Chapter Text
Eren was running late for school.
That wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. He had a habit of showing up late, not because he had issues with time management but simply that he didn’t care to follow the rules. He often complained he felt restricted by them, suffocated. Since last year - eleventh grade - his behaviour had become increasingly more unpredictable.
He had outbursts. He would storm out of the classroom at a moment's notice, throwing his chair against the wall. But it wasn’t the same as in middle school when he was grieving for the loss of his mother and seeing an anger management counsellor. At that time in his life, he got into physical fights with his classmates almost every day and frequently lashed out at his teachers.
It was different now. He wasn’t a little boy anymore - he was almost an adult, towering over most of his teachers. Everyone knew that if Eren’s temper ever snapped, it would be difficult to restrain him. But there was something darker and more calculated about him these days. He seemed to have better control of his impulses but he still had that same rage brewing away inside of him, maybe more present than it ever had been.
Eren had always been boisterous, but the trouble really started after the Jaegers began fostering Mikasa. The circumstances weren’t pretty. From what Armin had been told, it involved Mikasa seeing her parents murdered in front of her eyes. Thankfully the police already rescued Mikasa before anything could happen to her. But this cruel injustice of the world - a young girl having her family and freedom taken away from her so brutally - seemed to spark a flame within Eren’s eyes.
The flame only grew stronger following the death of his own mother, like it was blazing into wildfire. Eren and Mikasa had been in the two back seats of the car. Thankfully they both only suffered minor scrapes and bruises. But Carla was trapped, legs crushed, glass sticking out of her skin, surrounded by her own blood. The children tried desperately to get her out of there but it was no use. Even if they had been able to, Carla was already moments away from death.
The three of them all had different responses to their trauma. For Mikasa it was to detach herself from her emotions, putting up a wall and acting cold, seeming mature beyond her years even if she was still a frightened nine-year-old on the inside. For Armin it was letting his feelings overwhelm him until he reverted to almost a childlike state, crying and curling up into himself in panic, pulling his hair out. And it wasn’t surprising that after everything, Eren’s reaction was to become so viscerally angry with the world.
Armin seemed to be the only person who could ever calm Eren down. When Mikasa tried, he only lashed out more at her, snapping that he wasn’t her little brother. But Armin seemed to have a pacifying effect on him. Sometimes Eren seemed like a violent storm that couldn’t be tamed, but it was always Armin who managed to calm the storm in the end. That’s why he felt guilty whenever he couldn’t stop Eren from acting out. He would apologise on Eren’s behalf when he gave his classmates black eyes and bloodied noses. He would try to justify Eren’s behaviour to their teachers, placating them, as if it was his responsibility to clean up after his messes.
Whenever Eren broke down crying in his arms, consumed by the guilt of his actions, Armin would stroke his hair and reassure him that none of this was his fault. Armin started to think it was his fault that Eren behaved this way. It didn’t make an sense rationally, but to his developing mind that already struggled with self-esteem and feeling inferior, it seemed like the right conclusion to reach.
In those moments of vulnerability that only Armin saw, Eren would plead with him. I can’t lose you, Armin. Promise you won’t ever leave me. You’re the only one who understands me. I can’t live without you. They wouldn’t talk about it afterwards, but those words lingered in Armin’s mind and became truth in his heart. He knew Eren wouldn’t cope if he wasn’t around.
Sometimes Eren got into such bad states of depression that he threatened to hurt himself. Sometimes he did hurt himself and Armin would have to deal with the aftermath, tending to his self-inflicted wounds. When he was fifteen, Eren spent some time in hospital following a psychotic episode and a particularly bad injury to his hand which almost caused permanent damage. He still had faint scars from where his own teeth had punctured the flesh. It had been terrifying, seeing him bite into his own skin with so much force like that.
After that incident, Armin never dared to tell anyone else if Eren relapsed. When Eren informed Armin that he had stopped taking his medication, he kept that secret too. He lied to Grisha and Mikasa about it when asked. He felt ashamed for deceiving them, but it was better than the alternative. Eren said he would kill himself if he ever got hospitalised again. Armin knew how much he hated the feeling of being trapped, how much it terrified him. He couldn’t risk it. He would gladly take all of Eren’s pain, carry the weight of it on his shoulders, if it meant it kept him safe.
That weight took its toll on Armin, though. He developed his own destructive ways of coping with it, never allowing anyone else to see those sides of him, not wanting to be a burden or cause Eren any more distress. Armin barely ate. He pretended to eat, nibbling on his sandwiches in the school cafeteria as he chatted with his friends, but he would throw most of his lunch away afterwards.
It wasn’t that he wanted to lose weight; he just needed that sense of control. At Sasha’s birthday party last summer he ate a slice of cake (chocolate with too much frosting) then made himself throw up, kneeling over the toilet with two fingers shoved down his throat. He often skipped breakfast and dinner, with his grandfather never noticing in the disorientation of old age. The early stages of dementia, it seemed to be. Another fear that Armin repressed deep within himself and didn’t confide in anyone.
Armin spent so long fixating on his appearance, scrutinising his features in the mirror. He hated how feminine he looked compared to all his other male friends. He was a late bloomer, cheeks still round and smooth with apparent youth, and shorter than everyone else.
