brain for running so slowly. “Uh, fighting a raccoon?”

Levi’s expression doesn’t shift a single inch. “Mhm.”

“Yeah. It was living in the dumpster— totally rabid, too. You’re lucky I got to it first.”

“My hero,” he says dryly, holding out his hand. “Phone, please.”

“Pa, c’mon, one less day isn’t gonna hurt—”

“Historia.”

“Fine.” Historia frowns, fishing it out of her pocket and handing it to him. “You really are horrible.”

“You call me horrible. I like to call this the consequence of stupid decisions.” He places her phone on the coffee table in front of the couch, and Historia stares at its yellow, flower-patterned case mournfully. “If you wanna keep your phone at night, don’t walk all the way to Eren’s house in the middle of a snowstorm and almost freeze to death over notes. Simple.”

She rolls her eyes. “I still think you and Dad are overexaggerating how bad it actually was, but whatever.”

“Uh huh. We’re overexaggerating the fact that your fingers were turning blue and we were seriously considering taking you to the hospital.” 

“Yup.”

A small smile tugs at his lips. “Go to sleep, you little shit. Love you.”

“Yeah, yeah. You too,” she grumbles, finally heading up. 

Mikasa’s pacing in circles outside Armin’s shut door when Historia makes it into the hallway; her shoulders visibly sag with relief once she spots her. “Where were you?” she hisses. “You haven’t answered any of my messages—”

Historia shushes her, glances warily at the spot of light from downstairs that leaks through the banister. No footsteps. She releases the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. 

“I was with Eren,” she murmurs. Mikasa’s eyes widen.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“So…” Mikasa says slowly. “You know—”

“Yes, I know that Armin kissed his cheek and then ran away like a total idiot.” 

“Huh.” Mikasa looks a little in disbelief. “You’re acting weirdly calmer than I thought you would be.”

“‘Cause Eren already admitted to having a crush on him right after that dumb wedding, so I’ve had time to—” she wrinkles her nose “—get used to it. Eugh.”

“What?”

“I’ll explain later,” Historia says, tilting her head at Armin’s door. Mikasa purses her lips, but doesn’t say anything else. “How bad is he freaking out on a scale of one to ten?”

“A million,” Mikasa says bluntly, and Historia facepalms. “I swear, I’ve tried everything. It’s like he’s blocked out any sort of logic from entering his brain—he’s completely convinced Eren hates him now, and that you’re gonna be pissed at him.”

“Wait, what?” Historia frowns. “Why would he think I’d be pissed at him?”

“Because—” Mikasa sighs. Crosses her arms. Historia instantly gets the feeling that she isn’t really going to like what she says next. “Tori, look. I’m not saying this to make you feel like shit or anything, okay? But… you’ve never really been subtle about how much you hate the fact that Armin likes him.”

Historia snorts. “Okay, I think hate is a pretty strong word to use—” 

“No, Tori, it really isn’t. You may think you’re just joking around, or being typically overprotective, but he doesn’t take it that way. He takes it in a ‘Historia’s never going to forgive me if I go through with this, so I have to suppress my feelings’ kind of way.”

It takes her a few beats, watching Mikasa’s brows pull together, before realization slaps her across the face. Her chest instantly feels as if it’s being filled with lead, covering every inch of her lungs until all that’s left is the lump of air that stays stuck in her throat. “Oh.”

I’m part of the reason why Armin’s upset. She tries to swallow, but the lump doesn’t dissipate. I made Armin upset.

God, how could she be so stupid? 

Of course she’d made Armin upset. This entire time, she’s been so focused on Eren— so focused on the possibility of him screwing things up—that she’d failed to factor in the one person who mattered most: her brother. What went through his head, whenever she’d made those snarky comments at them, or rolled her eyes whenever he checked Eren’s messages, or retched, or complained? When she always declared her disgust so openly?

She’s always thought of it as extra protection. Keeping Armin safe. That’s all Historia’s ever wanted—to protect him from getting hurt, even before Eren. But what if she’s just been unknowingly contributing to hurting him all along?

“Yeah.” Mikasa gently grasps her shoulders, giving her a sympathetic look. That makes Historia feel even worse, because it’s not her Mikasa should be feeling bad for—it’s Armin. “Like I said, I’m not saying this to be an asshole. I just want you to look at it through his perspective. You’re his twin sister, Tori—and Eren’s been your best friend since you guys were kids. He’s probably already thought that his feelings for him were edging on the line of messing everything up between you guys, but now that he’s kissed him, in his mind he has messed everything up, and now you and Eren aren’t going to hang out anymore because of him.”

“But he hasn’t,” Historia says weakly. “He hasn’t messed up at all, I’d never be mad at him for doing that—”

“I know, and I think deep down he knows, too. But he’s too stuck in his head right now.” Mikasa squeezes her shoulders. “Like I said, you’re his twin, Tori. Your opinion is the one he cares about the most, and he wants you to be happy above all else, even if it means pushing his own wants away.”

“I want him to be happy, too,” Historia murmurs, embarrassingly feeling her eyes sting. “I just—I didn’t know. I never meant to make him feel that way. That was literally the absolute last thing I wanted to do.”

“So you have to tell him that,” Mikasa says, nudging her towards the door. Historia nods, sucks in a breath, and turns the knob.

Armin’s room is completely dark, save for the lamp on his bedside table and the dim, green glow coming from the stick-on stars he’s had on his ceiling for as long as she can remember. She makes out the lump of covers he’s pulled over himself on the bed, shifting at the creak of the door.

“Mikasa, I told you, I just wanna be alone for a bit—” he croaks, sitting up and rubbing his eyes, before they widen. “Tori?”

“Hi,” she says softly. He blinks—his hair is all ruffled and in his face, tear tracks visibly staining his cheeks. Her heart aches at the sight. “Can I come in?”

He hesitates for a split-second, then nods. She gently closes the door, shuffles over to his bed, and settles underneath the duvet beside him.

Silence takes over for a good few minutes. Historia reaches for his hand in the dark, giving it a squeeze. He squeezes back. 

“I’m guessing Mikasa sent you in here, didn’t she?” Armin murmurs. Historia snorts.

“Yes and no. I was gonna talk to you either way, but she was just a bit worked up. You know how she gets.”

“Yeah. She looked like she was gonna explode before I sent her out,” Armin says, the barest trace of amusement laced in his voice. He clears his throat. “So…”

“I know what happened,” Historia says quietly. She feels Armin tense up immediately. “And, ‘Min—”

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out, voice cracking. “I’m so sorry, Tori. I swear to God, I don’t know what I was thinking—” he hiccups, and Historia’s sure her heart breaks into a million tiny pieces right then. “I didn’t mean to be such an idiot—”

She shuts him up by wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pulling him close. He lets out a muffled sob against her shoulder, and another, and another, and she lets him have it out for a bit, soothingly rubbing his back in circular motions. 

“‘Min,” she murmurs, trying her hardest not to cry herself. She hates seeing him this upset—and what’s even worse, is that she’s part of the reason for it. “Shhhh, Armin, it’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong, okay? I’m not mad.”

“I did,” he chokes out. “I fucked up so bad, Historia, I messed everything up—”

“You didn’t mess anything up,” she tells him firmly. He hiccups again, and she kisses the top of his head. “You didn’t do anything wrong, you didn’t ruin anything—”

“I’m sorry.”

“Shhh, please don’t be,” she says, cupping his face and pulling back so that they’re eye-to-eye. Armin sniffs, and she gingerly wipes the tears off his cheeks with her sleeve. “ I’m the one who should be sorry, ‘Min. I’ve been such a fucking asshole to you about Eren, and I made you feel like you had to hide your feelings from me, when I should’ve been the one you felt like you were able to come to first about these kinds of things.”

Armin shakes his head. “No, Tori, you were right. I should’ve never— hic— I should’ve never even tried deluding myself into thinking that any of it would lead anywhere, or—” he dips his head, pressing a hand to his mouth and squeezing his eyes shut as if he’s pushing back another sob. It makes Historia’s stomach hurt so badly she wants to hunch over and throw up. “I’m sorry. I mean, he’s your best friend. You have every right to be mad at me.”

“I’m not mad at you, ‘Min,” Historia says weakly. She presses another kiss against his hair, wills the stinging in her eyes to dissipate. “I need you to listen to me, okay? He may be my best friend, yeah, but you’re my brother. You come first before anyone, no matter what.”

“But—”

“It was never about him being my best friend specifically,” she interrupts. “‘Min, I don’t care who you like. Hell, I couldn’t give less of a shit about that. What I do care about is if you’re happy, and if Eren makes you happy, then I want you to be with him. Regardless of that, whoever you end up wanting to be with—it isn’t my place to decide who that person is, no matter who they are. It just took me a while to get that.” She wipes away another wave of tears and tilts his head up. “And Eren does make you happy, right?”

Armin flushes. “I mean—yeah. Yeah, he does.”

“So there you go. Why would I be mad about that?”

“You just—I don’t know,” he sniffs. “You always acted so against it, which I get the reasons for. I never really thought you’d ever be okay with it, if I’m gonna be honest.”

Historia furrows her brows. If only she could travel back in time and smack her younger self for being such an idiot—how did it take her seven whole years to realize how fucking wrong she’d been? And she’d had the nerve to ever consider herself to be sensible. Really, she’s anything but. “I’m sorry, ‘Min. It doesn’t matter what reasons I had. I should’ve never, ever acted like that, even if I was just trying to protect you.”

“Protect me?”

“It was always just about protecting you,” she tells him. “Look, the whole thing was kind of complicated and weird to think about at first, if that makes sense—not that I think you’re weird,” she clarifies quickly, wanting to kick herself. “Weird for me, because I obviously can’t and will never be able to understand why you like him. But that wasn’t the sole reason I didn’t want you guys to date, or whatever.”

Armin furrows his brows. “Then why…?”

“I was just scared,” Historia admits. “Not really because you guys being together would make us stop being friends, but ‘cause I was scared if you guys did get together and broke up, then both of you would be hurt in the process. And also ‘cause I thought Eren was gonna pull some dumb shit with you, because Eren—honest to god, I love him, I really do, but he’s an absolute idiot.”  

He lets out a watery chuckle at that. “I’m serious!” she continues. “And now that I think about it, I’d definitely still trust him with you more than some other random person that I don’t know, but I just—I didn’t want you to get caught up in all this.”

“I already am, though,” he says, and she frowns. “I mean, I always have been, but now—I kissed him, Tori, and then I ran . Jesus, what was I thinking?”

“Trust me, ‘Min, you did yourself a favor with that,” she says earnestly. He buries his face in his hands and whines. “Like, it’s seriously the absolute last thing you need to worry about. Eren’s not gonna be mad about it.”

“And how would you know?” 

“Because I know him, and I know even the concept of being mad at you would probably make his mind explode.” She tucks his bangs behind both ears, gives his cheek a little pat. “You’ll know what I mean when you talk to him—which you should, by the way.”

