One to be Had
Disclaimer: Shingeki no Kyojin belongs to Isayama Hajime and its related parties.
Inspired by childishpassion's fanart (childishpassion . tumblr post / 61751282801 / i - may - have - taken - this - too - far - armin - is - angry - and). Please check it out before reading :)
For isumiilde, a very dear friend and an indulgent listener, who asked me to write some LeviHan or JeanArmin. Hope this drabble won't burn your eyes, sis.
Comments and constructive criticism will be appreciated :)
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"Armin, this way!"
"Roger!"
From that moment on, they had it all.
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It was like being wide awake in an inescapable deep sleep.
Nothing was supposed to be real, except that everything really was.
The cruel irony had Jean at loss of words as he feebly stroked Armin's hair. Yet, even with his sight ripped off, Jean was aware how darkness could blind, but not deceive. Other four senses combined acutely exposed many things he needed to know—to understand—should his sight was still in possession.
Armin gritted his teeth, sobs muffled, raw with anger and frustration and helplessness. He rested his head at the crook of Jean's neck. Armin smelled of dusk and wind, of faint whiff of old books and stacked papers—familiar scents of home. Shaking fingertips were touching him; a bizarre mixture of fear, heat, tenderness, and a sentiment Jean dared not to name. They grazed his battered, bruised arms, then changed to a firm clench tugging at the upper tip of white bandages wrapping up his wounded chest. Armin's knuckles were solid against steady heartbeat secured in still intact rib cage.
Things could have been worse, Jean mused with somber realization. Soon or later, the war against Titans would turn into a battle of attrition. It had been five years since the battle of Trost happened. Five years had passed since he entered Recon Corps; realistic and world-weary as he had always been, how could he possibly throw that conviction away now?
Not now, when he could breathe agonized exhales derived from Armin's entire being. Not now, when he could feel hot tear drops falling from blue orbs he deemed brighter than the sky. Not now, when Armin started saying his name in a tone contrast from his ever soothing one. Not when they were this close to the long-sought victory.
To all living things, losing something was inevitable. That was the way this world worked. That was the reality he lived in. That was the plain truth he had tried to accept through each battle survived.
Nevertheless, Jean had gained more than he had lost. These five years consisted more than just blood and tears. He had learned to live, to fight, to trust—all for the right reasons. There were times when sleeping was so hard and eating seemed mundane. There were times when grief as well as disbelief had him derailed. There were sleepless nights, plagued by horrified cries echoing in his mind as flashes of brutal casualties repeating themselves until dawn broke. Yet, in times so bleak giving up looked like a legit temptation, he endured.
Jean remembered light footsteps approaching, wooden floors softly creaking. Peeking through a door slightly ajar, someone ushered himself; resulting in two glasses of hot coffee sipped in tranquil silence. His presence, used to be unnoticeable, gradually became a leading light; a living reminder of why he should—and must not—give up. How could he do so, when that someone willingly gave him something to win?
Armin had given him more than just memories. It's a gamble he could not lose. It's a mending heart he entrusted him to keep. It's a set of scattered hope the future; collected and ignited.
He brought Armin's face close. A gasp escaped past Armin's lips at the gentle bumping of their noses. His cheeks were damp but warm against Jean's palms. Darkness could blind but not deceive. "It won't be long," Jean murmured, voice croaked, yet dripping with assurance. "You'll figure something out, like you always do. I won't able to see the sea when we finally reach it someday, but I know I could always listen to you. That's what I've done all these years. That's why we are here, Armin."
As strands of silky hair stroked his forehead, Jean closed both eyes and tilted his head.
Deep intake of breaths mingled—
—then nothing ever felt more real—
—the moment two worlds blended.
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"Jean. Stay."
"If you'll have me."
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FIN