Chapter Text
For Armin Arlert, today was the worst possible of days.
It had been one of those days that just kind of starts out bad and becomes progressively worse with time until it's snowballing beyond control. Armin had been past the point of saving before 9 that morning. Yeah, it was that bad.
He'd overslept, he hadn't showered, forgot to brush his hair, spilled coffee on his best shirt, missed the job interview of a lifetime, left his wallet at home in the chaos of his tattered morning routine leaving himself unable to buy lunch; he broke his glasses, got stuck in the rain waiting for his ride home, and stepped in a puddle which ruined his right shoe.
Throughout it all though, he'd held onto the hope that the night would improve a day's worth of hardship. Tonight, he would meet up with Jean, and his problems would melt away. Jean could ease all the issues of the day, renew his frayed nerves, and reassure him that life would return to normalcy in a shower of rushed, accidentally violent kisses.
He needed that.
Normally, Jean had just what it took to right all the wrongs that Armin went up against, but, recently, things just hadn't felt right.
He was slipping.
Regardless, they'd planned to meet at the boardwalk at 8. They'd planned to have a nice dinner. They'd planned for a good evening centered around one another. But, of course, when Jean was involved, nothing ever went exactly to plan.
Armin was not in the mood for it.
He arrived five minutes early and had no choice but to wait alone in the rain. People passed with pitying smiles, and as time ticked by those smiles became the most irritating sight in the world. Still, he tried to smile back. They didn't deserve his anger. Jean, on the other hand, Jean did.
Jean arrived at the pier thirty-five minutes late with coffee, and was greeted by a drenched and silently fuming Armin. His clothes clung to him, and he wreaked of dirty water which dripped down his overgrown locks. The angry black cloud that had been his entire day loomed heavily over his head.
"Where, Jean? Where have you been?" He practically growled and was surprised by his own bite.
Jean gave him a once-over with a steely expression. "I told you I was working late, didn't I?" His hand wrapped around the back of his neck, and he shrugged limply. That was always his version of an apology.
"No," Armin took a bold step forward, he hoped the tears that threatened to spill would blend into the pounding rain which ran down his face in streams, "you didn't tell me, Jean." His voice wavered. "You never tell me," he muttered, dropping his gaze.
Jean's expression softened as soon as his weakness was exposed. This is how it always was with them. He was only gentle and loving when Armin had surpassed his limit. A warm arm wrapped around Armin's shoulders and pulled him in close to Jean's torso.
His head rested against Jean's chest in defeat. He dropped the argument as he always did, and they began to walk.
They strolled in silence for a long while, listening to the rain pound Jean's umbrella and the sidewalk below. Sheets of water sprayed from the streets as cars passed. Small huddles of people passed in giggling groups, smiles glued on their rain streaked faces.
Armin grew annoyed with the lack of conversation.
"How was work?" He asked in a soft whisper. He found that he was unable to look at Jean directly without feeling a mixture of hurt and anger. It was best just to study the ground. It was safe.
"Huh?" Jean tilted his head downward.
"I asked how work was," Armin's voice had a distinct edge that Jean didn't miss.
The taller man stood upright, back straight, stoic eyes looked around aimlessly as he answered shortly. "It was fine. Long day, but it was okay, I guess."
For as long as Armin had known his partner, Jean had never been one to spare unnecessary words. He was always clipped and honest in every phrase he uttered. Under normal circumstances, Armin tolerated it easily, but now, he couldn't stand it.
Armin found himself grinding his teeth. He quickly settled himself into the passive boy he always had been.
"Do you want to know how my day was?" He sounded more damaged and weary than he ever wanted to lead on. His cracked glasses slipped down the bridge of his slick nose.
Jean was perceptive. Armin knew that Jean could plainly see something was wrong, but he was not one to console, so he didn't even bother to mention it.
"I figured you'd talk about it if you wanted me to know," Jean replied simply.
Armin's stomach knotted and his chest squeezed uncomfortably.
"Well, sometimes it'd be nice if you asked," he said in a soft huffing sigh, "at least show you're a little interested."
"You know I am," Jean's grip tightened around him, "so talk to me."
"I'm glad it's over," Armin muttered, fingering the coffee stain on the front of his shirt, "my day I mean," he amended quickly.
Jean barely noticed as he led Armin into a dimly lit bar.