“I will,” Armin mumbles. “But not tonight when I look like I’ve just been dunked into a bowl of snot.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she says. They stare at each other for a beat, before bursting into a fit of giggles. “Absolutely fucking ridiculous.”

“I try,” he muses. She shakes her head, pulls him back into a hug, and squeezes him as tightly as possible. “Ow, Tori.”

“I love you,” she murmurs, giving the top of his head another peck. “I love you the most, and nothing will ever change that. Not even you deciding to date my dumbass of a best friend—” 

“Tori.”

“What? I’m just putting it out there.”

“You’re so annoying,” Armin groans, making her chuckle. “But I love you, too. Always.”

They stay like that for a while, holding each other, Historia pressing more kisses to his head each time she hears him sniffle. When she’s sure the last of his tears have fizzled out, she draws back. “You good now?”

“I think so,” he says, wrinkling his nose. “My head’s killing me, though.”

“That’s ‘cause you cried so much you dehydrated yourself.” She rolls her eyes fondly, grabs a tissue from the box he has on his bedside table, and hands it to him. “I’ll ask ‘Kasa to get a glass of water from downstairs, since Pa thinks I’m asleep already.”

“Thanks, Tori.” Armin blows his nose, then looks at the shut door with a tiny smile. “You can come in now, Miks,” he calls.

The door slowly creaks open, revealing a very worried-looking Mikasa on the other side. Historia thins her lips in an attempt to hold the laugh threatening to come loose from her throat. 

“Is everything okay?”

“We’re fine, ‘Kasa,” Historia snorts. “Were you standing out there this entire time?”

“No.” She looks away. “Maybe. I’ll get the water.”

She comes back up a few minutes later, and by that point, Armin seems relatively fine. He has this look that Historia can’t really pinpoint, though—a mixture of his thinking and scheming face. For all she knows, he could very well be doing both in his head. She just hopes his plan doesn’t involve kissing Eren and running away a second time, for all their sakes.

“So,” Mikasa starts, handing Armin the glass of water and simultaneously dropping a bag of candy onto his bed, “what are you going to tell Eren tomorrow?”

Both her and Historia look at him expectantly, and he shrugs, takes a sip of his water. “I… have an idea, I think. I’m just trying to put it together in my head, if that makes sense?”

“Which is…?”

“I’ll tell you after I talk to him.”

Historia and Mikasa share a look. “Alright,” Historia says carefully. “Do you want us to sleep in here tonight?”

“We haven’t had a sleepover in a while,” Mikasa chimes in. “And I could sneak more candy once Pa and Dad go up to their room.”

“And we can watch a movie,” Historia adds. 

Armin smiles enough that his dimples show. “Yeah, actually, I’d like that.”

He sits in the middle of the bed, Historia and Mikasa on his sides, snuggled underneath the duvet. They set Armin’s laptop right in front of their feet, the glaring light of its screen in the darkness making Historia’s eyes water. He gets to pick what they watch this time—of course, it has to be some nerdy sci-fi movie. But, for once, Historia doesn’t mind the shitty CGI, or the equally shitty costumes. She lets her head rest on Armin’s shoulder, smiling as he continuously pauses the film to over-explain every detail of its lore. 

By the time she feels her consciousness slipping away, burying her in darkness and warmth, it’s too late for her to realize that she’d forgotten to ask Armin to set her alarm for tomorrow.

જ⁀➴♡

The first thing Eren wakes up to is snoring.

He groans into his pillow, grimaces at the drool that’s dried on the corner of his mouth. If Ymir’s still that deep in sleep, then he doesn’t even want to imagine how early it is right now. His suspicions are (unfortunately) confirmed true when he reaches for his phone on the bedside table and is flashed with a big white “8:30 A.M.” in his face. And, to top it all off, his notification center is still as empty as it’d been when he’d gotten home last night.

Just fucking great.

His chest thrums with the ache that’s been embedded there since yesterday—since Armin kissed him— and he blows out a breath, sitting up despite every inch of his limbs screaming at him to stay put. Honestly, it’s a miracle he was even able to fall asleep at all. Every time he’d closed his eyes, Armin’s widened eyes and reddened cheeks when he’d pulled away from him were all he could picture. 

Eren presses his fingers to his cheek, the exact spot where Armin’s lips had met his skin, and exhales lightly, feeling a smile tug at his mouth. Armin kissed me. He’s still half-convinced he’d hallucinated the entire thing; even after Historia had tried smacking some sense into him afterwards, it still… didn’t feel real. Like it’d been plucked straight out of his dreams, or something.

Obviously, he’s ecstatic. Beyond ecstatic, really, because Armin kissed him— on the cheek, yes, but it still counts. Like Historia had said, there’s literally no way he would’ve done something like that without reason, which means that maybe— just maybe—Armin could very possibly return the feelings Eren’s had for him since he was eleven years old. The thought makes his head spin so quickly he’s positive he’ll faint, or collapse, or die.

But then, before he could even begin to comprehend any of it, Armin had bolted. So. He should probably just crush all the hopes he has now to save at least a bit of pain once he’s hit with the grim reality: maybe it was genuinely a mistake. Maybe Armin had just done it for—for some spur of the moment reason. Not because he wants Eren in the same, soul-consuming way Eren so desperately wants him.

“What am I even doing?” he whispers, burying his face in his hands. Ymir lets out another earth rumbling snore from the mattress, and he shoots her a glare. Even when she’s asleep, she still manages to be such an insufferable shit. It should be classified as some sort of talent.

Eren grabs his phone and quietly tiptoes over to the door, careful not to let it creak too loudly when he opens it. Of course, he would love nothing more than to annoy Ymir by waking her up, but she’d just respond by nagging him the entire day about it, and his brain really does not have the capacity to handle any more problems.

As he slowly makes his way down the stairs, he opens his and Armin’s chat, frowning. The last texts they’d sent each other were from yesterday morning—Eren had been bored out of his mind in history, and Armin had taken the liberty of entertaining him by sending a bunch of llama photos he thought looked like Mr. Olulo—and after that, nothing. It’s the first time they haven’t said goodnight to each other since Eren had gotten his number; he feels his stomach twist into knots at the realization.

“ Wow. I didn’t think it’d actually be possible, but you look even more barf-worthy than usual.”

Eren nearly screams, tripping over the last few steps and only saving himself from falling by holding onto the banister. Gabi’s sitting on the living room couch, watching him with a shit-eating grin that’s eerily similar to the one Ymir subjects him to on a daily basis.

“You—” he takes a deep breath, trying to calm the rapid thumps in his chest. “Oh my God, Gabi, I could’ve died—”

“You’re just being a drama queen.”

“I’m not!” He purses his lips. “Why’re you up this early?”

She holds up her iPad; Falco’s contact appears on the facetime screen, though his camera is off. “Me and Falco wanted to see who could stay up the longest, but he fell asleep three hours ago. Now he owes me ten bucks.”

“Of course he does,” he mutters, shuffling over to the kitchen. She joins him a moment later, hoisting herself up onto the kitchen island as he takes out two mugs, a box of cocoa powder, and the sugar jar from their respective cupboards. He then rummages through the drawer next to the sink until he finds a pan, placing it on top of the stove. “D’you want hot chocolate?”

“I guess,” she sighs. Eren rolls his eyes and grabs the last carton of milk they have left from the fridge. “As long as you don’t burn it like you did last time.”

“That’s because you kept trying to turn the heat on the stove up even after I told you not to.”

“It would’ve been finished faster, but whatever.” 

“Sure, Gabi,” he says, starting a fire underneath the pan and pouring the milk and cocoa powder inside. “How sweet do you want it?”

“As sweet as possible.”

“You’re gonna make yourself sick.”

“Don’t care,” she sings. “You need the sugar more than me, anyway.”

“Huh?”

“You look like you’re gonna burst into tears any second now.”

He feels his cheeks heat. “What the—no I don’t.”

“Yeah you do.”

“No I don’t.”

“Yeah you—”

The sound of the doorbell ringing abruptly cuts her off. “Are you serious right now?” Eren complains. “Who the hell—”

“I’ll get it,” Gabi says, jumping down from the counter and sprinting to the living room. He hears the door open a few seconds later, followed by a gasp. “Armin!”

Eren flinches hard enough that the pan rattles dangerously close to falling off the stove. He curses repeatedly under his breath, turns off the heat, and stares blankly out the kitchen doorway. The front door isn’t visible from where he stands, but the sound of Armin’s lovely laugh rings in his ears clearly enough.

Armin’s here. He smacks his hands to his face, feeling how boiling the blood is beneath his cheeks. Armin’s here, he’s in my house, he’s in my fucking house—

“Eren!” Gabi yells. Fuck, fuck, fuck. “Armin’s here!”

“Coming!” he stammers, heaving breaths. This is fine. He’s going to be fine—it’s just Armin. Just the boy who so happened to kiss him the night before, and the one who never fails to make Eren’s heart burst with endless affection every time he gives that dimpled smile of his. He can do this. He can speak to him like a normal human being and not melt into a puddle, or something equally as embarrassing.

Eren stumbles out of the kitchen, gulping. Gabi must’ve shut the front door, but Armin still stands beside it, smiling at her as she loudly explains her and Falco’s stupid all-nighter bet. His cheeks are dusted over with red from the cold outside, and his golden blond hair is tied half-up, bangs neatly framing his face like a halo. 

Of course he still manages to be breathtakingly beautiful at this ungodly hour. 

Never mind, Eren can’t do this. He can’t, not when the memories of last night are all too fresh in his mind. Not when he wants to pull Armin as close as humanly possible and kiss him so senseless the feeling of it is all he’ll know for the rest of his life—

“Eren?”

He blinks. Armin’s looking at him, now, the flush on his cheeks deepening just a tad. Gabi glances between them, a frown on her mouth. 

“Hi,” Eren says stupidly; he feels even stupider knowing Armin’s witnessing him in his ratty, checkered pajama pants and worn-out T-Shirt he’s had since the eighth grade. “Uh, morning?”

You idiot, he screams internally. Morning? What the fuck is wrong with him? Idiot, idiot, idiot—

“Morning,” Armin coughs. He gives a sheepish look. “Sorry, I didn’t realize how early it actually was until I got here. If this is a bad time—”

“No! No, it’s not at all,” Eren says quickly, swallowing at the sight of Armin’s lips quirking up. “You can come over whenever you want. I mean—yeah. I could care less, honest.”

“Okay,” Armin says lightly. “I was just wondering if we could talk?” 

“‘Course,” Eren squeaks. The rapidly growing heat in his face is beginning to make him feel lightheaded. “Gabi, stay out here.”

She gaps. “But—”

“I’ll add a whole cup of sugar to your hot chocolate if you do.”

Gabi’s eyes shoot from Eren to Armin again, her face scrunching up. Then, she says, “Ugh, fine.”