When his hair had been longer, some said it made him look like a girl. Floch had cruelly teased him about it (along with all the homophobic insults he spat at Armin like poison when no one else was in earshot). When Armin finally got a haircut to try to alleviate some of those feelings, he just cried at his reflection afterwards, still feeling so ugly and awkward. Only he didn’t have his hair to hide behind anymore. Even when Jean ruffled his hair and said it was cute, even when Mikasa told him he looked handsome and grown-up, Armin felt ugly.
The only time he didn’t feel that way was when Eren was pinning him down against his bed under his weight, kissing him eagerly and groping at his body. Armin didn’t exactly feel attractive either. But the feeling of Eren wanting him was like a drug he couldn’t get enough of. The groans of pleasure Eren would let out sent shivers through Armin’s body, blood rushing to his groin. Eren would grind against him, with Armin feeling the hardness of his erection through his sweatpants.
And Armin would just lay there and allow it. He wanted Eren to feel good. Anything for Eren. He didn’t take a moment to really consider whether this was what he wanted, whether it was moving too fast or whether either of them were in the right mindset. It happened more often when Eren was in one of his manic episodes, insatiable for it. He seemed much less interested when he was depressed which made Armin feel rejected and undesirable.
“Eren,” Armin would often warn him, wincing in pain as Eren aggressively sucked hickeys onto his neck, “You’re hurting me a bit.”
He wasn’t sure whether Eren purposefully ignored him or whether he was just too lost in his own arousal to hear his words.
“Eren-”
“Please, Armin, I need you.”
Armin would sigh and resign himself to it. Giving Eren that temporary relief he craved so badly was the least he could do.
They had never done it (not like that) but they had done lots of other things. Countless times Armin had taken Eren’s cock in his mouth as Eren forcefully pulled on his hair, thrusting in and out a little too harshly. Sometimes Armin wished Eren would just let him suck him off without having to move like that. When Eren thrust his cock too deep into Armin’s throat, he would gag and splutter around it, feeling bile rising from his stomach. It made him feel dirty. The first time they did that, Eren came without any warning down his throat and Armin was forced to swallow it down, not wanting to insult him by spitting it out.
He went home that evening and immediately brushed his teeth, drowning Eren’s salty taste out with mouthwash. He couldn’t sleep that night. He was too busy obsessively researching STDs on his phone, hands shaking, feeling guilty for even considering it. He trusted Eren more than anyone. But the worry wouldn’t go away.
Sometimes Eren would want to touch Armin more intimately, to which Armin would always try to push his hands away. He didn’t care about getting off himself. He just wanted Eren to feel good. But Eren was insistent. He would beg Armin to let him touch, those vibrant eyes of his shining as he pouted. Armin had never been able to say no to those eyes.
He would let Eren jerk him off as he lay staring at the ceiling, spacing out. Trying to focus on the pleasure of Eren’s hand eagerly stroking his cock rather than on how gross he felt. Trying not to think about the uncle who had been a little too affectionate when Armin was a kid, whose kisses and touches lingered for far too long on his skin. He only had hazy memories of that man but thinking about him gave Armin a stomach ache. Whenever Eren touched him like that, he felt like he was a little boy again. Sometimes he cried afterwards when Eren had gone home.
“Is Eren coming to school today?”
It was Mr Smith asking the question. Armin blinked a few times, returning to his senses. He had been lost in his thoughts again and had forgotten where he was. Mr Smith was stood in front of Armin’s desk, staring down at him with intense blue eyes that gave Armin heart palpitations whenever he looked up into them.
“Uh, I think so,” Armin said, wrapping his arms around himself. He felt embarrassed knowing he had been zoning out in front of his favourite teacher. One he admired so much and had a bit of a crush on in freshman year (yet another reason he felt ugly, dirty, like there was something wrong with him).
Mr Smith hummed thoughtfully, brow furrowed, and returned to his desk.
Armin fidgeted in his seat, wringing his hands together nervously and nibbling on his bottom lip. Enough to taste the metallic tang of blood. The reminder that Eren still wasn’t here, a few minutes before the morning bell, made him anxious. He always worried that he’d get a call saying Eren had hanged himself or something.
He looked around the classroom. Sasha and Connie were messing around at the back of the room, bright smiles on their faces, and Jean was laughing at them. Historia was tapping away on her phone (the latest model - she had convinced her father to buy her a new one again). Hitch was pestering Annie, who was just ignoring her and gazing out the window, chin resting on her palm.
Across the room, Armin made eye contact with Mikasa, sat alone in the corner. She looked exhausted. Dejected. That expression made Armin worry even more. Something must have happened. He knew that only Eren could have that kind of effect on her. Despite being foster siblings, Mikasa had an attachment to Eren that bordered on obsession, blurring the line between familial and romantic feelings. She clearly loved him more deeply than just as a brother.
What had he done to upset her now? What happened last night? Why hadn’t she told Armin anything? All these thoughts were racing around Armin’s mind, so loudly that he didn’t notice when Eren strolled into the classroom, only turning his head back around when he heard the door clicking shut.
When he saw Eren, Armin’s heart skipped a beat. Relief. But also apprehension, upon seeing his cold, unreadable expression. Eren had been acting weird for the past couple of months. There was something different about him. More distant. Armin hadn’t been spending nearly as much time with him, and he never seemed to want to hang out with the rest of his friends anymore. Right now Eren had his hands buried in the pockets of his long black jacket. Jean always teased him about it, saying he must be keeping all kinds of secrets within them.