In the back of his mind, Armin knew that the only time they went to bars was when stress was high and drunkenness was the only solution to get through their time together. He kept the thought to himself.
Armin kept his gaze down as he was led to a booth and slid in silently. He ignored everyone else there. He pretended not to hear the laughter around him. The men cheering at the mounted television grated on his nerves. He propped his chin in his palm. A steep frown tugged at his lips.
Steadily, Jean pulled the glasses from Armin's face and examined the cracked lens with limited interest once they were both seated. "We'll get this fixed over the weekend," he commented noncommittally.
"Okay," Armin breathed. "That'll be great." He tried for a smile.
It was painful.
Jean gave him a calculating look as he sat the glasses aside, but refused to speak, as if a single word would break the thin ice he tread. It probably would.
They ate in cold silence. Jean drank more than he breathed. Armin had never known him to down so much alcohol in one sitting.
"Are you okay?" Armin's voice was muffled behind his hand.
Jean looked up, the light above their table caught his honey colored eyes perfectly. Armin felt his heart squeeze. He really was a beautiful man. Armin wasn't sure why he felt himself losing interest. He could never do better than Jean. There was no better for him.
A lump formed in the back of his throat.
Jean took his time in responding. He sat up straighter, arms folded over one another across the table top. He leaned forward slightly.
"Are you?" His eyebrows raised.
Suddenly, Armin regretted asking. He looked away sheepishly, eyes falling on a particularly miserable looking man in the back of the bar. He felt as though they would get along. Quickly, before Jean could notice, he tore his eyes away.
"Do you want the truth, Jean?" His voice sounded frail even to his own ears. He heard Jean shuffle across the table.
"Naturally," Jean's voice had become hard. He spoke in monotone when his temper was brewing.
Armin inhaled through his nose. Stale smoke and cheap beer flooded his senses.
"I-," he laughed and rubbed his eyes between his fingers. His blonde hair fell in his face as he bowed his head. "I am so far from okay."
He shrunk into himself at the words.
"Why?" the reply came too quickly. Jean was on edge. He always was when he wasn't in control. He was a leader. He reacted poorly to being taken off guard though he'd never admit to it.
Armin peaked through the sheet of his bangs which separated him from his partner.
"Why?" Armin practically squeaked. Tears pricked his eyes. "What do you mean why? Do you think this relationship is healthy? Do you think we're alright?" He felt his tone rising, but he was beyond the point of caring. His day had been shit and he was going to yell if he pleased. "What do you mean why?"
Each word was punctuated by a huffing breath. His blood boiled under his skin.
Jean remained silent though his teeth were bared. Dark shadows streaked heavily across his long face. "Sit down, Armin," his voice became gruff with annoyance.
He hadn't realized he was standing. He used it to his advantage, leaning against the table. Armin had never looked down on Jean before. He felt a surge of power. For one fleeting moment he felt brave.
"Jean, this entire night has been miserable. My day has been miserable, and for a while, this relationship has been miserable, too. Don't tell me you haven't noticed. Don't you dare lie to me about what I can plainly see."
His wide blue eyes burned as heated tears rolled down his cheeks in steady streams.
Slowly, Jean rose forcing Armin to shrink back. He was completely in control of his brewing anger. Armin could see the fire growing behind his eyes.
He sat down without another word, lips pursed.
He always, always stepped down.
"I wouldn't lie to you, Armin Arlert."
He folded in on himself at the mention of his name. He hated himself for being so incapable of standing up. He hated being so afraid. He hated the fact that he would never really know what it was to be free in a relationship.
Armin felt every single pair of eyes in the small pub land on them, and, in that moment, he hated them too.
Jean could make him happy. He had made Armin happy once upon a time, but life had moved on in time and they had changed. They were no longer care free kids in college who just wanted someone for company and an occasional fuck, and because of that they were no longer compatible. Only Armin could see that, though.
Once Jean cared about something, his passion was impossible to stifle or suffocate. Jean himself was a raging fire which refused to settle. He was composed of burning passion and the need to succeed. He wanted comfort and quaint, safe happiness.
Armin couldn't provide that, yet Jean was so blinded by his own yearning he couldn't see it.
He was so tired of feeling like Jean's pet. Of course, Armin knew that Jean never meant any harm. He knew Jean cared for him immensely, but that didn't ease the feeling of being more of a possession than a companion.