“We won’t be that long,” Armin tells her, following Eren into the kitchen. He snorts once the door is shut. “‘One whole cup of sugar’?” 

“I’m not actually gonna add that much,” Eren says, restlessness seizing him by the throat now that he and Armin are alone. He turns the stove back on and begins stirring the cocoa and milk together as a distraction from his rising pulse. “God only knows what’d happen if I did.”

“I think I have a pretty good picture,” Armin chuckles. He stands close enough to Eren that their shoulders would brush if he moved another inch. A part of Eren wants him to more than anything—the other part prays he stays still, because he doesn’t know how much longer he can go on like this without cracking. “Halloween last year was more than enough of an experience for everyone, I think.”

“I wasn’t the one who decided to give her most of my candy, though.”

“Well, that was just because she happens to be my favorite.”

“Ouch, ‘Min, that cuts.”

Armin gives that dimpled smile then, but it falters almost as quickly as it’d appeared. He clears his throat, tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. “Eren?”

“Mhm?” Eren says lightly, continuing to stir; the thump, thump, thump of his heart thrums all the way to his fingertips. He hears Armin inhale sharply.

“About last night,” he starts, lifting his head up. It seems the extent of Eren’s already shitty willpower has fizzled out into nothing, because he crumbles in an instant, meeting his eyes and turning the heat off again to give him his full attention. “I’m genuinely so sorry. What I did—” his throat visibly bobs, more flush spreading across his face, “there’s no excuse for how stupid I acted, and I’d completely, one-thousand-percent understand if you’re mad about it—”

“Armin,” Eren murmurs. He hesitates for a split-second, before gently grabbing Armin’s hand and giving it a little squeeze, warmth spreading through his palm. Armin’s brows pull together, his lips forming a tiny pout, and Eren despises the fact that he can spot the slight shine of tears threatening to fall. There are about a thousand things in this world that he hates—and, seriously, he could rank all of them from top to bottom if he wanted to—but Armin crying? That very easily ranks at number one on his list. “I’m not mad at you.”

Armin blinks. Slowly. Glances down at Eren’s hand in his, then back at Eren’s face, his eyes slightly widened. “...You’re not?”

“Of course I’m not, ‘Min,” Eren says softly. Armin’s still looking at him as if he’s completely out of his mind, and Eren would’ve found it funny if he weren’t desperately ignoring the urge to lean in and kiss the pinched corner of his mouth. “Why would I be?”

“I kissed you,” Armin says distantly. 

Eren’s pulse rises at actually hearing Armin say it, confirming that it was in fact real and wasn’t some too-good-to-be-true dream he’d conjured up, and he clears his throat. “Well, yeah, you did.”

“And then I ran away right afterwards without saying anything.”

“Yup, that too.”

“And—you’re not mad?”

A smile shadows Eren’s lips. “Not really, no.”

Armin opens his mouth, then closes it. “I don’t understand. What—”

Eren shakes his head fondly and pulls Armin closer, letting go of his hand to wrap both his arms around his shoulders. “C’mere. You look like you’re gonna explode.”

Armin freezes. Panic rises within Eren instantly, and he almost draws away, cursing at himself for being so stupid, before Armin slowly eases into his hold, his hands gingerly resting on Eren’s upper back. The weight of him is warm in Eren’s arms. Steady. Fitting against him like the other half of him he hadn’t realized had been missing until now.

“Sorry,” Armin says quietly, breaking the fragile silence that’d brewed between them. His breath is hot against the crook of Eren’s neck, sending tingles all the way down to the base of his spine.

“Stop apologizing, ‘Min.”

“...Sorry.”

Eren chuckles, feeling the curves of Armin’s cheeks tilt upward against his shirt. Armin then leans into him further, his nose nudging the tender spot between Eren’s collarbone and neck. It’s searing; Eren wouldn’t be surprised if his entire neck was flushed red, burned with the delicate thrums of skin against skin . 

“I seriously have no idea what’s wrong with me,” Armin sighs. “It’s like I’ve just—lost all common sense, or something.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Eren tells him, hoping his voice doesn’t sound too hoarse. 

Armin snorts. “I seriously beg to differ.”

“‘Min.” He stills, just listening to Armin’s breathing, then gently kisses the spot of hair right above his ear. Armin inhales sharply, but doesn’t make any move to draw away, still pressing close against him. There’s one good sign, at least, Eren thinks, ninety-nine percent sure he’s going to faint at any given moment, now. “Do you really think I, of all people, have any sort of common sense, either?”

“You didn’t kiss me and run,” Armin says, his voice muffled by the fabric of Eren’s shirt. Eren plants another kiss on his head before he can stop himself, and Armin makes a small, soft sound. God, Eren is going to die. “That’s—that’s sensible.”

“I’m not sensible, ‘Min,” Eren murmurs. Not with you. “You just need to relax and let me talk, ‘kay? I didn’t get the chance to say what I wanted to yesterday.”

“Okay,” Armin whispers. Eren gives him a gentle squeeze, relishing in the way Armin squeezes back.

“Like I said before, I’m not mad,” Eren starts. “A bit confused, yeah, but not mad. Uh, quite the opposite, actually.”

“The opposite?” Armin asks softly.

Eren pauses, trying to steady his breathing. Everything he’s been wanting to say for the past six years feels lodged in the back of his throat, jumbled and unintelligible, impossible to string together. How does he even begin to explain just what Armin means to him? Trying to use mere words seems almost insulting to how deep his feelings run, engraved in him like a scar that he’s sure will never fade. But he has to try somehow.

“I…” he swallows. “You’re important to me, Armin. And… and not just as my friend. You always have been.”

He feels Armin still. “I’m not good with words like you are,” Eren continues, his pulse picking up. “I never have been. I don’t know how to verbalize these kinds of things. And honestly? I’m not even sure I can , because it wouldn’t be enough. Nothing I try to say would ever be enough to make it clear how important you actually are to me.” He presses his nose against Armin’s hair, breathing in his vanilla-scented shampoo, and his next words begin to spill out of him in a rush. “How much I miss you when you aren’t around me, how much I love hearing your voice and your laugh, how you just being in the same room is enough to make me happy. Just—you. You make me so happy that sometimes it genuinely scares me. Nobody else has ever made me feel like that. I don’t think anyone else could , really.”

Silence. The pressure of it is so numbing Eren feels it creeping into his ears, his head, his chest, pressing against his lungs harshly enough that he’s sure they’ll burst. The first thought he has is, I just admitted my feelings to Armin. Then, what have I done?

His eyes widen, realization hitting him like a freight train. Oh my God, what the fuck have I done?

He’d just—admitted his feelings. In his ratty pajamas, at eight in the morning on some random Saturday, standing in his messy kitchen with unfinished hot chocolate still sitting in a cold pan beside him. To Armin. Armin, who still hasn’t said a word, who is in his arms at this very moment, who he’d kissed with his own two lips, who Eren is still half-convinced is into someone else and had come over here to apologize because he’d thought what he did was a mistake, not because he could’ve possibly liked Eren back or wanted to kiss him again—

In what feels like both the longest and most fleeting moment of Eren’s life, Armin pulls away, grabs his face with both hands, pulls him down, and presses their lips together.

Eren lets out a small noise, shock seizing up his entire body, but it’s when Armin begins to separate from him—an apology likely sitting on the tip of his tongue—that he snaps out of it, reaching up and tangling his hands through golden blond locks to keep him in place. Armin grips onto him harder, if that’s even possible, his hands trailing down to Eren’s shirt and fisting the fabric as if to keep him anchored, and oh, his lips are so soft, so soft, and warm and perfect and Eren is floating. He’s floating and soaring and dizzy all at once and it’s so exhilarating he would’ve toppled over if not for Armin keeping him upright, still pressing incessantly against his lips. 

Armin’s kissing me, he thinks giddily, all the oxygen leaving his lungs when Armin makes a soft sound, but he doesn’t dare break away to breathe. He won’t. If he dies like this, basking in Armin’s warmth and touch, so be it; he wouldn’t want it any other way.

“Dork,” Armin whispers against his mouth, reaching up to cradle his face properly. Eren can’t breathe. He has half a mind to lean in a second time, already missing the feeling of Armin’s lips against his, but restrains himself. “You’re important to me, too.”

Time has trapped him in its clutches, the words not quite settling within him yet. Right now, all he knows is Armin’s face, and his warmth, and his touch. He’d be content staying here with him forever, if he had to, feeling the softness of his palms against his face. Watching a flush slowly rise to Armin’s cheeks, staining them red. He tucks a strand of hair behind Armin’s ear, rests their temples together, just to be all the more closer to him.

“Can you say that again?” Eren murmurs. He needs to hear it. Needs to hear the confirmation from Armin’s mouth, to know that all of this isn’t some messed up fantasy he’d created in his head. That Armin is real, that he’s holding him, that he, too, is feeling the way their chests are almost rising and falling in sync, thundering like waves crashing against shore.

Armin’s cheeks morph into an even deeper crimson, and Eren kisses the spot right underneath his eye, heart squeezing at how warm his skin feels against his lips. “You’re important to me, Eren.”

Eren’s face splits into a grin, his eyes beginning to prickle with heat. “Again.”

“You—” Armin huffs out a laugh, kisses the corner of his mouth. Eren’s face instantly stings with hot, hot, hot. “You’re important to me.”

“That’s—That’s good,” Eren manages, his voice cracking a bit. Armin frowns, kisses the corner of his mouth again.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Eren rasps, realizing a few tears had dropped loose. Armin wipes them away with the pads of his fingers, fleeting touches so gentle Eren scarcely feels them. He places a hand atop the one Armin has against his cheek and presses a quick kiss to his palm, stopping his movements momentarily. “I’m just happy, ‘Min. Really happy. Like—you seriously have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to tell you that.”

Armin grins then, dimples etched in his cheeks, and pulls Eren close again, burying his face in his chest. Eren holds him as tightly as possible, every single nerve-ending in his body catching fire. His head spins so quickly he can barely think, much less register the fact that he’s even alive at all.

He feels the same. More tears fall, but Eren doesn’t bother to wipe them away, much too focused on the boy in his arms and keeping him locked in them for all eternity. Armin feels the same.

He feels the same.

“Sap,” Armin says, giggling when Eren squeezes him even tighter. “Ow.”

“Sorry. I can’t help it.”

“You can’t help squeezing me to death?”

“Yup.”

“Sap.”

Soreness tugs at his cheeks from how hard he’s smiling, but Eren can’t really bring himself to care. “Says the one who literally kissed me just now.”

Armin lightly swats his back. “You can’t just say stuff like that and expect me not to. I mean, seriously, Eren, it’s like you were trying to give me a heart attack.”

“You asked if I was mad, and I gave an explanation. Simple as that.”

“Mhmmm. An explanation on how you love my laugh, apparently.”

Eren’s cheeks heat to an absurdly high temperature. “Uh, yeah.”