“Sit down, Eren,” Mr Smith instructed him. He was typing away on his computer, preoccupied.
Eren ignored him, instead staring up at the clock on the wall. Watching the seconds hand ticking away. Tick, tick, tick.
“Mr Smith,” Eren said after a moment, “Can I talk to Armin outside for a sec? It’s important.”
Mr Smith looked Eren up and down, his expression remaining as stoic as always. “Be quick."
Hesitantly, Armin rose from his desk at the front of the classroom, slinging his backpack over his shoulder (years of being bullied had made him cautious to leave his belongings unattended). Eren took a firm hold of his hand and guided him outside. Armin felt a bit tense, unable to guess what his best friend might want to speak with him about. He hated when he couldn’t predict things. Maybe it had something to do with Mikasa. Armin expected them to just stand outside the classroom door to talk, but instead Eren kept leading him down the hallway.
“Where are we going?” Armin asked, but he didn’t try to stop Eren at all, “Mr Smith said-”
“Just trust me,” Eren cut him off, smiling over his shoulder at him. That damn smile Armin could never resist.
He nodded, swallowing, and said nothing else about it.
It was only when Eren led him out of the main school building and kept walking in the direction of the parking lot that Armin pulled his hand away, stopping in his tracks.
“Eren,” he said, as Eren turned around to face him, “I’m not ditching school with you.”
Armin had never intentionally skipped school. He got sick a lot (it didn’t help now that he was barely eating). There had been many days he’d feigned or exaggerated illness because his anxiety was too crippling to face seeing anyone, but he considered that a valid enough reason. Sometimes he had panic attacks in the middle of class and would have to retreat to a quiet room somewhere. But he’d never missed his classes just for the sake of it like Eren often did. Just because he felt like it. In Eren’s own words, he was free to do whatever he wanted, and no one could hold him back. They could give him detention but he didn’t have to go. They could suspend or expel him and he wouldn’t even care.
Most teachers saw Eren as a problem that couldn’t be solved. Some seemed almost afraid to confront him, knowing how volatile he could be. Before senior year began Eren had been insistent he was going to drop out. Somehow he had been persuaded not to, but he didn’t care about school at all anymore. There were only a handful of teachers he still seemed to have any respect for. Otherwise he treated them all with the same indifferent attitude, viewing authority as something they had no right to. If Eren didn’t like one of his teachers, he had no reservations about telling them to their face and refusing to do what they told him to. Armin understood the sentiment but he knew that wasn’t how the real world worked. Those systems were in place for a reason.
Throughout the years, Eren had gotten away with a lot because he was always viewed as that poor kid who lost his mother in the most traumatic way. But Eren wasn’t a kid anymore. When he used to get into fights with other boys in middle school, he always ended up getting himself more hurt than they did. But Armin was sure that this Eren could easily win a fight against most other people. He was strong and muscular now - he had been working out seriously for a few years including teaching himself how to fight (an outlet for his anger). Thankfully Eren didn’t often get into fistfights anymore, but the thought of it happening again was a constant worry nagging at the back of Armin’s mind.
Eren grabbed hold of his hand again, a little too forcefully. Dragging him along. Armin stumbled over his own feet, having to push up his glasses with his free hand so they didn’t slip off his face.
“I need you with me,” Eren told him, “If anyone asks I’ll just say I kidnapped you, so you won’t get in any trouble.”
Armin sighed, defeated. It wasn’t worth arguing with Eren. He always won in the end. “Fine.”
As they walked through the parking lot, Eren dug around in his pocket and pulled out a set of car keys. He pressed down on one of the buttons and Armin heard the familiar click of a car’s doors unlocking. It was a large four-by-four, a little worse for wear and almost military in its appearance. That was troubling. Eren didn’t own a car. Eren didn’t even have his driver’s license. He knew how to drive but he had never passed his test. That had all been forgotten about, after he ended up in the hospital.
“Whose car is that?” Armin asked, as Eren opened the passenger seat door for him. Despite his concerns, he got into the vehicle and pulled on his seat-belt, placing his backpack down at his feet.
Without answering the question, Eren closed the door and made his way to the driver’s side, getting in beside Armin and putting the key in the ignition.
“It’s Zeke’s,” he answered eventually.
“Zeke’s?”
Armin couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Zeke was Eren’s half-brother, the one they hadn’t seen for a decade. At least Armin hadn’t. He wasn’t so sure about Eren now, but he had never mentioned meeting up with Zeke again. Zeke had been estranged from the Jaegers since he turned eighteen; as much as he had adored Eren, he made it clear he wanted absolutely nothing to do with their father. From what Armin understood this came from Grisha trying to force him to study medicine, pressuring him to get good grades and berating him when he didn’t, shoving all that responsibility onto him. He’d learned from his mistakes by the time Eren came along, allowing his second son more freedom to choose his own path in life.
Whatever Eren’s path would be, Armin couldn’t say. He’d heard people whispering at school that Eren would end up a serial killer or a school shooter or something. That always left him with an uncomfortable feeling. A bad taste in his mouth. He knew Eren was unstable, that he’d had a lot of violent urges in the past, but he didn’t think he was capable of anything that bad.