"Wouldn't you?" Armin challenged, arms crossed over his chest. Sweat beaded along his forehead under the heavy weight of wandering eyes watching their every move. When Jean stayed silent just a beat too long, Armin continued. He spoke in a single breath. "Jean, I know you lie to me every chance you get. You stayed after for business work, you had a late meeting, you had to get coffee with your boss, Jean, do you think I'm stupid? Seeing you used to make me happy and now it's like I have to keep myself from suffocating in self-loathing every time you even spare me a passing glance."
He cried freely and past his cloudy eyes, he could see Jean. Jean Kirschtein. Beautiful, bold, brash, cunning, talented in everything he set his mind to do. Wonderful, wonderful Jean. That Jean was no longer the man he loved though.
He'd fallen for the Jean, the freshman in college who wore ratty band tee-shirts, smoked too much, and talked too loudly. He needed Jean the art student who bought him flowers and sketched his profile in his spare time just because he was "really pretty deep in thought."
God, he missed the Jean he'd had before adulthood took it all away.
He still kept the drawings. Sometimes he cried over them at night when it all became too much. Sometimes he held them because he needed a reminder than their relationship meant something. Sometimes he traced the fading lines with the tips of his fingers just because he needed a reminder that love was a real thing; just because he needed to know there was something worth holding onto.
"You think I'm cheating on you?" Jean's voice had sank another octave once he'd finally found the means to speak.
Armin stayed silent. That was conformation enough for Jean.
In an instant, the man was on his feet. Armin sucked in a shallow breath before biting the inside of his cheek nervously.
"You think I would cheat on you?"
"That's not all that's wrong," Armin grumbled. "You're different now, Jean. You changed, and I hate it."
His face contorted in ugly distaste. "I changed? Fuck, Armin, did you think I was going to stay 19 forever? Did you think I'd keep a goddamn undercut and stay a dead-beat artist going nowhere forever? Obviously," he face was hardened, his voice was barely audible though the bar had gone completely silent, "I changed."
Armin's tongue felt thick in his mouth and his head felt as though it was swimming as he pushed away from their dining table. Multiple times he opened his mouth, but the words he needed were lost. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he should say something. He wanted to defend himself. He wanted Jean to know that he didn't miss the haircut and the paint that seemed to always stay in his hair and on his fingertips. He didn't miss the material things.
But the words wouldn't come. Instead, tears took their place, and he deflated.
"Don't wait up for me tonight," Armin whispered as he walked past, hands tucked securely in his pants pockets. He didn't want Jean to lose sleep over him. Even when he hated the man, Armin needed Jean to be at his best. He needed Jean to know that he still waned him well.
Armin called it a character flaw; Jean called it humanity.
Whatever it was, Armin despised it in this very moment.
When Jean began to speak, Armin whipped around on his heels in a flash. His hair hung in his face and clung to the wetness there, "don't," he warned. "Just, rest well, alright? Just. Do it for me, Jean. Do something for me."
Jean reached out for Armin's arm, but was rejected in a single second when the blonde yanked away. It took everything Armin had not to turn around and apologize.
"Don't," Armin said again. His voice cracked pitifully.
There were whispers around the bar. Jean's ears began to turn pink as he realized the attention they were receiving.
"What do you mean, 'don't'?"
Jean's hand was reaching out again.
Before Armin even had the chance to speak, there was a loud voice breaking through the sea of hushed conversation.
"He said don't," the stranger's voice slurred, "or is your hearing as bad as your looks?"
Jean's hand pulled away and slowly fell by his side. His fingers were curled into a tight fist. "I heard him."
There were heavy, sluggish footsteps behind Armin. The smell of alcohol became much stronger as the stranger neared.
"Then don't fucking touch him."
Armin saw Jean's calm facade break. He saw every ounce of self-restraint he had shard into a million dangerous pieces.
Armin saw the fiery, unrestrained Jean from college. The Jean he spent the better parts of his nights bandaging and checking for concussions.
This was the Jean that was self-destructive.
This Jean was unapologetically frightening.
He knew he had to leave. He'd never been a victim of Jean's anger, but he knew what could happen to innocent bystanders in his wake. He could handle everything about Jean so easily; everything but his temper.
