Warnings: Homosexuality, character death, probable OOC, too much present tense, crappy ending
This is a Jearmin fic. It has been posted on AO3 and my writing blog. Enjoy.
He knows it won't change anything, but he always tries anyway. A small greeting here, a wave there, sometimes a smile or an attempt at small talk. There are times when Mikasa will reciprocate, usually with a nod or a small reply, but for the most part his attempts at communication go unheard or unnoticed (he refuses to acknowledge the possibility of an alternative reason). At those times he would sigh, glare at Eren smirking at him from beside her, and give a strained smile to the blond on her other side (he never remembers the name, only that it probably starts with an "A"). That would usually gain him a tentative and apologetic smile in return, along with a tiny shrug. And then the next part of their training would start, and he would give up again for the time being.
He doesn't usually see her outside of training and their meals. She always disappears right after, sometimes with Eren, sometimes with the blond, sometimes with both. It is what starts the rumors about them, that they have a certain kind of relationship going on, but he would clench his fists and send them the most murderous glare he could manage, and they would stop talking about it (in his presence).
He would be the first to admit that there is not much he knows about her beyond what she shows in training. But to him, these things are enough. The whole squad agrees that her stength and agility puts her at the top of the squad, that she could beat them all single-handedly if she were given any reason to; everyone knows of the importance she places on her friends, her family, that she will do everything and anything she can to keep them safe. And her beauty, easily rivaling Christa's own, except Mikasa is more… exotic, with less people having similar features compared to Christa.
He is well aware, however, that he does not actually have a chance. Oh, he would love to delude himself into thinking he does, and that is precisely what he did at the start, but by this time he knows that nothing will ever come out of the affections he holds for her. And so he gives up actively pursuing her, though he has not quite let go of what he felt. But that is enough; it is enough to know that he can have his feelings, not pursue her, and in effect not destroy what little camaraderie there is between them. He is satisfied with what they have, and he is fine leaving it that way.
Sometimes he would look over (because really, he can't help it, he still likes her), and he would see the blond looking back at him. There would be a look of surprise, a sheepish smile, and they would both look away.
He still does not know the blond's name.
These days he finds himself looking at his roommate instead. Which, really, is a big surprise, because his roommate is on an entirely different scale than Mikasa. His roommate is male, for one, hard and muscular in a way Mikasa is not. He could never best Mikasa (no one in the squad can ever best Mikasa; Mikasa bests everyone), and he is definitely… friendlier than she is. Nicer, and more talkative.
Marco Bodt is different, and he is like a breath of fresh air.
They fit well together, he and Marco. Whereas he is brash and highly competitive with a quick temper, Marco is patient and unassuming, the type to think before he leaps. And while he is not the best, he is quite agile and knows how to read others' body language. This is part of why he likes Marco, how Marco's personality is not an indicator of his strength and abilities. It works to his advantage; people tend to underestimate him precisely because he looks so meek despite his size.
He knows better. He has seen Marco in action, has personally experienced his strength in sparring. He has only ever underestimated Marco once, back when they were not close yet. They had sparred, and he had been defeated because he had taken it too easy. Thinking Marco was as weak as his smile was kind, he did not perform at his best level and had gotten his ass kicked. They became close friends after that.
Now, however, he knows what he is feeling is more than just friendship. He shares the same room, but he wants to know how Marco's warmth feels against his back, how Marco's breath puffs against his ear. He wants to look at Marco and tilt his head up, just a bit, just enough to reach Marco's lips with his own. He wants all this and more, and it certainly had seemed as if he would get exactly that. They have been dancing around each other for a while now, hesitant despite being quite sure that their feelings are requited.
And then they go on their first mission. Though they always stuck together during simulations, and know they work exceptionally well together, the real thing is not as easy. They lose each other in the confusion, and he is on his own. He is worried, but not overly so; he knows Marco can handle it, and he is confident that they will see each other back in headquarters, banged up but otherwise fine.
The next time they meet, he is more or less in good health. But almost the whole of Marco's right side is gone, and Marco himself is lying on the ground, partly resting on the destroyed house behind him. There is blood, so much blood, and he fights the strong urge to vomit. Gone is Marco's tan, replaced by the pallor of death, emphasizing the freckles dotting his face. There is no smile, no warm greeting, no shy looks from under dark bangs. Gone is the chance for them to have some semblance of a relationship beyond friendship. His eyes rove over Marco's body, and he freezes.
Marco's gear and equipment are also gone.
He learns of the blond's name back when Marco was still alive. He also finds out that Armin is not, in fact, a girl, despite his feminine figure. Sasha's laugh upon seeing his surprised look was nothing short of embarrassing.
In the months following Marco's death, it is Armin who stays with him. He rarely ever says anything beyond basic greetings, though sometimes he makes small talk about recent happenings; mostly however, he chooses instead to stay beside him and read. He never really replies, but he knows Armin knows that he is grateful. He is quite sure no one else had known the state of his relationship with Marco, but Armin is the most intelligent of them all; he had probably realized it even before he and Marco did. It comforts him to know that there is someone he does not have to explain anything to, just as it comforts him to know he does not have to say anything at all. Not yet. Armin is content to sit beside him and wait.
It takes him a while, but eventually he is able to muster the courage to open his mouth. The words flow almost without his permission. He lets everything out, from his feelings for Mikasa to his subsequent resignation, from his bitterness over Marco to how lost he now feels. He allows the tears to trickle down his cheeks, and all Armin does is listen without a word. He appreciates it, appreciates that Armin knows not to say anything yet.