There had been many times Eren had confided in Armin about some of his worst intrusive thoughts. How he would see children playing in the street and have visions of their bodies crushed, lifeless. How he would stare up at apartment buildings and imagine them exploding. Armin tried to rationalise it all, telling himself these were symptoms of Eren’s issues and didn’t reflect on him as a person. It was easier that way. It hadn’t even bothered him when Eren confessed that he had imagined beating Armin to a bloody pulp. He kind of felt like he deserved it, for being so useless and not able to take all of Eren’s pain away.
“Does Zeke know you’re driving his car?” Armin probed.
Really he just wanted to know if Eren had made contact with Zeke again in the first place, and whether they had been talking for a while without him even knowing about it. The thought made Armin jealous. Eren was supposed to tell him everything. If not Armin, then who else? Was he confiding his secrets in his brother instead now?
Eren huffed a laugh. He started to reverse out of the parking space, looking over his shoulder. Armin glanced at his hands and felt slightly reassured seeing they were steady, not shaking, around the steering wheel.
“Yeah, I ambushed him on the road,” Eren joked, “Grand Theft Auto style.”
“Eren, I’m serious.”
“Don’t sweat it. Zeke isn’t gonna call the cops, not on his precious little brother.”
There was something scornful in the way Eren said it, making Armin rethink his previous assumptions. After all there was a reason they never spoke about Zeke anymore. It was strange how he had gone from a constant presence in their lives to non-existent almost overnight. Armin remembered the younger Eren crying out for his big brother to come home, missing him unbearably. They used to be really close. Sometimes Armin got the feeling Zeke disliked him, as if he was getting in the way. He only ever referred to him as Eren’s friend with resentment in his voice.
“So you did steal it?” Armin asked. Eren didn’t answer. “Can you put your belt on at least? It’s stressing me out.”
“Oh right, yeah.”
Eren put on his own seat-belt as he began driving them out of the school grounds. A little too quickly. At this rate he was bound to get pulled over by the police, for speeding if nothing else, and they’d discover he was driving a stolen vehicle. Without a license. It made Armin’s head spin, his hands clammy with nerves as he wrung them together.
“Where are we going?” Armin tried again. He was stuck in the car with Eren now, so it was the least he could do to let him know.
“Who knows,” Eren replied vaguely.
“That’s not very reassuring.”
“Armin, relax. You always panic so much about shit like this.”
Can you blame me? Armin thought. The whole situation was disconcerting. Not to mention the fact Armin had been diagnosed with panic disorder, so it wasn’t exactly surprising for him to fucking panic. He could feel his chest getting tighter, that familiar feeling of anxiety rising through him, and he just prayed it wouldn’t set off another bad attack. He tried to use one of the breathing techniques he’d learned in therapy. The square one, or whatever it was called. Inhale for four seconds, wait for four, exhale for four, wait again, repeat.
Eren noticed this, glancing over at him through the corner of his eye.
“Sorry,” he apologised, “I don’t wanna make you anxious.”
He always claimed he didn’t want to make Armin anxious, but he had a bad habit of ignoring his triggers and pushing him into situations he didn’t want to be in.
“I'll be fine,” Armin said, feeling disoriented.
Eren kept driving straight, only making turns when he was forced to. It gave Armin the impression that he really was just moving forward without any end destination in mind. If he didn’t have a specific location he was taking Armin to, what was even the point of all this? It was futile trying to find logic in Eren’s actions. Often there wasn’t any, everything just done on impulse, unlike Armin who would overthink like crazy before making any kind of decision.
Armin heard a ping from Eren’s cell phone, tucked away in his jacket pocket. Eren took it out but only to switch it off without checking his messages. A few seconds later, Armin’s own phone buzzed in his jeans, and he fumbled to retrieve it. The brightness of the screen made him wince a little. It was Mikasa texting him, asking where they both were. Armin felt a pang of guilt for leaving school without telling her.
He began typing his response, but Eren reached over to stop him by grabbing his wrist.
“Don’t,” Eren warned.
Armin tugged his hand away from Eren’s grasp. “I have to let Mikasa know we’re safe. You know how much she worries.”
She would do more than just worry. Mikasa always made herself sick with anxiety thinking the worst had happened. Even when it was something as simple as Eren not picking up his phone because he was distracted. Eren always rolled his eyes and complained about it afterwards, telling her she was smothering him and that he wasn’t a little kid who needed protecting. But the genuine distress it always caused Mikasa was palpable. Armin could see it in the way she frantically paced back and forth, how she would mumble under her breath like some kind of desperate ritual to bring Eren back to her. She would seek reassurance incessantly. Do you think Eren is okay? What if he’s hurt? Do you think he’s angry with me? It always felt draining to answer her barrage of questions but Armin didn’t mind, as long as he was helping her somehow.
The three of them were all pretty messed up, in their own different ways. It almost made Armin want to laugh.
“Don’t tell her anything,” Eren insisted. There was a bite to his voice, frustration. “Let her worry. It’s her own fault for being so paranoid.”
“Don’t talk about her like that!”
Armin didn’t often raise his voice at Eren. He could put up with a lot from his best friend, when it was directed towards him at least, but he didn’t like it when he talked about Mikasa that way. He couldn’t help getting a bit riled up about it.
Eren shrugged. “She’s fucking annoying,” he said, too casually, “Always running after me like that, it gets on my nerves.”
“Why the hell would you even say that? She’s your sister.”
“She’s not my sister,” Eren retorted, “She’s not family, not really.”