Armin made a break for the door and didn't stop, even when he heard a glass bottle shatter and a crowd go wild.
He found himself sitting out in the drizzling rain for a long while, staring at a nearby bus stop overhanging but finding no motivation to relocate under it.
When the rain became cold and the wind became violent, though, Armin took his cell phone between trembling fingers. It was only then he realized he'd left his glasses back in the bar, so clear vision was a thing of the past.
After long, torturous minutes of squinting at his phone, which he held approximately three centimeters from the tip of his nose, Armin was finally able to find the contact number for a taxi cab service he and Jean had used in the younger days. He had no idea if they were still a functioning business.
God, he hoped they were.
After five painful, anxiety ridden ring tones, a female voice greeted him. Enthusiasm practically poured through the line. "Wings of Freedom Cab Service, this is Hanji speaking! Are you needing us on this wonderful night? Have you seen the sky tonight? It's incredible. You know, storms like this are created when-"
"Cut the science shit, four-eyes," a particularly angry man said somewhere in the distance on the line.
There was a disappointed sigh. Armin cut it short.
"I have seen the sky," he tried to seem pleasant, but that was much harder than it would've been ordinarily, "actually," he sighed, "I'm stuck under that sky right now. And it's raining."
Their conversation was short. Hanji only laughed and assured Armin that she had the perfect driver to pick him up before hanging up with a suspicious cackle.
Armin was only left to hope for the best.
He prayed on every rain drop falling from the heavens that the night would turn around and something would go right.
He was stupid for even trying.
He'd hoped for the best, and of course, he received the furthest possible thing from it.
The short scowling man in the front seat of the taxi could barely see over the steering wheel when he pulled alongside the curb directly in front of the bar and ushered Armin in with a half-assed flap of the wrist.
Armin, seated a considerable distance away from said bar, could only sigh, stand, and walk through the rain which now poured in sheets.
Once he'd slung the car door open, he was able to get a good look at the rest of the driver as well as the medical mask which covered his nose and mouth.
The night only got impossibly stranger.
"I can't get sick, kid, close the goddamn door already."
"Oh, I- I'm sorry," Armin slid into the back seat with caution before slamming the door closed.
When the cabbie, 'Levi' his placard read, didn't ask for any kind of direction, Armin pinched the bridge of his nose, watching the rate meter climb. "Just take me far away, please. Just far, far away."
Levi looked Armin over with a bored expression before he shrugged. "Whatever, I get paid by the mile anyway." As his hand wrapped around the gear shift, the back door flung open.
Both men jumped a mile high in surprise.
Armin watched as another man climbed into the cab and recognized him instantly, both by sight and smell. There was glass in his hair and embedded in his bloodied cheeks. His lip was busted and his skin colored entirely in angry reds and purples. He smelled like strong liquor. The miserable man from the bar. The one who'd confronted Jean.
He could feel his eyes widen.
"Oi-" the cab driver took hold of the situation immediately, "this car is not for you get you ass out before I-"
"No," Armin stopped him with a stern look, rubbing a hand over his own mouth, "give me one second."
The dark-haired angry man faltered for only a second before settling back into his apathetic expression. "You're being charged for this."
"I'm aware," Armin spat before turning his attention to the man who sat by his side. "Shit," he whispered past barely parted lips. He knew he couldn't leave him out in the cold, and Armin had nothing waiting on him anyway, so he asked, "where do you live? I'll take you home."
The tanned man dabbed at a nasty wound at the corner of his lips with the tip of his tongue. He seemed oblivious to the question. When Armin opened his mouth to ask again, the man held up a hand to stop him.
"I'm drunk, not deaf," he said, immediately followed by a hiccup and his address.
Armin nodded and looked at the cabbie through his rear view mirror.
"Go there, please."
There was no verbal response; Armin only received an eye roll and a shrug.
All men were silent as the dead during the ride aside from the times when the driver would study the stranger's bloodied flesh and click his tongue in disapproval. Armin pretended he didn't notice how rude their driver was. Instead, he settled on intently studying the man from the corner of his eye until
Levi slammed his brakes abruptly causing all three to lurch forward. The drunken brunette hit the passengers seat hard and fall back breathlessly.
"We're here," He said, arms crossed securely over his small chest.
