Hi everyone - happy Jearmin week! Today's prompt is 'fantasy' and this fic takes inspiration from a beautiful piece of art by Urdchama on Tumblr. I also dedicate this fic to my lovely friend sleepy-emo who introduced me to Jearmin in the first place. All that being said, I really hope you enjoy this story!
With a gentle sigh, Armin puts down the scroll he's been perusing and sits back in his chair. He can't find the document he's searching for, no matter how many times he looks through his papers. Even the pile of documents regarding the status of the war in the East doesn't have the one thing he's looking for, though he's looked through it many times already.
Behind him, he hears a knock at the door, and with the scrape of his chair on the flagstone floor he stands, just about able to say, "Come in," before the door opens.
"Armin?"
Armin's spine straightens as he recognises the prince's voice.
"Your highness," he greets him, bending automatically into a bow. "How can I assist you?"
"Relax," says Jean, closing the door behind him, "it's just me."
Armin straightens, looking into Jean's hazel eyes. "What do you need?" he asks.
Jean gazes down at him, expression unreadable, for a long moment before he opens his arms to Armin. After a brief second of hesitation, Armin steps forward into the embrace, wrapping his arms around Jean's waist. The feeling of Jean's arms around him instantly calms him, as does the smell of his clothes. When he feels Jean gently stroke the back of his neck with one hand, Armin tilts his head back, touching his nose to Jean's before their lips meet in a tender kiss. Armin relaxes further, letting his lips open so that their tongues slide together; Jean's arm around Armin's waist tightens and pulls them together, his hand in Armin's hair massaging his scalp. For a while, Armin lets himself be swept away by Jean's lips and hands, but eventually when they break apart, he frowns at him.
"What's wrong?" he asks, looking searchingly into Jean's eyes. "You're never this quiet."
Jean sighs, stroking one hand up Armin's cheek to brush his fringe from his eyes. "Why did you have to be so smart?" he asks. His voice is full of something Armin can't quite place – regret? – but which gives him a sting of panic in his stomach.
"Jean," he says, taking Jean's face in his hands and trying to give him as serious a look as he can. "What is going on?"
Jean clears his throat. "The King... my father... he's sending me away."
A bucket of ice drops into Armin's stomach. "Where to?" he asks, but a creeping feeling is settling in is stomach; he's seen the reports and he knows how dire things are.
"East," says Jean, confirming Armin's fears. "He wants me to aid in the war."
Armin's heart hammers in his chest in a fast, desperate rhythm and he clings to Jean, selfishness making him want to never let go. Part of him wonders if the King made this decision to send his third son away to keep them apart – a prince and a scribe isn't exactly welcomed in the palace – and it makes tears threaten in his throat. He bites his tongue to keep them at bay and manages to ask, "When?"
Jean's arms are still warm and trembling around Armin as he replies, "In the morning. I'm to go with the 104th when they leave."
He lowers his head, touching their foreheads together; Armin fights the urge to beg him to stay, knowing that it would only sound pathetic. Instead he voices one of the other thoughts looming large in his mind.
"What if you don't come back?"
His voice is choked and needy – Jean pulls back to look at him.
"Don't think like that," he pleads. "I promise I'll come back for you."
With this, he takes Armin's hands, holding them firmly. Armin catches his breath at the determination in Jean's eyes, the steely resolve and seriousness there, but most of all the love he can see plainly in Jean's face. The whole world seems to slow – all that matters is the two of them and the soft press of Jean's lips to Armin's knuckles.
"I will come back," Jean says again, almost into Armin's palm. "We'll leave here and run away."
"You say that like it's so easy," Armin half-laughs.
"It will be," assures Jean. "I promise."
He pulls Armin into another tight hug, kissing him just behind his ear.
"Jean..."
"Come to my room later," Jean says, voice a whisper in Armin's hair, sending a shiver through him. "Please. I can't go away without... without you."
Armin nods – of course he does. "I'll be there."
When Jean leaves the next morning with the 104th, under the stern care of Commander Smith, it's with the memory of the perfect blond man he can't bear to live without and the oath that he will come back. No matter what, he knows he must.