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Armin really should have known better than to hope.
Not to say that he was unfamiliar with futile wishing. Armin had long despaired over Eren's lack of interest in both school and keeping out of trouble; preferring to get by with just over the bare minimum and giving in whenever something provoked his hair-trigger temper. Even Jean had leveled out over the years in comparison, mostly giving in anymore when the situation involved Eren. (Because Jean so loved to toss gasoline at the blazing torch that was Eren.)
But as time passed, Armin allowed himself a tiny measure of hope that Eren was finally growing the fuck up. Especially as Eren's grades began rising without Armin or Mikasa prompting him to do anything about his classwork. He was apparently even setting aside specific periods of time to study at the library!
...so, yes. Suspicion should have ground hope into dust. But Armin was, to his occasional dismay, a good friend. And had no problem agreeing—was eager, even—to join Eren in a study session when asked.
He really should have known better.
“So...let me get this straight.” Armin shot up a hand to cut off Eren's no doubt witty not that straight rejoinder. “All this time we've been torn between worry that you were either being blackmailed by someone you wouldn't risk trying to take down physically,” and wasn't that a terrifying concept, “or that a miracle had occurred and you decided to get your academic shit together.” Which still probably would have involved blackmail somehow. Or possibly a bet. Because Eren.
“Instead, you've been using homework as a front for stalking some guy who frequents the public library?”
“Well. I wouldn't call it stalking...”
“Would someone else call it stalking?”
“...”
Perfect. Absolutely perfect.
“No, but- Armin, you should see him. He's amazing, absolutely perfect. I don't even have words for how hot he is.”
As Eren continued extolling the virtues of a man he had never even spoken to, Armin dropped his head into his hands. This was all going to end so horribly...
“That is the person you've been fawning over?” Sure, whomever they were was quite attractive—if of ambiguous gender—but...
“No, no. That's a friend of his.”
Said friend looked over at Eren's usual seat as they settled down a few tables away. Nearly missing the chair, they caught the table for balance. A wide, cheshire grin slid across their face as they righted themself in the seat.
If the light had flashed on the lenses of their glasses it couldn't have made them appear more like a mad scientist. They sent a jaunty little wave at Armin and Eren before spreading books and other school detritus about in a bid for territory.
Territory that was then pushed back as their companion laid out things neatly, precisely. It was a study setup Armin found quite admirable, though he hoped he'd never need to organize so much that such a variety of pens—in both color and style—became necessary.
Pale, he noted absently, made even more so by the darkness of his hair, clothing, and ink that decorated his skin. Even the frames of his glasses. Strong, despite the short stature—he might have been shorter than Armin, even. Older, obviously, but that wasn't out of the norm for Eren's tastes.
The man settled into his seat once everything was set out and looked up, glanced their direction and-
There. There it was. The catch.
“Eren.”
“Isn't he fucking gorgeous," Eren half-whispered, half-moaned, head buried in arms crossed over an open textbook.
“Eren,” Armin repeated, frowning at his childhood friend. “Why do you do these things?”
“H-huh?”
The confused puppy look fit Eren's face well, Armin admitted. That balance of stupid and cute worked for him.
“Eren, I can't tell if that guy just has a resting murder face or if he's actually a serial killer.”
“Murder face. I think.”
“Then I truly fear for you, Eren, the first time you piss him off and find out for sure.” Which Eren would. It was inevitable, really; what with him being so consumed by someone, yet made of rage and fail. (And other, better things, but those were rarely noticed by someone just getting to know Eren in the face of his everything else.)
“If he's as hot while pissed off as he is usually, I am beyond fucked.”
“And probably actually dead. Eren, why.” If there was ever a time to doubt one's life decisions...
“For someone with a thing for Annie, you're being pretty judgmental.”
“Annie is very kind, actually. She just has an exceptionally low tolerance for bullshit.” At least, certain types of bullshit. After a lifetime of being Eren's friend, Armin totally understood both the feeling and the distinction.
“And you have no idea if he's any different.”
“Neither do you. Because you've never. Spoken. To him.” And you're practically stalking him, you creeper, Armin didn't bother to add. Not when it was all there in his tone, which even Eren couldn't ignore.
With that, Armin turned his focus back to the homework set out before them, determining where would be the best place to start helping Eren out in a manner Armin could actually accomplish.
Eren would need to go about the miracle of getting that guy's (positive) attention himself.
Levi ignored the soft, gleeful humming Hange couldn't contain.
Because Levi was not jealous. For all that his high school stalker had never shown up with someone else before, Levi really wasn't jealous of the—boy. He was mostly sure that was a boy, but. Fuck if he could be certain.
Really, though—Levi had no reason to be jealous. Because the kid was still being his usual self, no matter the companion poking at him with a pencil to keep his attention focused. If anything, Levi should pity the poor fucker for having to be right next to the floundering idiot; he understood that all too well, the proof was wriggling in their seat nearby.
(Whatever Hange claimed later on, Levi knew the frown on his face wasn't for anything except the bullshit essay he was hammering out a second draft for.
Seriously.)