Armin had the urge to punch him. Maybe he would have, if not for the fact Eren was driving them down a busy road.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he snapped at Eren instead.
His anxiety was becoming overwhelming, heart racing in his chest. He felt light-headed and his body was starting to shake. Before he knew it his breaths were coming in too quick, too shallow, and he was in full-blown panic mode. He hated this feeling more than anything, how it took away any sense of control he had, how terrified he felt despite no real external threat existing. He couldn’t breathe.
Eren couldn’t do much else but glance over at him occasionally as he tried to keep his eyes on the road.
“Shit, Armin,” he said, “I’m sorry. Just breathe. Please.”
As if it was that simple. Armin cried through his panicked breaths, hyperventilating. Letting out whimpers of distress. Begging Eren to do something, anything. He felt so helpless like this. He couldn’t think straight at all.
“Fuck,” Eren cursed.
He found somewhere to pull over. A gas station parking lot. As soon as he parked the car (rather hazardously) he fumbled to take off his seat-belt and leaned over Armin, cupping his face in his hands.
“Breathe for me, Armin,” he pleaded. His voice was dripping with concern, replacing the scorn that had been present when they were discussing Mikasa. “Please. Take some deep breaths.”
Armin’s vision was blurry with how faint he was feeling, the sounds around him seeming muffled and far away, but he could tell that Eren was distressed seeing him like this. He felt guilty for it. Once again he was being a burden. The thought only made it harder to breathe. Armin gripped hold of Eren’s hand, digging his nails into his palm. Eren didn’t seem to mind. He allowed Armin to hold onto him like that for a while, until his breaths finally started to calm down, out of necessity more than anything. His body didn’t have the strength to keep this up anymore.
Armin couldn’t tell how long it had been, by the time most of his panic subsided and was replaced with fatigue that made all his muscles ache. He felt numb. At some point Eren had started stroking his hair, with Armin leaning into the touch.
“Sorry,” he said weakly.
Eren shushed him, pulling on his hair ever so slightly as he ran his fingers through it. “Don’t be. It’s my fault.”
“It’s not.”
“Yes it is,” Eren insisted, “It’s always my fault. I’m always fucking things up. I’m such a piece of shit.”
Eren had tears shining in his pretty eyes but they didn’t fall, and when he spoke there wasn’t any hint of it in his voice. No cracking or wavering. Crocodile tears.
Armin sighed. He was too exhausted for this. He didn’t have the energy to comfort Eren through his self-pity but he knew he had to, he always had to. That was his role. If he couldn’t do that, he was worthless. He owed it to Eren, since he always had to put up with his stupid panic attacks.
“You’re not,” Armin assured, lifting Eren’s hand to his lips and planting a kiss to his tan skin, “You’re perfect.”
He meant it sincerely. Eren had always been perfect to him despite all his flaws (which were numerous). Ever since they were naïve little boys dreaming about travelling the world together, Armin had always looked up to him. He almost worshipped him. He would follow Eren anywhere.
As long as Eren was around, Armin could deal with anything. That’s why the thought of losing him terrified him so much. He had promised himself, selfishly, that he would give up on his life eventually if Eren wasn’t a part of it. It’s not like he had much else to live for. Of course he would feel terrible for leaving Mikasa and his other friends behind, but he couldn’t endure existing in a world without Eren by his side. He needed Eren the same way he needed oxygen in his lungs or blood in his veins, even more so. Armin vowed he would follow him even into death.
Everyone knew they were close in a way that wasn’t normal for two best friends. Jean had been teasing Armin about it for years, saying it was creepy how he always clung to Eren so much. Mikasa seemed envious of their bond at times though she would never admit it. But none of them had any idea the extent to which these two boys depended on each other. How addicted they were to each other. How Armin would jump into the depths of hell if Eren told him to. How Eren would set the world on fire for Armin’s sake. They were inseparable. There couldn't be one of them without the other.
When Armin looked out of the window, he realised that some people outside the gas station had been staring at the two of them, talking about them in hushed whispers. They had probably made quite a scene. It wasn’t good for them to draw attention to themselves like that considering the circumstances.
“Let’s go,” Eren said, starting the car again.
~
The rest of the drive was a bit of a blur.
As time went by, Armin’s phone began to buzz more frequently. The majority of texts were from Mikasa but some came from their other friends too. At some point Armin switched his phone off, irritated by the buzzing which kept interrupting his daydreams. As much as he wanted to message everyone back to let them know they were both safe, Eren told him not to, so he wouldn’t.
This was fine. They were just skipping school, like lots of teenagers did. There was nothing wrong in any of this. Or so Armin tried to convince himself.
They didn’t talk for most of the journey. Instead Eren switched on the car radio, turning the volume up to max. It was too loud. Too much. Armin pulled out his wireless earbuds from his backpack and plugged his ears, wishing he could drown out the sound entirely instead of just muffling it. Eren knew he hated loud noises. Eren also knew he hated unexpected changes to his routine, and not being explicitly told where he was going. It was typical Eren to overlook those things. Armin couldn’t bring it up or Eren would start berating himself again, going on and on about how he was such a bad friend, how he didn’t deserve Armin at all. And Armin would have to convince him otherwise, telling him it didn’t matter anyway and he was just being stupid about it. Pushing his feelings aside like he always did to ensure Eren wouldn’t do anything destructive.
“Eren,” Armin said, covering his ears with his hands, overstimulated by the noise, “Can you turn it down?”