When his words are gone and his eyes are dry, Armin looks at him and wordlessly slides thin but strong arms around broad shoulders. He shudders, not quite expecting the touch but not overly surprised either, and he rests his forehead against blond hair. He closes his eyes and gives in to the warmth and comfort Armin's arms provide.
He is scared. He does not know what to do with himself anymore. It has almost been two and a half years. He and Armin had grown close during this time, much to Eren's displeasure. He does not really care, and Armin somehow manages to get through Eren and makes him grudgingly accept whatever it is between them.
And he is scared because he knows there is something between them, something different, something reminiscent of what he had had with Marco. He has not quite let go of Marco yet, his wounds not quite healed over from past events. In his mind he still sees Marco's body, pale and missing limbs, lying against soil and rubble. He still sees the funeral pyre that had held that body, still carries a bone fragment he had somehow managed to take for himself. It is his good luck charm, what he prays upon before battle to ensure he comes back relatively unscathed.
It is unfair, he knows, leaving Armin waiting despite having waited all this time. He realizes upon looking back that Armin had always felt something for him, that Armin had always looked at him the way he had looked at Mikasa and then at Marco. But he cannot let go, not while knowing that things could have been different had he and Marco actually acted on what they had had. Perhaps they could have kept a closer eye at each other, and thus would not have been separated. Or if they had, they could have put more effort into finding the other, could have realized that things would not go well if they were not together. Or, worse comes to worst, they could have stayed together… and died together. And this eats at him, makes him feel guilty, despite knowing that he might not have been able to change things either way.
He is afraid, because whatever he chooses to do, something horrible is bound to happen. Marco was proof of that.
At the same time, however, he could not quite stop himself. He and Armin have those moments, those quiet moments where they can just sit together and appreciate the silence and whatever it is they have between them. And yet he cannot help but feel as if he is leading Armin on, because he knows he still won't choose anything. He still refuses to do anything. And it hurts him, and he's pretty damn sure it hurts Armin more, because really, who wouldn't when the person they felt things for would not make up their mind?
He knows Armin is hurting, but one look at Armin tells him that the blond understands. Armin understands, and won't push for an answer. He will wait. (Knowing this only hurts more.)
The final push comes from an unlikely source. One minute he is walking along the corridors, minding his own business, and the next he is being dragged and then pushed into an empty room. He blinks, disoriented, before setting his eyes on the figure in front of him. And he thinks, the him from years ago would have probably loved to be in his position now.
It is Mikasa, lips pursed, hands clenched at her sides, eyes flashing with anger. She pushes into his personal bubble, and he attempts to merge with the wall behind him to escape her wrath. It doesn't work.
Her words are clipped and short. It is precisely how he imagines her being angry. She talks about Armin, about how he is hurting and yet still holds out hope without actually saying anything. She talks about feelings and time and opportunities, and she talks about selfishness.
"If you're that scared of the results, then stop it. Tell him, so he can stop expecting something out of you. If you finally man up and just accept him and all he has to offer, then tell him. Tell him so his hurting can stop and he can finally be happy."
He feels as if she had slapped him instead, because he knows he is being selfish, he knows he is only getting Armin caught between the crossfire of his emotions. He never expected anyone would ever call him out on his shit, but on hindsight he should have known either Mikasa or Jaeger would do precisely that.
Mikasa is still glaring him, telling him wordlessly to make up his mind. He bites his lip and looks away. She growls in disgust and she rips herself away from him. He pretends not to hear her parting words as she walks out and slams the door behind her.
"You don't deserve him."
(He knows it's true.)
It takes days of Mikasa alternately glaring daggers at him and giving him the cold shoulder before he finally makes his decision. He approaches Armin on a quiet day in one of the moments where he is without his entourage. The faint sparks of hope in the blond's eyes as he looks back to him breaks his heart. It further cements his decision.
He can't get the words out, however. They are stuck in his throat, and his mouth refuses to form them. All he can get out are choked noises that don't particularly sound like anything. Armin looks confused at first, and rightly so. But then a certain kind of understanding in his eyes, and the blond offers a shaky smile.
He recognizes that look. It is the look of someone who had given up, someone who has realized that what he wanted would never be his. Armin starts excusing himself, apologizes for wasting both of their times, and starts walking away.
He panics internally, because no, this is not how it was supposed to go. He was supposed to say what he had finally come to say, and everything was supposed to end with them… relatively happy. Happier. It is not supposed to end with Armin walking away while he only watches on as his last chance at achieving some sort of happiness disappears. He wills himself to move, to stop the blond from walking away, but his feet are stuck on the ground and his arms will not move from his sides. Frustrated, he grits his teeth and somehow, somehow manages to shout for Armin to stop, don't go, don't leave. Not yet, not now. And the blond stops, but does not turn. His back is rigid, but his shoulders are slightly shaking.
Go for it, a voice breathes in his mind. It sounds suspiciously like Marco. He takes a deep breath and slowly makes his way over. The words manage to find themselves, and they slip out of his mouth just as he had planned from the start. Armin's shaking intensifies, and soon sobs are spilling from his lips. He continues speaking until he reaches him, and he gently wraps his arms around petite shoulders.
They had hugged many times before, so the act itself is not particularly new. But somehow he feels as if it is, as if this is different from their previous embraces. And perhaps it is, he muses, because this is different. It is different from Mikasa, it is different from Marco. It is the start of something else.