Armin threw three rolled twenties into the passenger's seat, biting back the urge to give the driver a piece of his mind while he half-dragged the stranger out of the car. With much grunting and determination, Armin finally managed to stand him upright, allowing the cabbie to leave without a single look back.
Good riddance, Armin thought as the drunken man directed him towards the long stretch of apartment building with stumbling, clumsy footsteps.
The man leaned heavily on him and his sour breath made Armin slightly queezy as they struggled up the stairs of the apartment complex and into the correct home. Once inside, Armin hurriedly pushed the man into the sitting room just behind the front door.
"Sit down," he instructed.
Though his reaction time was slow, the man did listen, taking a seat on an ugly cloth love-seat. Armin removed his stained work shirt, leaving him in a thin undershirt, and followed suit, taking his place beside the bleeding man.
With practiced, steady hands, Armin reached out and plucked one of the larger chunks of glass from his shaggy brown locks.
"You didn't have to do that, you know," Armin muttered, tearing the shirt into ribbons with the aid of the broken glass.
"And you don't have to do this," there was a slight smile on the stranger's full lips. Blood stained teeth shown past his parted, busted lips.
Armin shook his head, "if you could see yourself right now, you'd realize that I really do. Do you have tweezers?"
Armin worked diligently on removing the glass from the battered man's face. They talked quietly between pained hisses and curses followed by sincere apologies. He didn't learn much about the man in their limited conversation, but he did figure out his name was Eren Jaeger, and that was good enough.
"You should really learn to mind your own business," Armin spoke with is eyes downcast, working on tying a strip of his shirt around Eren's openly oozing forearm. The gore hardly bothered him.
"I've never been good at that," Eren admitted, "if I see something I don't like, I stop it. That's that."
Armin gazed at his face through thick blonde eyelashes. "Don't do that, then," he laughed.
"It has its perks."
"You could've gotten really hurt. What if you died?"
There was a brief pause as Eren studied the darkness of the apartment aimlessly.
"Like I said," he muttered, "it has its perks."
Armin felt the mood shift into a darker shade of grey. "Neither of those are perks..."
"They would be if they led her back to me," Eren leaned back on the love seat. The pale light from a nearby streetlamp caught his silhouette perfectly, showcasing his tousled hair and hard angular bone structure.
Armin felt as though he stared for just a heartbeat too long.
Guilt settled in his stomach when he had to force his eyes away.
"How about some television?" Eren asked, finally breaking the tense silence as Armin wandered into the kitchen to dump the glass he'd extracted from the injuries into the trash can.
"I- I really shouldn't. I have to go back," he replied distantly.
"Back where?" Eren asked, craning his neck to watch as Armin made his way back into the living room. "Back to horse face?"
His tone was casual but there was a sense of malice and undeniable hatred lurking behind the words.
"Back to Jean, yes, I'm- he's- well, we're living together and all. He'll worry."
"You say it like it's a bad thing. He deserves a little stress," Eren commented with a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. "Wouldn't you say?"
"He didn't- I shouldn't," Armin said weakly.
"Just one episode of Top Gear?" Eren nodded to the illuminated television set. "How about it? This one's a good episode. You'll love it."
Armin offered a skeptical look which he hoped Eren could see through the darkness. "And how do you know I'll love it?"
Eren shrugged, "I'm just throwing shots in the dark and wishing on raindrops."
"Compelling argument," Armin wadded the remains of his shirt between his fists, he shifted his weight between his feet, eyes falling on Eren, then the front door, and then back again.
"I can even make popcorn," Eren offered, "as a thank you present for you know, not letting me bleed out and all that."
Armin caved in an instant.
Saying " no" had never been an easy task.
"One episode," he said. His tone was a warning.
Despite the mental war that waged in his mind, Armin folded his legs beneath himself and curled into his original spot.
His vigilante hero, who sported make-shift bandages as though they were prizes, smiled at him.
"Just one," Eren agreed, throwing his legs across the arm of the love seat and laying across Armin's lap with no regard as to how personal space worked.
Armin wanted to hate himself for not pushing him away, but he loved the attention. He loved the feeling of being acknowledged, so he let him stay wordlessly.
Just after the first commercial break, once the clock had passed midnight and a new day was dawning, both men fell asleep. Eren's head rested in Armin's lap, and Armin's fingers had subconsciously tangled themselves in Eren's hair.