Eren just shoved him in the shoulder playfully. A little too hard. “It’s not that loud, Armin.”
“Please?”
“Seriously?” Eren sighed. He sounded exasperated with Armin now, as he reluctantly turned the volume down a bit. Just a bit.
It was only one word but it left Armin with tears stinging his eyes. Seriously, grow up, stop being so dramatic. Those were the words that came to his mind. Words that stuck with him, making him constantly doubt himself. He hated himself for being so sensitive.
At some point Eren pulled up at a diner by the side of the road. Armin couldn’t tell how far away they were from their town, but when he glanced at the clock and realised it was already almost 9AM, he knew they must have gone pretty far. He was surprised they had been driving for so long. He must have spaced out for most of it. Or maybe his panic episode had just taken up so much of their time. He couldn’t tell. Everything felt hazy to him at the moment.
“What are we doing here?” Armin asked, biting his fingernails anxiously.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Eren teased. He reached over to ruffle his hair and Armin flinched at the touch. “Aren’t you hungry?”
“No.”
“Well, I’m starving. I didn’t eat breakfast. Come on.”
Armin didn’t question him further. He just followed Eren out of the car, bringing his backpack with him. He really didn’t feel like being here right now. The diner would have bright lights, the noise of people talking, cutlery rattling. At least it was a few hours before lunchtime so hopefully it wouldn’t be too busy.
It was pretty much deserted, actually. There were only two other tables occupied. One with a group of girls who must have been about the same age as Eren and Armin, maybe slightly older, laughing loudly and sipping on milkshakes. And one with a couple of sleazy looking men in shirts and ties, tucking into waffles and scrambled eggs and bacon.
Armin couldn’t stand the bacon smell. It attacked his nose and made him want to run away. Eren noticed his discomfort and nudged him lightly with his elbow.
“Don’t worry, we’ll sit in the corner,” he said.
He led Armin over there, grabbing hold of his hand again to pull him along. More like grabbing his wrist - a tight vice around it. He’d been doing that ever since they met in first grade.
Eren picked out a booth table at the back of the diner, by the window. Armin still had the abrasive scent of fried bacon stuck in his nostrils. He felt a little nauseous. The lights weren’t too bright, but one of them was flickering and that bothered him even more, giving him a headache.
“I don’t like it here,” he told Eren as they sat down. He looked around nervously, noticing how the two older men were eyeing them up from the other side of the room.
“We’ll just eat quickly and then head off again,” Eren dismissed his concerns, “That okay?”
Of course it wasn’t okay. But Armin would never directly go against him when asked - and Eren knew that. He sighed and shrugged, hiding himself in the corner of the booth with his legs curled up, clutching his backpack close to his chest. Eren sat beside him and slung an arm around his shoulder. His own legs were spread wide, one foot tapping restlessly. Armin could feel the vibrations of it against his body.
A waitress strolled over to them with a notepad. She was chewing gum loudly and the sound of it made Armin want to tear his skin off.
“Ready to order, darlin’?” she asked with a sickeningly sweet smile. She was only looking at Eren, as if Armin didn’t exist at all.
Eren grinned back at her. That flirtatious grin he always used to get what he wanted because he knew how pretty and hot he was, that most girls would fall for his bad boy look, with that dark hair tied into a lazy bun and those captivating eyes. It was all an act. Another manipulation tactic of his.
Armin clenched his jaw in irritation, feeling jealousy burning inside him. He didn’t like the thought of anyone looking at Eren in that way. Even if they weren’t officially dating or anything like that, Eren belonged to him, no one else. No, that wasn’t quite right. Armin was the one who belonged to Eren. He always had. Mikasa was the third part who completed them all - just as much of a soulmate - but she'd never been involved in this side of things.
“I’ll have a coffee and some French toast,” Eren said, then glanced at Armin, “Same for him.”
Armin opened his mouth to protest, but couldn’t quite get the words out.
“Any milk with the coffee?”
“No, just black. Bring us some water too. Thanks.”
The waitress scribbled their order down in her pad and then walked off briskly, looking over her shoulder at Eren as she did so. Armin decided he didn’t like her at all.
“I don’t want anything to eat,” he whispered to Eren, not wanting anyone to overhear him. Maybe part of him was ashamed of the fact he hadn’t been able to stand up for himself, just letting Eren take control as always.
“You don’t eat enough,” Eren said. Too loudly. It startled Armin a bit. “You’re too skinny as it is.”
Armin felt wounded by that remark. He was only slightly underweight, not noticeably, but he felt humiliated by how Eren was yet again playing on his insecurities.
“I didn’t want French toast,” Armin complained, frowning, “And you know too much caffeine makes me anxious.”
Eren leaned back in his seat. He removed his arm from around Armin’s shoulder, instead crossing his arms. He rolled his eyes and huffed irritably.
“Here’s me trying to do something nice and you’re acting like a spoiled brat about it as usual.”
Armin’s breath hitched in his throat. He thought he might cry, but he forced himself not to, sniffing back tears as his lower lip quivered.
“I’m sorry,” he apologised, “You’re right, I’m being ungrateful.”
Eren stared at him coldly for a moment, then his expression softened into a smile. “I was just joking. Don’t look so serious.”
Eren’s tone was so light-hearted, but his words made Armin feel small like a cornered animal. He thought about how his parents used to get frustrated with him for being so emotional as a kid. For having meltdowns over stupid things. Ever since he could remember, he had been chastised for his feelings being too much for other people to handle.