“And my voice.”

“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” Eren mutters, his face burning even more when Armin pulls back and looks up at him with a tiny smile.

“Enjoying what?” he asks innocently.

“Torturing me, that’s what.”

“I just restated what you said, Eren.”

“Uh huh. Sure, ‘Min,” he chuckles. He then clears his throat. “So.”

“So.”

“Just so we’re, y’know, clear,” Eren coughs, watching Armin’s smile widen. “Uh, what is this?”

“Well,” Armin says, linking their hands together. Red begins to slowly creep back into his face. “I’ve made how I feel pretty clear, I think.”

“Which is…?”

Armin’s throat bobs, and he gives Eren’s hand a squeeze. “I want to be with you. Obviously.”

“Oh.” Oh. 

He wants to be with me. 

Eren must be dreaming—there’s no other explanation. There can’t be. There’s no way the words he’s been wanting to hear for so fucking long had just come out of Armin’s mouth, unbidden, completely of his own accord without any sort of external intervention. He wants to be with me, he wants to be with me—

“I mean, if you don’t want to—” Armin starts, but Eren quickly cuts him off with a kiss to his cheek.

“I wanna be with you, too,” Eren says in a rush, kissing him a second time. “Of course I do. Silly question.”

“Okay,” Armin squeaks; Eren’s heart bursts with all the more affection at how his flush steadily migrates into his neck. “That’s—yeah. Sounds good. Um, just one thing.”

“Yeah?” 

Armin breaks away his gaze, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “I’d rather we, uh, didn’t tell anyone yet. Not that I don’t want to,” he adds quickly. “It’s just—you know how our friends can be. Like, they don’t pry with malicious intent, I know that, but sometimes it gets to a really, really annoying point and I don’t want them to ask us a billion questions when it’s all so new—”

“‘Min,” Eren laughs, grabbing both of his hands and cupping them in his. He’s never seen Armin this flustered in his entire life—his blue eyes all wide and shiny, his cheeks pink, his lips reddened from their kiss—and he’s the reason for it. Him. “It’s okay. I was thinking the same, honestly.”

“Really?”

Eren nods, his nose scrunching up at the thought of Sasha and Connie ever finding out about this—or, God forbid, Ymir. They were insufferable enough after figuring out his crush in middle school; he would never know another day of peace if they somehow caught on to the fact that he and Armin were actually dating.

Dating. Sparks start underneath every crevice of his skin, and he swallows. “I mean, yeah. God only knows what those idiots would start spewing—Reiner and Bertholdt have been together since the beginning of the year and they’re still going on about it to this day.”

“That’s…” Armin trails off, shuddering. “Yeah, no. We’ll give it a month at least.”

“Or we could just let them figure it out for themselves,” Eren says, and Armin laughs. “I’m serious! They’d probably piss themselves out of shock.”

“Eugh.”

“C’mon, you know they would.”

“That’s why it’s gross,” Armin says, but he sounds more amused than anything. “We’re definitely going to have to tell my sisters, though. I mean, I know Mikasa will be chill about it, but Historia would probably have an aneurysm if she ever found out we kept this from her.”

Her murderous gaze flashes in Eren’s mind, and he gulps. “I’d also rather not have her actually try to kill me, either, thank you very much.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Armin muses, breaking away their hands to brush a lock of hair behind Eren’s ear. “She’s become… weirdly chill about all of this, surprisingly. It’s a bit freaky.”

“Yeah,” Eren mumbles, remembering how genuinely concerned she’d been about him yesterday in the car. They’re rarely ever that emotional with each other—he can count on one hand the amount of times they’ve actually hugged—but Historia’s always made it clear that she cares about him like family. Deep down, he knows the Pact was just her own little way of trying to protect him and Armin all at once; an extremely stupid way, yes, but it was out of a place of love, which was why Eren had even agreed to it in the first place, and why it’s taken her so long to let go of. “She might still try to kill me, though.”

“Eren.”

“I’m joking. Mostly.”

“Uh huh.” Armin rolls his eyes fondly, then nods to the pan still sitting atop the stove. “You should probably finish that up, by the way. It’s a bit shocking that Gabi hasn’t tried bursting in here already.”

“Don’t even manifest that,” Eren says seriously, and Armin snorts.

They’re mostly quiet as Eren starts up the stove again, but it’s the cosy kind that he’s content to sit in; if he’s going to be honest, he’s glad for the few moments he has to settle himself. His mind is still racing at what feels like a million miles per hour, working too fast to even try and comprehend that all of this is real. That, somehow, Armin is with him in every sense, warm and whole, and he didn’t make it up.

I’m with Armin, he thinks as Armin wraps his hands around his torso in a way that has Eren’s lungs stuttering, watching him stir the milk and cocoa along with a few spoons of sugar. He feels Armin’s lips brush his clothed shoulder, his small puffs of breath tickling the curve of his neck. It takes every bit of his strength to keep his knees from buckling. Armin’s here with me.

Nothing will ever be able to dull that thrill for as long as he lives.

When the hot chocolate thickens to the point he knows Gabi likes, he pours it into her favorite Christmas mug, offering some to Armin as well, who politely declines. He shifts his hold to Eren’s upper-arm when they slowly open the kitchen door, fully expecting to see Gabi on the other side, looking up at them with a pout on her face and pointedly asking what took so long. But, to both of their surprise, she’s nowhere in sight.

“What the hell?” Eren mutters. His eyes scan the entire living room—still no sign of her. “Hellooo? Gabi?”

“Shhh,” Armin suddenly says, and before Eren can ask him what’s wrong, he spots a lump of blankets on the end of the couch, muffled snores sounding from underneath them. 

Eren snickers, placing her mug on the coffee table. He quietly tiptoes over to her makeshift cocoon, Armin following his every movement, and pulls some of the blankets away from Gabi’s face so she can breathe. 

“Gabi,” he tries, but it’s no use; she’s completely passed out. Her mouth is wide open, and her hair, previously tied in a low ponytail, is now a mess that can only be described as pure static. Eren fishes his phone out of his pocket and snaps a picture, because he knows his mother will get a kick out of it when she’s up. “Shit, she’s gonna be so fucking cranky later.”

“Let her be,” Armin says in amusement. “She did just pull an all-nighter.”

“Idiot,” Eren says fondly, patting the top of her head. Thankfully, she doesn’t stir, still snoring away to her heart’s content. 

A rush of footsteps booming down the stairs suddenly rumbles in Eren’s ears, and he startles, looking up. Ymir stands at the foot of the stairs, blinking rapidly; she looks even worse than Gabi does, her hair sticking up in so many directions it looks like she’d just physically fought with the roaring wind outside. Her gaze bounces from him to Armin, who’s let go of his arm, taking a small step back. He tries not to think about how much he misses the feeling of his warmth already.

“Huh,” Ymir says, peering at them in a way that makes Eren feel like he’s being picked apart under a microscope. He gives her a very pointed glare. “That’s just great.”

“Hi, Ymir,” Armin says, his voice mostly levelled, but Eren spots the slight rigidness building in his shoulders almost instantly. Fuck, had she seen them? Armin had been pretty quick in pulling away from him, but that doesn’t erase the possibility completely. He bites back a flurry of curses. 

“...Hi.” Ymir narrows her eyes, the corners of her mouth pinched in the way Eren knows she’s slowly but surely fitting some type of puzzle pieces together in her head. Fuck, fuck, fuck. “What are you doing here so early?”

The question is innocent enough, but Eren doesn’t miss the hint of suspicion in her tone. “He was just dropping off some math notes from yesterday,” he says quickly. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“I was just asking. You don’t need to get so annoyed all the fuckin’ time,” she grunts, smoothing down her hair with both hands. Eren sticks his tongue out at her. “Historia’s not with you, is she?”

Eren resists the urge to gag, watching her cheeks turn the faintest of reds. “I dunno, Ymir, you tell me. Unless she decides to pop out of thin air and grace us all with her presence—”

“She’s still asleep,” Armin offers, because he’s nicer than Eren and likes to give people the benefit of the doubt, even if they are insufferable shits who don’t apologize properly and make it their life’s mission to turn Eren’s entire existence into a living hell. He wants to kiss him again so badly it hurts. 

Ymir frowns. “She is?”

“I mean, she was when I left.”

“Oh.” Her frown quickly dissipates, leaving her face completely blank, but Eren’s always picked up on that being a tell for her genuine irritation. Though why she’d be irritated with Historia, of all people, is something he can’t even think to guess the reason for. “That explains why she hasn’t been answering any of my texts, then.”

Eren shares a glance with Armin, who clears his throat. “Did something happen, or…?”

Ymir shrugs, and Eren notes its tense. “We were supposed to go out in a bit, so I just assumed she’d be up. But whatever. Not that I care, or anything.”

Eren blinks, watching Armin’s eyes widen slightly. Oh. That makes a million times more sense—he’d been so caught up on what happened yesterday that he’d completely brushed over the fact that they’d be “studying” together this morning. He’s a bit surprised Historia would forget about something like that, though; from how flustered she’d acted after he’d brought it up, you’d think it would be the one thing on her mind every second of the day for the past week. Blegh.

“Go out where?” Armin asks carefully.

“The mall to work on this stupid English project we have. She didn’t tell you?”

The shift is so rapid Eren barely registers it, but Armin’s frame loses every last bit of the tension it’d carried earlier, a bright smile forming on his face. “Oh, no, she did,” he says cheerfully, gently nudging Eren’s shoulder with his own; warmth flutters across his skin despite the layers of fabric between them, and he prays the heat in his face isn’t visible. “Hey, Eren?”

“Mhm?” Eren says lightly, his eyes involuntarily drooping down to Armin’s lips. Maybe if he just leans forward a little bit…

“I forgot my binder at my house,” Armin continues, snapping him back to reality. “You know the one I showed you a while back? The big red one?”

Eren gives him a questioning look, but the slight furrow of Armin’s brows tells him to go along with it. “Uh, yeah. That one. Why?”

Armin thins his lips like he’s holding back a snort, dimples showing in his cheeks. Eren wants to trace them with his fingers. And his lips. Preferably both. “Do you mind coming back with me to get it really quick? There were a few more notes I had in there we could use for the new packet Mr. Olulo sent out. It’ll only take ten minutes, tops.”

“Okay,” Eren says carefully, not quite sure where exactly this is going, but if it means getting to spend time with Armin, he’s more than happy to oblige. Armin waves at Ymir, who looks nothing short of puzzled, and grabs Eren’s wrist. He has just enough sense to snatch his car keys from the clear bowl beside the couch before he’s dragged out the front door.

“I cannot believe Tori didn’t tell me about that,” Armin hisses, lacing his hand through Eren’s now that Ymir isn’t around to watch. Eren feels warm all over in spite of the cold air now biting at his skin, even more so when Armin tugs him toward the driveway. “Jesus. With how much she fusses about me not laying out every detail of my life every time I so much as step outside the door—”

“Wait—she didn’t tell you?”

“No!”

“What?”

“I know!” 

Eren unlocks the car doors, and Armin briefly breaks away his hand to get into the passenger’s seat. “I mean, I knew she was getting worked up about something,” Armin says, locking their hands together again as soon as Eren backs out, resting them atop the gearstick. Eren can’t help the soft smile making its way onto his lips. “After the whole birthday fiasco, I should’ve known it had to do with Ymir, but I didn’t expect her to freak out so badly she’d just stay radio silent—” he cuts himself off, blushing. “Sorry. I’m rambling.”

Eren brings Armin’s hand to his mouth, pressing a gentle kiss against it. The blush on Armin’s cheeks deepens to a lovely red, and Eren still can’t really comprehend the fact that he’s the one reducing Armin to such a flustered state. His body temperature is so high he’s sure he’s starting to sweat. 

“You never have to apologize for talking, ‘Min. I like your voice, remember?”

Armin looks away, though Eren sees the upwards curve of his cheek. “Love my voice,” he corrects.

“You know what I mean,” Eren mutters. “Same thing.”

“Mhmm. Whatever you say.”

“You can keep talking now.”

Armin gives him a fake-exasperated look, but continues his little rant anyway, going on about how oblivious Historia’s acting and how hard it’s getting for him to stay silent and not smack some sort of sense into her. Eren agrees, of course—he witnesses every single one of her Ymir Freakouts on a daily basis, which has been an extremely disgusting experience for him, to say the least—but stays silent for most of the five-minute ride, content to just admire him. How his mouth pinches when he gets to a point he’s particularly irritated about, the scrunch of his nose along with the tiny freckles dotted on its bridge, his golden hair practically glowing when the morning sun rays filter through the car window. It’s almost excruciating for him to force his eyes back onto the road.

“And she’s not answering any of my texts, either, which means my parents haven’t given her back her phone yet,” Armin finishes. “God help me.”

He sighs, pockets his phone, and unbuckles his seatbelt. Eren frowns; he hadn’t even realized they’d arrived at his house until he’d stopped right next to the sidewalk. The sight of Armin in the passenger’s seat, an exact mirror of the night before, sends flutters swirling all around his stomach. I want to kiss him again, he thinks helplessly. 

“It’ll be fine, ‘Min,” Eren tells him, rubbing his knuckles with his thumb in what he hopes is a soothing motion. “Y’know, if you need me to go in there and help you drag her out, I’m more than happy to. Unless Erwin and Levi are still pissed at me for the whole, uh, snowstorm incident.”

Armin gives that lovely, soft laugh of his, and Eren’s internally wrestling himself not to lean forward and press their lips together, even though he knows he can, technically. But mustering up the courage to do so is proving to be a lot more difficult than he thought it’d be; just because he’d admitted his feelings doesn’t mean all the jitters he gets around Armin will just suddenly disappear. They’re more heightened now than anything, if he’s going to be honest. 

“They were never pissed at you,” Armin says, squeezing his hand. “And of course I want you to come inside with me, but I think it’d be better to wait until tomorrow. Like, when Historia’s grounding period is a-hundred-percent confirmed to be over with, I mean.”

“Tomorrow.” I’ll see him tomorrow. Eren tries not to look too outwardly happy, but he knows he’s probably failing from the way Armin’s cheeks pinken again. “Uh, yeah, I can do that. I can definitely do that.”

“Good.” Before Eren can take in another breath, Armin leans in and kisses his cheek. This time, he doesn’t run. Eren looks at him with wide eyes, positive they’re sparkling, his heart thundering out of control in his chest. “Bye, Eren.”

“Bye,” is all Eren manages to squeak, watching as Armin hauls himself out, grinning, and closes the door behind him. He gives one last wave to Eren before he’s sprinting inside and shutting the door behind him, leaving him warm and fuzzy and possibly on the verge of collapse.

It takes Eren a few moments, sucking in deep breaths to calm the rapid rise and fall of his chest, before he makes the five-minute drive back home, his cheek still burning where Armin’s lips had pressed against it. When he walks inside, Ymir’s nowhere to be found, thank God, but Gabi’s still laying down on the couch. He assumes she’s snoozing when he carefully sits on the other end of it, his knees a bit wobbly, but she opens her eyes as soon as his weight dips the cushions, blinking at him rapidly.

“Wh’time ‘s it?” she asks. Eren snorts and checks his phone.

“Almost ten.”

She squints her eyes at him. “Did Armin leave already?”

“Yeah,” he coughs, cheeks flushing when the memory of that kiss he’d given him flashes in his mind. Gabi stares at him for another beat, as if she’s searching for something in his face—her and Ymir really are so alike sometimes, it’s a bit terrifying—then sighs, laying her head back down on the cushion she’d been resting it on earlier.

“You should bring him ‘round here more,” she yawns, snuggling further into the couch. “He makes you, like, ten times more bearable than usual.”

“Thanks, Gabi,” he says haughtily.

“I’m serious. You always grin like an idiot whenever he walks into the room, it’s gross.”

Eren’s cheeks flush a deeper red. “No I don’t.”

“Yeah you do.”

“You’re less of a little shit when you’re asleep,” he tells her, and she sticks her tongue out at him. He then grabs the hot chocolate he’d made her from the coffee table, holding it out in front of her. “I can warm this up for you, if you still want it. ‘S not that cold.”

“Thanks,” Gabi mumbles, and he gets up to go to the kitchen.

“Don’t fall asleep again,” he calls.

“I won’t.”

Eren shakes his head with a snort, grabbing another pan from the cupboard and placing it over the stove. After he turns on the heat, pours the hot chocolate inside, he pulls out his phone as he begins to stir, taking a picture and opening his and Armin’s chat.

Eren (Just now, 9:46 a.m.)

Sent an image

miss you already

<3

Eren sets his phone down on the counter, his hands a little shaky. It vibrates thirty seconds later, and he grabs for it so quickly he nearly spills the hot chocolate all over his shirt.

Armin <3

Dork

I miss you too

<3

Eren

<3

Chapter Text

Always expect obvious things that are going to happen. That’s the one rule Historia has lived by her entire life to maintain some semblance of her own sanity, courtesy of the menaces she chooses to surround herself with on a daily basis. For example, she expects Mikasa to constantly nag her about not eating enough, even though she makes sure to finish her breakfast, lunch, and dinner in front of her. She expects Armin to witness the tiniest hiccup in his day-by-day plans and then proceed to freak out and think the world is ending. And, most importantly, she expects Eren to be a dumbass and always pull something unexpected, no matter how sensible he may claim to be. A simple, yet effective rule. Historia likes this rule.

What she very much does not expect, however, is to be jolted awake from the deepest slumber she’s had in a month by a painful thwack of a pillow against her face.

“What the fuck?” she groans, her forehead throbbing where the pillow had made its impact. Prickling aches start from the base of her spine all the way to her neck when she attempts to shift onto her side, gradually spreading to the rest of her limbs. From the way both her arms are pushed firmly underneath her stomach, she can only guess the horrid, contorted sleeping position she’s managed to tangle herself into. She curses again.

A long, loud sigh sounds from above her. “You’re so dead, I hope you know that.”

Historia opens her eyes, wincing at the bright light that hits them through the window. Black dots swim in her vision, but she can make out Armin’s familiar blue irises and golden hair looming over her clearly enough.

“Did you just… hit me with a pillow?” she asks warily. 

“Yup,” he says, not a single hint of remorse in his voice. 

“Why?” 

“Because you need to get up.”

She blinks. Glances at the digital clock on Armin’s bedside table, flashing ‘9:48 A.M.’ in dark red. “You could’ve just shaken me like a normal human being instead of giving me brain damage—”

Armin grabs her by the arm, tugs her upwards, and she yelps. Before she can gather her wits and demand to know what the hell possessed him to wake her so urgently at such an ungodly hour, or why he’s already fully dressed, her phone is being swiftly pushed into her hands. “Open that,” he tells her, crossing his arms. “Now.”

“But—”

“Historia.”

“Oh my God, okay, I will, can you calm the fuck down?” 

She huffs out an annoyed breath, clicking it open. Absolutely nothing pops up except for her lock screen, which is a black and white photo booth strip she, Mikasa, Armin, and Eren had taken a year ago at Eren’s seventeenth birthday party. 

“Well?” Armin says pointedly. She shrugs.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, considering it’s empty.”

Armin raises a brow, then pulls the phone from her hands before she can protest. “I forgot you can’t properly function in the mornings,” he sighs, scrolling up and shoving the phone in her face again. “It was on silent. Now check it.”

Historia gives him a dirty look. Then her eyes droop down to the new set of stacked notifications, and she expands them with her finger.

min (spawn of the devil) (10 minutes ago, 9:38 a.m.)

HISTORIA

TORI

GET UPPPP

Please tell me you have your phone with you 

Oh my god

1 Missed call, 9 minutes ago

TORI.

I’m on my way home right now 

You better be awake when I get there.

“What were you doing out so early?” she asks, ignoring the other messages. 

Armin’s jaw goes a little slack. “That’s the first thing you get from all this?”

“What? It’s a valid question!”

“It doesn’t matter where I was,” he says, though a tiny flush rises to his cheeks. “Check the other messages, Tori.”

She wants to question him further, but judging from the pinch of his brows, he isn’t going to budge unless she does what he says. So, she slowly scrolls past his messages, yawning, a little irritated at the way her head still throbs because of that stupid pillow—

Another, older string of texts fade into view, and Historia’s heart promptly chooses that very moment to plummet all the way down to the deepest pit of her stomach.

ymir (33 minutes ago, 9:15 a.m.)

morning blondie ;)

this is ymir btw 

ymir (25 minutes ago, 9:23 a.m.)

helloooooo

r u alive

eren always says ur usually up around this time

also i hope ur laptop is charged bc mine has been dead for a week

ymir (11 minutes ago, 9:37 a.m.)

ur brother was just at my house 

he said ur still asleep 😒

doesn’t matter just text me back when ur up

i’m waiting

Historia stares at the screen for a beat. Two. When she opens her mouth, attempts to speak, nothing comes out except for a pathetically hoarse exhale of breath; it seems as though her vocal chords have decided to shut down completely, along with any coherent thoughts her still sleep-riddled brain may have been able to possess thirty seconds earlier.  

Ymir texted me, is all she manages to register after a few more moments of dumbly staring, her lips still parted. Ymir texted me.

She texted me?

Ymir texted her. She texted her, which means she has her number. How the fuck did she even get her number? Had Eren given it to her? It doesn’t matter; she scrolls through the messages again, gulping, her phone feeling like burning hot coal in her hands. Their contents are still blurry, but she’s much more focused on the sight of Ymir’s pixelated name, blazing on her phone screen so casually as if this isn’t the first time she’s ever texted her in the span of six whole fucking years. 