“Why did Mikasa look so upset this morning?” Armin asked. He thought changing the subject might take his mind off how pathetic he felt, but Eren visibly tensed at the mention of his foster sister. “What did you say to her?”
Eren seemed to deliberate over whether or not he was going to respond to that, clicking his tongue against his teeth a few times, the sound grating.
“I told her that I've always hated her.”
Armin stared at him in disbelief. “You said what?”
Eren shrugged. “She was pissing me off,” he explained. When Armin continued glaring at him, he rolled his eyes again. “Come on, Armin. You know I didn’t mean it.”
Armin wasn’t sure about that. Eren often said hurtful things he couldn’t take back, no matter how much he tried to play it off as a joke or act like he hadn’t been in control of what he was saying.
“Armin,” Eren practically whined at him, “Don’t make me feel guilty about it now. You know I get into fights with Mikasa all the time. It never lasts.”
“But this is too far,” Armin reprimanded him, "What the hell is your problem lately? You’ve been acting so… I don't know, but it’s not okay, Eren. You can’t treat her like that.”
“I get it, I’m a terrible person,” Eren snapped at him drily, “You think I don’t hate myself enough already? I know I’m an asshole.”
“That’s not what I-”
“You were thinking it.”
“I wasn’t!” Armin defended himself, frantic, “I promise, I wasn’t, I… I don’t think you’re an asshole. I’m just worried about you, that’s all, and I don’t like the fact you spoke to her like that but…” He took a deep breath. “It’s not your fault. Please don’t beat yourself up over it. I'm sure Mikasa will understand.”
He always had to do this, reassuring Eren that he wasn’t to blame. That he wasn’t a bad person. Otherwise Eren would get in his head about it and start threatening to hurt himself again. Having to take responsibility for his actions seemed to send him into a spiral of despair and self-loathing. That was why Armin always carried the weight of it for him.
The waitress finally brought their drinks over. Two mugs of black coffee and a couple of glasses of water. They both smiled at her. Though Armin’s smile was more of a grimace with the tension still looming over them. After she left, Eren turned to look at Armin, studying him for a moment.
“I’ve been thinking a lot lately,” Eren confessed.
Armin looked at him intently, trying to read his expression. He couldn’t. It made him feel apprehensive. When Eren spent a lot of time deep in thought about something, it usually wasn’t good.
“About what?” Armin asked, feeling a pit in his stomach.
“You.”
He felt his breath catch in his throat. “What about me?”
Eren didn’t speak but he looked at Armin with something dark in his eyes as he took a long sip of his coffee. Nervously, Armin picked up his glass of water and gulped some of it down, hand shaking. He could feel his anxiety levels rising again. Though when did he not feel anxious? Eren was still bouncing his leg up and down beside him, as well as tapping the table with his fingernails that were painted black. All of this was starting to drive Armin a bit crazy.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” he said, standing up and picking up his backpack again, slinging it over one shoulder.
Eren didn’t move so Armin had to squeeze past him clumsily, making sure he didn’t knock any of their drinks over in the process.
“Why are you taking your bag?” Eren questioned him.
“I just want to,” Armin responded, feeling a little agitated, “I’ll be back soon.”
The men’s restroom was exactly as you might expect. Grimy and rundown with the smell of piss in the air, an assault on Armin’s already sensitive nostrils. As he entered he wrinkled his nose in disgust. But he needed this bit of respite, a moment to be able to think and process everything that had happened this morning, away from Eren.
He avoided the urinals (he’d always been too self-conscious to use them) and headed straight for the cubicle at the back of the restroom. The lock on the door didn’t work. That was fine. It was unlikely anyone else would come in here and if they did he would hear them enter. The cubicle wall was covered in graffiti which Armin studied for a moment, trying to distract himself from the anxiety that was building in him. There was all the usual vulgar stuff. Crude drawings of penises, phone numbers of anonymous men looking for hook ups. Men could be awful. Armin wondered how different it was in the women’s restroom. He imagined it was much cleaner.
He unzipped his jeans and fumbled to get his dick out, aiming it carefully so that it would land in the toilet bowl. Armin still had a bit of dignity left in tact. The idea of pissing on the seat was mortifying to him, even if countless other men did. He always felt embarrassed when he emerged from the cubicle to find someone waiting outside. As if they would judge him for the mess that was left behind (even though it wasn’t his).
Once he was finished he flushed the toilet and made his way to the sinks. He turned on one of the faucets and washed his hands thoroughly, lathering on a generous amount of hand soap. It was while he was washing his hands that the bathroom door opened. It startled him and he glanced out of the corner of his eye to see who had entered.
It was one of those two guys from before. He was probably in his late thirties, a little stocky but still taller than Armin was. Something about him was unsettling. But that was probably just Armin being overly vigilant when it came to being alone with strange older men. Armin avoided making any eye contact with him, trying to ignore his presence there. He walked over to the dryer and sighed in frustration when he realised it wasn’t working.
His body tensed instinctively when he realised the man was stood next to him now, backing him into the corner. He was looking down at Armin in a way that made his blood run cold.
“You’re a little young,” the man said, voice low, “Shouldn’t you be in school?”
Armin swallowed, heart pounding in his chest. He felt uncomfortable meeting the man's gaze, instead looking down at the floor.