What the actual fuck? 

Historia takes a few deep breaths, willing herself to regain some sense of control over her own body, because she’s not about to start genuinely freaking out over a few texts from Ymir—especially in front of Armin. This shouldn’t even be something worth freaking out over, because it’s not. She can deal with this gracefully, like a normal person with normal thoughts that don’t include her best friend’s stupid cousin and her freckles and—everything. 

Just break down the obvious. She furrows her brows, actually scanning through the messages instead of gawking like an idiot. The first text had been sent at 9:15, which is when she assumes Ymir had most probably woken up. She mentions Eren in the next few texts at 9:23, confirming her earlier suspicions about him being the one to give her Historia’s number. Then she says Armin had been at her house at 9:37, which also explains why he’s dressed. She’s not even going to bother trying to question why he was there—that’s a conversation she’ll be having with him and Eren later, even if it’s the absolute last thing she wants to do, considering what’d happened last night—

Wait. Last night. There was something that’d been bothering her last night before Eren had called her in a panic; Historia knows there was, though she’s still too drowsy from sleep to really put her finger on it. It can’t have been the history test—that class is relatively easy, as boring as it is—since the only studying she’s actually been putting any effort into recently is for math and English. That’s mostly because Mr. Olulo has been a continuous pain in her ass since the ninth grade, but also because Ymir’s been distracting her to the point where she doesn’t even know what Ms. Ral is expecting them to do aside from that stupid English project—

Oh.

The English project.

It’s Saturday. The realization hits her so harshly she almost doubles over, bile rising to her throat. The alarm. Fuck, she’d forgotten the alarm. She’d forgotten to ask Armin to set that fucking alarm, like an absolute idiot, when she and Ymir—Ymir—were supposed to go out today, to work on that English project.

“Shit,” she finally whispers, glancing up with her eyes wide as saucers. Armin’s watching her with a sympathetic look on his face, which she would’ve appreciated at any other point, but right now, she’s positive she’s going to die. “Shit, shit, shit—”

“Tori—”

“Oh my fucking God—”

“Tori,” Armin repeats, firmly grasping her shoulders; she’s sure she would’ve fallen face-first onto the floor already if it weren’t for his hold. “You need to try and stay calm, okay? Slow down—”

“Stay calm?” she hisses, her stomach swooping in the way she knows she’s dangerously close to throwing up within the next few seconds. “Stay calm? How the fuck am I supposed to stay calm, Armin!? Oh my—”

“You could start by taking deep breaths,” he interrupts. Historia stares at him for a moment, watching the way his brows pull together, and inhales shakily. “There you go,” he says gently. She takes another breath, and he mirrors her movements, the swooping sensation in her stomach lessening the tiniest amount. “See? You’re fine. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Ymir texted me,” she says, dazed. 

“Mhm.”

“And I didn’t text her back—for almost an hour—”

“That’s true. But you could also, y’know, text her back right now,” he says, and she clamps her mouth shut. “I’m sure she’d understand why you haven’t yet if you give her an explanation.”

“Right. Yeah.” She clears her throat, fumbling as she unlocks her phone and opens her messaging app. Armin takes back his hands, still watching her warily. “She’ll understand. Totally.”

“I’m pretty sure she will.”

Her hands are shaky as she clicks on Ymir’s contact, which sits right underneath Armin’s at the top. The texts are clearer now, not as scattered as they’d looked on her lock screen, but the sight of them still sends a rush of flutters through her stomach. Ymir texted me, Ymir texted me—

“If you want me to go—” Armin starts, pointing to his open bedroom door, but she quickly shakes her head.

“Please don’t, ‘Min, I’m gonna die.”

Armin huffs out an amused exhale and sits beside her on the edge of the bed. She sets her phone on her lap, its screen still on and facing upwards, and lets her head fall onto his shoulder, burying her face in her hands. “You’re not gonna die, Tori.” 

“I am.”

“There’s nothing life-threatening about sending a few short texts,” he chuckles. “I promise.”

“Technically, there isn’t,” she mumbles. “But it still feels like I’m gonna die.”

Armin pats the top of her head. “Okay, but why?”

Historia swallows, her cheeks growing warmer with every moment. Like he does ninety-nine percent of the time, Armin makes a pretty good point: why is she freaking out about this so badly? It’s not as if the world is suddenly going to explode beneath her feet, blasting her to smithereens that wouldn’t even be visible through the lens of a microscope. Ymir had just sent her a few texts; stupid, pixelated letters on her phone that she’s pretty certain will never mean anything in the grand scheme of things. Her other friends send her messages all the time, so why should Ymir be any different? 

It’s just Ymir. But that’s the fucking thing; it’s different because it’s Ymir. She just can’t for the life of her figure out why.

“I don’t know,” she whispers after what feels like hours of silence. Armin hums—it’s not exactly questioning, but she still catches the hint of airiness that means he’s holding something back. She pulls her hands away from her face to glare at him.

“What?” Armin asks lightly. His face is completely neutral, save for the way his nose wrinkles ever so slightly at the corners. That probably would’ve seemed normal to anyone else, except Historia’s had to deal with him since birth, which means she knows each and every single one of his tells like the back of her hand. 

“If you have something you wanna say, you can say it.”

Armin shrugs. “I’ve absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Yes you do, you little shit. You did the thing.”

“What thing?”

“The nose scrunching thing.”

“I don’t have a nose scrunching thing, Tori.”

“Yeah, you do. You scrunch your nose whenever you lie.”

“And what am I lying about, exactly?”

“Well—” Historia cuts herself off, frowning. He continues looking completely innocent, but she can see the tiny, smug smile forming on his lips. “I hate you. Stop trying to gaslight me.”

“I’m not gaslighting you.”

“You literally are!”

“Okay, well, while you’re sitting here and wasting time falsely accusing me—”

“You mean truthfully accusing you.”

“—Ymir’s still waiting for you to text her back. So.”

Historia’s eyes drift back to her phone, narrowing. “What the hell am I even supposed to say? ‘Oh, hey, Ymir, sorry for not texting you back, I just forgot we were supposed to see each other today like an absolute dumbass—’”

“Or,”  Armin says, “you could just say you accidentally slept in, which is literally what happened.”

“But then she’s probably gonna think I’m not taking any of this seriously, or something.”

“It’d be worse if you lied, though.”

Historia purses her lips—that is true, as much as she doesn’t want to admit it. If there’s one thing she knows about Ymir, it’s that she despises lying more than anything else. When Historia was a kid, she’d had a bit of a habit of doing it—most of the time, it would just be about stupid, insignificant things, never really with any malicious intent—and Ymir had always called her out on it immediately. She’s not sure if Ymir would be able to catch on to her if she did it through text, since she wouldn’t have the advantage of watching out for any tells in her face or voice, but that’s not something she’s willing to test out.

Also, the thought of lying to Ymir for any apparent reason sends a queasy feeling to her stomach, but she forces herself not to dwell on that for her own sake. 

“I’m gonna regret this so bad,” she groans, and before Armin can respond, she takes her phone back in her hands, presses the chat box, and lets her fingers mindlessly tap against the keyboard.

Historia 

i’m up

soyry i slept in by accident

also how did you get my number

Fuck.

“Well,” Armin says mildly. It takes all of Historia’s willpower not to stuff her face into the pillow he’d hit her with earlier and scream until her lungs give out. Fuck, fuck, fuck. “Uh, you texted her back, at least?”

“Why did you let me do that?” she whines. “Oh my God, I’m gonna throw up, this is it—”

“It’s not that bad,” Armin says quickly, and she glowers at him. “Okay, maybe it’s a bit—direct—”

“Direct? It’s fucking stupid, that’s what it is.”

“Honestly speaking, it could’ve been worse, Tori.”

“But—”

Her phone suddenly vibrates against her thigh, and she gulps.

ymir (Just now, 9:56 a.m.)

WOW blondie

not even a good morning???

my heart just broke into a bazillion pieces i hope u know that

“That was quick,” Armin comments, though he doesn’t sound surprised at all. She arches a brow at him. “Oh my God, what is it now?”

“I’m gonna smack you.”

Armin holds his hands up. “I literally just pointed out the obvious.”

“But you’re being sassy.”

“I’m not being sassy, what in the world was sassy about that—”

“I’m texting her back now,” Historia interrupts, her cheeks pinkening, and he snorts.

“Uh huh. Do you still need me here, or do you want me to leave?”

“Yeah, since you’re still being a little shit,” she says, but there’s no bite to it. He gives a small smile, kisses the top of her head, and stands.

“Alright, then. Try not to faint, or anything.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m not gonna faint—”

“And we’re talking about this later,” Armin calls as he leaves. She sticks her tongue out at him, glancing down at her phone again once he’s out of sight.

You can do this. She takes a deep breath, feeling air enter her lungs, then slowly leave them. It’s just Ymir. Just texting Ymir. 

It’s nothing.

Historia

😑

you didn’t answer my question

ymir 

go on 

just STAB me while you’re at it

Historia

Ymir.

ymir

fine

if you must know

eren’s the one who gave it to me

but also ur contact is literally in the big gc i don’t know why ur even surprised in the first place

Historia

okay well excuse me for wanting to know

Historia pauses, her thumbs hovering over the keyboard, before she types out something else that she prays isn’t about to dig her into a deeper shit hole than she’s already in.

Historia

but i am sorry for not answering

really

ymir

awwwww

that’s SO cute i’m gonna barf

never thought u had it in u

Historia

Nvm i take it back

ymir

nuh uh u can’t

but i accept ur apology

i GUESS

Historia

:/ 

i hate you.

ymir

no you don’t ;)

Historia

yes i do

stop winking

ymir

whatever!!!!!

u appreciate my presence even if u’ll never admit it

Historia’s cheeks burn so brightly she’s a bit shocked she hasn’t lost her ability to sit upright yet.

Historia

if that’s what you want to believe, then sure

i’m not gonna feed into your delusions

ymir

it’s just the truth 😛

anyways are u still on for going out today or do i have to put my amazing plans of stealing eren’s car to waste

Historia

okay. first of all 

please do NOT steal his car

ymir

lowk i feel like i’d be a better driver than him by like

a million percent

Historia

if by better driver you mean flipping the car over within the first two seconds we get in it

ymir

u of all people CANNOT be talking right now

Historia

hey at least i can admit i suck at driving

and second

to answer your question

yes i’m still on for today

if you also want

Historia bounces her leg, nervously watches as Ymir’s typing bubble pops up on the screen for what feels like an eternity.

ymir

ofc i do

dummy

why do u think i even asked in the first place

The relief that spreads through her should be a little embarrassing, but she finds that all she really cares about right now is the fact that they’re actually going to see each other today. Her pulse slowly begins to rise.

Historia

i’m just making sure

no need to give me an attitude

ymir

I’M the one giving YOU an attitude?

Historia

yup 😚

ymir

and you call me delusional okay

btw since ur so against me driving even though i’m an absolutely wonderful driver

Historia

Mhm.

ymir

u don’t mind if we take the bus do u

i checked online and there's one near ur house that stops by the mall at 10:30

we'd have to leave the mall at like 1 though cause thats the only other time it comes back

bc there’s no way in hell i’m having eren drop us

i’d genuinely rather kms

Historia shudders just reading that. God only knows what nonsense would come out of that idiot’s mouth—him even knowing about this whole thing in the first place is already bad enough. 

Historia

ur saying that as if ur not literally the one who told him about today LMFKAJSKSK

ymir

alright FOR UR INFO

i only mentioned it so that he could lend me his car

but he still said no

so.

Historia

mhmmmmm

ymir

shut up

i’m already dressed so i should be at ur place in like 

ten ish minutes

make sure u bring ur laptop w u

Ten minutes. Historia feels her mouth go dry. Ymir’s going to be at my house in ten minutes.

Historia

okay 

ymir

dont forget

Historia

Omg i WONT

ymir

uh huh.

ok i’m walking out as we speak

bye blondie ;)

Historia

bye 🙄🙄🙄

Hope u slip on ice

ymir

WTF.

ur so mean to me

Historia

<3

Historia shoots up in an instant, sprinting to her room and slamming the door shut behind her; she’s sure her parents and siblings will have felt the sheer force of its shake alone downstairs, but at this point, she can’t even be bothered to worry about whether or not they’re going to come up and check on her. She flings her phone onto her bed, swinging open her closet doors and cursing at the mountain of clothes spilling out like a stinky avalanche. Of course, out of all the fucking times she actually needs to pick a decent outfit, today had to be the day her usually impeccable fashion sense was completely flung out of the orbit of her mind. 

Fuck. She steps back, panting. Obviously, she can’t ask Eren for any advice, since he’d probably just laugh in her face and never let her hear the end of it for as long as she lives—and she’d rather die than wear anything he likes. Armin’s a bit better than him when it comes to the styling department, but he takes forever to decide on anything, and by now, she probably only has about nine minutes before Ymir shows up at her front door. That leaves—

“Mikasa!” she shrieks. Five seconds pass. Ten. She’s seriously close to screaming again before, blessedly, her door opens to a peek, revealing her sister’s wide eyes on the other side.

“What in the—”

“Thank God.” She pulls Mikasa inside by the arm, closes the door again behind her. “I need your opinion on something.” Mikasa glances at the mountain of clothes, opens her mouth, but Historia cuts her off by continuing with, “And if you answer me without any questions, I swear on my life—on Armin’s life—that I won’t steal any of that fancy mascara you always buy ever, ever again. I swear.”

Mikasa gaps. “You were stealing my mascara?”

“Mikasa.”

“Which one did you take?”

“The red and black one.”

“You—”

“I’ll give it back to you later,” Historia says pleadingly. Mikasa purses her lips, narrows her eyes. “Please, ‘Kasa, this is a life or death situation.”

“Give it back to me now, and I will.”

Historia sighs in defeat, points to her vanity. “It’s in the first drawer on the right.”

“Hm.” Mikasa takes it out, seemingly satisfied, then looks at Historia with a tiny, amused smile. “You know, if you really did need it, you could’ve just said something—”

“‘Kasa.”

“Okay, okay. What’s this ‘life or death’ situation you need my opinion on, now?”

Historia blows a few wisps of hair out of her face, a flush rising to her cheeks. “Okay, well, it’s not really an opinion. More like a question.”

“Mhm.”

“So…” She looks away, hoping Mikasa won’t read too much into this, since what she’s about to ask is so stupid she may as well just drop dead right then and there. Her sister’s not nearly as bad as Armin when it comes to prying, but Historia would still rather not feel like each and every one of her thoughts is being overtly picked apart in real time. “When you and Sasha go on dates and stuff like that—uh, what do you wear?”

Mikasa blinks. “You… want to know what I wear on dates?”

“Yup.”

“But why—”

Historia shakes her head. “No asking about it, remember?”

Mikasa stares at her for a few beats, not saying a word, before she clears her throat. “Well,” she starts, “it depends on where the date’s going to be. Like, if it’s at a restaurant, for example, or the beach.”

“The mall,” Historia coughs. “It’s at the mall.”

“Then I’d go for something more casual. In your case,” Mikasa says, brushing past her and kneeling in front of the clothes pile, “something like… this.” She digs through it until she holds up a checkered, dark brown skirt and a cream-colored sweater. “Do you still have those nice leg warmers I got you for Christmas?”

“Yeah.” If I can find them in this mess, Historia thinks grimly.

“They’re pretty much the same color as the sweater, so wear them with dark stockings to cover the rest of your legs, and dark boots. It’ll give a nice contrast, I think.”

“That’s it?” Historia asks, brows furrowed. 

“I’d say put some jewellery on, too, but other than that, yeah.” Mikasa hands her the clothes, gives a little pat to her cheek, and she grimaces. “Don’t give me that, you’ll look great.”

“Sure. Whatever you say.”

Mikasa tsks. “You don’t have to follow my advice. I mean, I’d be more specific if I knew who you were going on a date with—”

“I’m not—I’m not going on a date,” Historia sputters. “How the fuck did you get to that conclusion?”

“You asked me about date clothes, Tori. Obviously I’m going to assume you’re going on a date.”

“Well, I’m not.”

“So then why’d you ask for that specifically?”

“Because—” she thins her lips. “Date clothes are supposed to be nice, and I wanted to look nice. But not actually for a date.”

Mikasa gives her a flat look. “Uh huh.”

“Shut up,” Historia mutters, turning away from her completely. She can feel her sister’s eyes practically burning holes into the back of her head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It kind of does, considering you look like you’re about to explode any minute—”

“Bye, ‘Kasa,” Historia says loudly, dragging her back to her bedroom door. Mikasa rolls her eyes, turns the knob and opens it. “Thanks for the clothes, or whatever.”

“You’re hopeless, Tori.”

“Love you too.” Historia pushes her until she’s all the way out of her room, shutting the door completely. She hears Mikasa’s muffled snort on the other side, then the sound of her footsteps gradually fading away.

Historia doesn’t know whether it’s because of the rush of adrenaline coursing through her, or the glance at her phone that tells her she has seven minutes left until Ymir shows up at her front door, but she manages to wrestle herself into the sweater, skirt, stockings, and boots all within the span of thirty seconds. By some miracle, she finds the leg warmers shoved into the deepest crevice of her closet after digging through her makeshift avalanche of clothes like some sort of slobbering dog, and pulls those on over her boots, too.

She stares at herself in the large mirror behind her door. For something Mikasa had strung together in such a short amount of time, it’s not too bad—a bit less organized than what she usually wears, yeah, but that doesn’t matter. Even if the thought of how Ymir might react makes blood rush straight to her head, which is stupid, because she shouldn’t even care what Ymir thinks, anyway—

Just stop. She blows out a breath, rushes to her vanity, opening every drawer until she finds her lip gloss, blush, and her own mascara. A part of her seriously regrets giving up that other one—Mikasa’s always been a bit of a makeup nerd, and Historia has no idea where she finds products of that insane quality for such a cheap price—but there’s absolutely no way she’s calling her sister back up here and dealing with her questions. Then she might drag Armin with her, and having those two meddling at once is seriously the last thing she needs right now.

It takes her three more minutes to dabble everything onto her cheeks, lips, and eyes, and she grimaces, knowing how much better she’d look if she’d done a full-face, but there’s just no fucking time. She rakes her brush through blonde locks, wincing at all the tangles it pulls at, then grabs one of her headbands and smooths it over her hair, making sure to leave the front pieces beside her face. Simple, but it does its job of keeping any stray strands in place, so this is just what she’s going to be dealing with.

A few more curses and nearly tripping over the corner of her bed frame is what leads her to rushing down the stairs at the two minute mark, her laptop in a tote bag slung over her shoulder. Armin and Mikasa are nowhere to be found—probably watching something in the TV room, if the muted crashing sounds filtering through the walls are anything to go by—but her parents are sitting on the living room couch, sipping tea in comfortable silence like they always do on Saturday mornings. 

“Morning, Pa. Morning, Dad,” she says, heaving breaths, briskly making her way to the front door. They turn to face her, both with equally puzzled expressions. 

“Woah, woah, hold on a second,” Levi calls, and she stops in her tracks, shoulders tensing, mentally smacking herself. “Where the hell are you going? It’s nine in the morning.”

She turns to face them, the most casual smile she can muster plastered on her face. Of course, since the universe has decided that anything remotely joyful in her life must be eradicated the second it chooses to bloom, not only did she manage to forget that she and Ymir were supposed to go out today, she’d forgotten to mention it to her parents, as well, who don’t even know Ymir’s back, because Historia still hasn’t found the right time between her work, and stressing, and dealing with whatever the fuck is going on with her brother and best friend to tell them properly.

“I’m going out to study for English,” she says, her voice jumping up to an embarrassingly high octave. Erwin just looks terribly concerned, at this point, watching her with a frown, but Levi continues staring blankly at her.

“Uh huh.”

“Tori,” Erwin starts. Historia’s sure the smile on her face is slowly morphing into a contorted grimace. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she says breezily, crossing her arms. “Totally fine. Why wouldn’t I be fine?”

“You just look a bit—well—”

“Like you’re going to throw up,” Levi interjects bluntly. Erwin shoots him a look.

“Levi.”

“What? It’s true.”

Historia glances at her phone in her hand. There are no new notifications on her screen, which means Ymir’s still on the way, thank God. “Dunno what you’re talking about, Pa. Again, I feel perfectly fine.”

“Hmm. Who’re you studying with?” he asks, leaning forward and narrowing his eyes. Erwin sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Is it Eren?”

She hesitates for a split-second, looking anywhere but his face. “Nope.”

“So who is it, then?”

Historia takes a long inhale of breath to steady herself. Her parents had met Ymir a million times when she was a kid, and they’d never had any issues with her, but considering they’d witnessed every second of how miserable Historia had been after she’d left without a word, she doesn’t really know how they’re going to react to her being back after so long. She’s sure they’ll be more surprised than anything, but it wouldn’t be unlike them to subtly try and spring an interrogation on her the second she arrives. The thought alone is enough to make her shudder.

“Well,” she coughs, looking away. “I’m actually going with Ymir.”

Levi blinks. Shares a glance with Erwin, whose eyes have widened slightly, the two of them not saying anything for a moment. Beads of sweat are beginning to form on Historia’s temples, and she desperately wills them away, because she is not about to ruin the already minimal makeup on her face when Ymir is probably thirty seconds away from the house.

“You’re going… with Ymir,” Erwin says slowly. 

“Mhm.”

“As in—Eren’s cousin Ymir? The one who was basically attached to your hip for six months straight?”