“I’m eighteen,” he lied.
He had only turned seventeen in November since he had skipped kindergarten, with his parents insisting he was too gifted. They neglected to take Armin’s social and emotional difficulties into account when making that decision. Funny how that had turned out. Now he was a perfectionist with impostor syndrome who had panic attacks over whether or not he could live up to everyone’s expectations. Despite his academic performance, he constantly felt like an outsider compared to the rest of his peers. That feeling was isolating. Maybe that was another reason he depended on Eren so much.
The stranger eyed Armin up and down, making him him feel violated.
“You don’t look eighteen,” he said sceptically, “Fifteen at most.”
“I'm eighteen,” Armin repeated. He hated lying but sometimes it was necessary.
“If you say so. There’s nothing wrong with us doing this then, is there?”
Armin stared up at him now, eyes wide. He blinked a few times, trying to make sense of what he was hearing, not understanding. “What?”
“You’ve got a pretty face, I’m not surprised that boyfriend of yours likes you so much,” the man said. He started to undo his belt, the metal of the buckle clattering loudly. “Bet he loves that tight ass of yours too.”
Armin felt frozen, though his body was trembling. He stared vacantly as the man pulled his cock out of his trousers, already half-hard.
“How do you want it? You can suck it if you want, or just touch.”
Making his point, the man grabbed hold of his cock and gave it a few lazy strokes. Armin stumbled backwards and collided with the wall behind him. You’ve got it all wrong, he wanted to scream, I’m not interested. But he couldn’t get any words out. Was it a regular thing for men to meet with teenage boys for sex in a public restroom? None of this made any sense. They were in a diner in the middle of the day, surely this man wouldn’t actually try anything here.
But here he was, touching himself in front of Armin who was trapped against the wall. The man reached over and took hold of his trembling hand. Armin didn’t resist as he pulled it towards his dick, forcing his fingers to wrap around it. He started to guide Armin’s hand up and down, jerking him off, as he moaned with pleasure. The noises disgusted Armin. Why wasn’t he doing anything to fight back? He felt like he was going to be sick.
Then the door swung open.
“Armin?”
It was Eren’s voice. He must have come looking, wondering what was taking Armin so long. Armin looked over at him and observed how his expression changed from confusion to anger. Eren bared his teeth like a wild animal and lunged at the man who had been harassing Armin, grappling him to the floor. His head landed harshly on the tile with a thud and he groaned in pain. Eren didn’t even give him a chance to fight back. He started pummelling his face, so much unrestrained aggression in each punch. Blood was starting to pool underneath where the man’s head hit the hard floor. Armin just stood there watching in disbelief, his body unable to move at all.
Never in all these years had Armin seen Eren this violent. But he had been a ticking time bomb. It was inevitable that, at some point, he would explode. Even if no one had wanted to believe it. The signs had always been there.
Eren wrapped his strong hands around the man’s throat, squeezing violently, choking him. The man struggled and tried to gasp for air, hands flailing helplessly to try to save himself. All the blood drained from his face. At some point there was a cracking sound. The man’s arms flopped down to his sides and his eyes turned lifeless, glazed over. His face was messed up, almost unrecognisable.
Eren was panting over him, teeth still grit together, glaring down at him with a terrifying look in his eyes. When he looked up and met Armin’s gaze, his eyes widened in horror at the realisation of what he had just done. They stared at each other for a moment, neither one of them speaking.
It was Eren who broke the silence eventually. “Fuck.”
“Is he…?” Armin probed, fearing what the answer would be. Deep down he already knew.
Eren checked the man’s wrist for a pulse. He’d done it countless times before, ever since he’d been taught how to do it properly. When they were little kids, Eren used to play doctor with Armin a lot, imitating his father. Armin’s memories of it were hazy now, but he remembered that sometimes Eren would make him strip off as part of their doctor game. Armin complied because he didn’t see anything wrong in it at the time. Eren would prod between his legs, examining him down there. Or had Armin imagined all that? Where would Eren even have learned to do those things? Armin never questioned it back then. He always hated his uncle’s invasive touches, but he didn’t necessarily mind when it was Eren’s hands on him instead. Eren was his best friend. Armin trusted him unconditionally.
In the present, in this filthy restroom, the seventeen-year-old Eren remained silent. Armin felt like he was going to throw up. For a moment they both just stayed where they were, trying to process what had just occurred. In shock.
But then Eren got up, quietly making his way to the sink. He rinsed the blood off his hands and washed them with the diligence of a surgeon. Then he approached Armin, holding out a hand for him. His knuckles were split. Armin winced when he noticed the metal rings on Eren’s fingers, imagining how much damage they must have done.
“We have to go,” Eren said. His voice was unnervingly calm, in stark juxtaposition to the animalistic brutality he had just displayed. “Now.”
“Wait,” Armin said. He felt like the room was spinning, walls closing in on them, disorienting him. “We can’t just leave him, we should call-”
“The police?” Eren interrupted, “So they can arrest us?”
“But-”
“Armin. I’m serious. We need to leave now.”
There was desperation in Eren’s voice. Armin stared at him for a moment, trying to read him. Trying to make sense of any of this. He couldn’t believe it was real. It couldn’t be real. He didn’t want it to be real. So he took hold of Eren’s hand, letting him take the lead like he always had. Blindly trusting in Eren to know what was best for him.