Red floods into Historia’s cheeks. “Okay, I wouldn’t say attached to my hip—”

“The one who left?” Levi interrupts, and Historia nods, trying not to heave a sigh. 

“Yes, Pa.”

Erwin thins his lips. “Okay. When did she—?”

“Uh, back in January,” Historia says sheepishly. “And she’s living with Eren now. So. Yeah.”

A small bout of silence takes over. Her parents share another look, speaking with their eyes in a way Historia can’t decipher no matter how hard she tries, before Levi faces her again, giving a sigh. 

“Christ,” he mutters, rubbing his forehead. “And you’re just telling us this now?”

“I didn’t purposefully try to keep it from you,” Historia grumbles, tugging at her sleeve. “I was just trying to find the right time, and I kind of forgot about it because all this other shit kept happening—”

“Language, Tori.”

“—don’t even get me started on that, I swear to God I have a few gray hairs coming in on the back of my head—”

“Tori,” Erwin interrupts, chuckling. Historia clamps her mouth shut, a little out of breath. “Slow down a bit.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s alright, darling,” he muses, “you don’t have to apologize. We’re only surprised, that’s all. I mean, she’s been gone for six years.”

“Yeah,” Historia mumbles. “Trust me, I know.”

“And how have you and Eren been taking it?”

The question is sincere, though Historia does catch the underlying notion of something more that he’s not verbalizing, from the way his brows slightly pinch at the last syllable. She doesn’t know what it could be, honestly, but she’s not going torture herself by trying to figure it out; him and Armin are unfortunately very much the same when it comes to prying like that, going all vague and unreadable. It’s a bit scary how much they resemble each other, sometimes.

“I mean, I’m fine,” she says, which is true—save for the way Ymir’s begun plaguing every crevice of her mind for the past month or so, but that’s irrelevant. Mostly. “Eren’s still a bit mad at her, though.”

Levi takes a sip of his tea, raises a brow. “So she didn’t apologize for basically ghosting all of you?”

“She apologized to me personally. And all our friends,” Historia adds quickly, cheeks warming at the memories of that wedding. How softly Ymir had spoken. How golden specks had sparkled in her eyes from the fairy lights above them. How pretty she’d looked when she smoked…

“So she didn’t apologize to him, then?” Levi continues, pulling her back to reality. She clears her throat, praying her face isn’t as red as it feels.

“I mean, she didn’t at first, but then they just kind of mellowed out a bit. They’re still constantly bickering, though, which is annoying, but it’s nowhere near as bad as it was before.”

“When did you even see her again?” Erwin asks.

She looks away. “That wedding Eren asked us to go to.”

“Ah.” Erwin shakes his head, chuckles again. “That explains why you were so worked up afterwards, then. I knew there was something.”

Historia scowls at the way he grins. “I was not ‘worked up—’”

“I think you talking to yourself in the mirror for two days straight should be classified as being worked up, Tori,” Levi says, a small, amused smile forming on his face. Historia feels her jaw go slack.

“You—”

“Armin and Mikasa aren’t the only ones who live in this house, you know.”

Historia still gaps, her face feeling like it’s going to catch fire and explode at any moment. Why is everyone in her family so fucking observant? Armin and Mikasa, she could deal with to an extent, but her parents? Have they just been noticing every single one of her freak-outs this entire time without saying anything? For two whole months? 

“I mean, really, Tori,” Levi continues. Erwin starts giggling into his hand. “The bathroom upstairs is literally linked to our bedroom—”

“You’re horrible,” she hisses, Erwin’s laughs booming louder by the second. Levi takes another sip of his tea, but she can see the way his smile widens ever so slightly behind the cup. “Oh my God, you—”

“Your face,” Erwin chokes out, “is so red right now, I can’t—”

“Dad.”

“It is!”

“I’m not dealing with this,” Historia mutters, pulling her tote bag further up her shoulder after it slips and striding towards the door.

“Hold on another second, Tori,” Levi says, and she bites back a groan, turning to him again.

“What?”

“You’re just studying with her?” he asks suspiciously. Historia wonders how she hasn’t fainted yet from how boiling her blood is beneath her cheeks.

“Yes, Pa. What else do you think?”

“Well—”

A few quick knocks suddenly sound against the front door, and her body freezes up on instinct, heart thumping so harshly she feels the tremors of it all the way to her fingertips. Then her phone buzzes in her hand, and she opens it, trying to ignore Levi’s piercing stare and the string of giggles still leaving Erwin’s mouth.

ymir (just now, 10:07 a.m.)

i'm outside ;)

didn't trip on ice either so HA

“Are you going to get that or not?” Levi asks bluntly, and that’s what snaps Historia out of it. She grasps the door knob in her hand, sucks in a breath, the swiftness of it going straight to her brain and spinning her vision. You can do this, she tells herself as she turns it, feeling the faint clicking vibration in her palm. You can do this, it’s just Ymir, just Ymir—

“Hey, Blondie,” Ymir grins as soon as the door swings open. For a fleeting instant, all Historia’s capable of doing is staring with her mouth slightly parted; the first thing she notices is the beanie she’d gotten her for her birthday, wrestled over brown waves and pushing her bangs—almost past her cheekbones now, she realizes faintly—even further into her eyes. For the first time since seeing her again two months ago, she’s also decided to put on a sweater and jeans that aren’t ripped in this horrible weather. Little silver trinkets dangle from her neck, along with her silver earrings and the bracelets peeking out from under her sleeves. That means her nose ring’s silver, too, Historia thinks, feeling a swirl of satisfaction when she glances back up at Ymir’s face and sees that she’s right.

“Took you long enough,” Historia forces out, praying her voice doesn’t crack too outwardly. Maybe so much blood has rushed into her brain she’s started to hallucinate, but Ymir’s cheeks suddenly bloom pink, making her freckles even more prominent. Historia so badly wants to reach out and graze them with her thumb. Even though she shouldn’t. But she wants to.

“It took me nine-and-a-half minutes to get here, actually,” Ymir says coolly. She holds her phone up, “00:09:28” clearly flashing on her timer app. “Technically I’m early.”

Historia blinks. “You timed yourself?”

“Yeah, ‘cause I knew you were gonna find some way to complain about me being late.”

“When did I ever say—”

“Ahem,” comes a cough from behind, and Historia winces, remembering that her parents are quite literally right behind them and have witnessed every second since she’d first opened the door. Thankfully, Erwin’s stopped laughing, staring seamlessly into nothing with his lips pursed like he’s giving his all not to, but Levi’s piercing gaze doesn’t waver. “You’re letting the cold air in,” he says.

“Sorry, Pa,” Historia mumbles. At least Ymir also looks as embarrassed as she feels; it’s so subtle Historia barely catches it, but she can see the way her shoulders immediately tense, hands shoving themselves into her jean pockets as she clears her throat.

“Hi, Sir,” she says, giving one of those fake, sweet smiles Historia always used to see her pull around adults. Levi’s eyes just narrow further, and she tries not to facepalm. “It’s, uh, it’s nice to see you again.”

“Mhm.” He takes a short, taut sip of his tea. “Where are you taking my daughter?”

“Pa,” Historia hisses. Ymir just blinks, glancing between them. “I told you, we’re studying for English—”

“You never told me where you were going.”

“Okay, well, sorry for not laying out every detail of my life—”

“We’re just going to the mall,” Ymir cuts in, voice completely smooth, not an ounce of fear on her face. Levi raises a brow. “If that’s alright with both of you, of course.”

“It’s perfectly alright,” Erwin says, seemingly composing himself enough to speak without cracking. Levi opens his mouth, but Erwin gently nudges his shoulder before he can say anything else. “You can get going. Don’t let us keep you.”

Thank you, Historia mouths. He smiles, gives her a tiny nod of encouragement.

“I won’t have her back late,” Ymir says. She tugs at Historia’s sleeve, and she feels her face crank up to an embarrassingly high temperature despite the cold wind biting at her cheeks.

“Don’t worry about it,” Erwin says mildly, waving his hand. Levi gives him an appalled look, opens his mouth again, but Erwin continues with, “Just text us when you’re on the way, Tori.”

“I will,” Historia groans, and that’s when she finally slams the door shut behind her, leaning against it and huffing out a breath of relief. Ymir gives her a curious look. “What?”

“Nothing,” Ymir coughs, looking away. Historia raises a brow; her cheeks have gone pink again, but she reckons that’s just because of the cold. “I’ve just never seen you that freaked out before, ’s all.”

“I wasn’t freaked out,” Historia grumbles as they make their way down to the sidewalk, walking in the direction of the nearest bus stop. It’ll take around ten minutes to get there, but she’d much rather face the cold with Ymir instead of subjecting herself to Eren’s awful jeering for almost half-an-hour straight.

“Was too.”

“Was not.”

“Your face is all puffed up,” Ymir teases. She links their arms together, huddles close to her side. A surge of warmth suddenly blasts through Historia, nearly toppling her over, and she prays the heat in her face isn’t showing. What the fuck is wrong with her now? It’s not as if Ymir’s never done that before; every time they see each other, she makes it a point to keep her near, whether it be an arm around her shoulders, or her waist when they’re sitting together in the back of Eren’s car. That’s just how Ymir is. It’s how she’s always been with Historia since they were kids—so why does every mere touch from her suddenly feel like it’s burning? “Literally like a rabid chipmunk, it’s hilarious.”

“My face is the one that’s puffed up?”

“Yup.”

Historia rolls her eyes. “Uh huh. At least I wasn’t the one talking to my parents like some fucking military general.”

“I wasn’t—”

“‘Yes, Sir, I’ll have her home in no time, Sir,” Historia says in a high-pitched voice. Ymir’s cheeks darken even further, and Historia tries not to think about how lovely she looks like this, flustered and practically speechless. “‘No need to worry, Sir, I’ve got it all under control—‘”

“I was just trying to be polite!” Ymir sputters. “Levi’s fuckin’ terrifying, okay? I thought he was gonna try using, like—the force on me, or some shit.”

Historia chokes. “The force?”

“Shut up,” Ymir mutters as Historia giggles into her clothed arm. The cold air pierces her lungs with every breath, but she finds that Ymir’s warmth is more than enough to wade it away. “You know what I mean, okay? He had the look!”

“What look, Ymir?”

“Like he was gonna kill me!”

“That doesn’t equate to the force, what kind of—”

“I had to watch one of the movies with Eren and Gabi on Thursday,” Ymir interrupts. “Can’t remember the name, ‘cause I could care less, but it was part of that stupid prequel trifecta, or whatever, and one of the weird Jedi guys had the same crazy look as him. So sue me for finding an accurate comparison.”

Historia wipes away a few tears, looks up at Ymir with a sly grin. “What did the guy look like?”

“Like—he had shoulder-length hair.”

“Did he have a scar on his face?”

“Probably.”

“Then it’s Revenge of the Sith,” Historia tells her, grin widening at the way Ymir’s brows furrow.