Armin was always a pain at parties - he knew this. No one had ever said as much, but there was a particular look of disappointment that fell upon the not quite drunk, but most certainly not sober, faces of whoever happened to be nearby when he arrived, and that in and of itself was telling enough. It was the same awful expression Jean adopted when he saw Armin standing at his stoop wearing a smile that verged on pathetic.

"Oh. Hey, Armin," Jean said, giving him a hesitant once over. Whatever expectation had driven him to sprint to the door had clearly not been met. "Come on in. Everyone's downstairs."

Armin obeyed. The first floor of the Kirstein household, save for a scattering of red solo cups, appeared to be nearly untouched. Perhaps the others felt just as perturbed as Armin did by the family photos, reminders of Mrs. Kirstein, who would no doubt grow livid should she learn what had occurred in her home during a weekend trip out of town. Armin shuddered at the thought.

It was easy for Armin to settle into a quiet and private comfort when the party was little more than a distant hum of sound, but the closer he drew - shutting the creaky basement door behind him, descending the steps that moaned at the burden of his weight - the less palpable the sentiment seemed to be. At last it shattered entirely when the basement came fully into view. Everyone was speaking in voices that sounded more like screams, struggling to be heard above the pounding music despite having little of any coherence to say. Sasha and Connie had wrapped their arms around the metal pole in the center of the room and were now spinning around it, giggling all the while. Annie and Bertholdt were sprawled on the floor, invested in some sort of drinking game involving cards that had them lifting cups to their lips every few seconds. It had clearly taken a toll on both: any of Bertholdt's usual unease was long gone and Annie almost seemed to be smiling. Reiner was at the bar, or at least the makeshift one formed with a folding table straining under the weight of a dizzying sea of soda and juice and the several half gallons Ymir's fake had granted her.

Armin flushed. The events unfurling around him were no different than any he had witnessed before, and yet he felt just as out of place as he had the very first time. He strained to recall why he had bothered coming to begin with.

"Armin!"

And then he remembered.

"Eren?" It came out as a question though he knew it was him. The voice was immediately recognizable, even when it wasn't laced with anger, frustration, or misplaced passion. He soon spotted him on the other side of the room, stumbling slightly over his own feet but smiling all the same. He had been with Mikasa, but even she wasn't herself enough to bother escorting him, too distracted by her cup and whatever absurd conversation she was having with Ymir and Historia. Armin opted to meet him halfway, in part to ensure that Eren didn't fall, but equally as much due to his own suppressed giddiness. He didn't have to wait very long, Eren grabbed for his hand as soon as it was in reach.

"I am so glad you came. You have no idea. I was positive you would bail on me." Eren spoke like a madman, and looked the part. His cheeks were flushed, glowing, and wet with moisture that had danced downward from his temples. His eyes were wide and the green appeared to be practically bursting from them. "This whole time I've been asking everyone: Where's Armin? And all anyone ever said was I'm not sure Eren, and so then I had to say Hey asshole, I asked you a question and-"

"I told you I was coming," said Armin softly.

"That's not the point. I was so sure that I'd be all alone," Eren insisted, grabbing Armin by one shoulders. His grip was weak, but held no shortage of enthusiasm. A confusing gust of sadness elation consumed him, and would surely have been made apparent on his face had Eren been in a different state. "Oh - hey, you've gotta try some of this." Armin looked over to where Eren had gestured and only then did he notice the notice the bottle of Fireball in Eren's hand. He nearly winced at the sight.

"I already have. It's no good."

"No?"

Fireball was the worst drink Armin had ever had the displeasure of tasting, alcoholic or not. It tasted heavily of cinnamon and was red hot on the tongue. Nobody else could stomach it, but for whatever reason Ymir always seemed to have one and hand. It was Eren's favorite though, which assured that he was left positively plastered at any given party.

"Nope. Nobody likes it except for you, remember?"

"Reiner!" Eren had clearly lost interest in discussing his drink of choice. "Armin needs a drink," said Eren. Armin gave no protest - he did need a drink. With a nod, Reiner reached for a bottle. "No, not that shit, the good stuff." Reiner sent daggers their way and grabbed another instead. "Oh - and a chaser."

Reiner seemed nothing short of peeved when he delivered Armin's drink, despite Eren's appreciative thanks (Thank you so much Reiner. No, really. God, you're such a great friend, you know that?). Any apprehension Armin had about his attendance tonight was nowhere to be found as he downed as much as he could of the bitter substance. It left his throat screaming, but he loved it all the same. It would be nice to be an extrovert with Eren for an hour before it all came tumbling down around him.

Armin hated being as small as he was, and being a lightweight was yet another unfortunate consequence of his slight frame and stature. In moments like this however, it did have its advantages. In no time at all, Armin had caught up with the others and then some, and he watched as he shed his skin of hesitancy as if he were a snake. It slithered away, up the stairs, and out the door, but he had no desire to chase after it. He relished the newness of it all, interrupting conversations he would have normally avoided, posing for photos he'd regret in the morning, and making rounds to remind his friends how deeply he cared for them. He frequently found himself spinning in circles by himself, watching the world bleed into colors and shapes and then right itself again. Everything was warm, happy, and whole.

All the while he followed Eren like a lost puppy, one who was endearing in a sad sort of way, but just a bit ugly and entirely obnoxious. He wasn't yet too far gone to be oblivious to how silly he might look, but all the same each time he glanced beside him and noticed that Eren wasn't there panic seized him and he immediately abandoned whatever he was doing to find him in the basement vast enough to be his entire world.

"There you are!" he said for the fifth or sixth time that night.

"Here I am!" Eren exclaimed, also for the fifth or sixth time.

"Eren I have something to say. It's very important."

"Lay it on me," Eren said gravely, though excitement danced across his eyes. Armin very nearly reached out to lay his hand on Eren's cheek, to see the honey brown and the green next to his skin and know that it was real.

"Eren, do you remember when we were walking home together that one afternoon?"

Eren's eyes widened. "There are so many afternoons, Armin."

It was true. They walked home from school together whenever it was warm enough and Eren wasn't staying after to practice for some sport or another.

"I mean the one a few days ago. You asked me what I loved. Do you remember?"

Eren only shook his head, but Armin could think of no other way to describe what had happened. The one question aside, it had been like any other day. The weather was warm, almost too warm for winter, and they were talking, but not about anything too heavy or too light. With anyone else Armin would quiety worry and prepare, approaching the conversation like a cart click-click-clicking up the first hill of an old roller coaster. But things were different with Eren. Armin never worried about Eren thinking he was stupid, so he said whatever he thought was interesting and got to listen to all the lovely things Eren would say in return. It was why he wanted to hold his hand so badly, and why it seemed so strange to him that Eren's question had left him as flustered as it did.

"What do you love?" Eren had asked him after a short stretch of comfortable silence.

"Hm?" Armin had said.

Eren repeated himself.

"Oh." It was no more certain than the "Hm?" had been.

So Armin had rambled and stuttered and stared at his shoes gradually and uncomfortably steering the conversation someplace more comfortable and less interesting. The words all climbed helplessly up his throat but when he opened his mouth they opted to remain tucked within the grooves of his tongue. He didn't know why they wouldn't leave: Was the subject too intimate? Had he been too afraid? But since then the memory had festered and burst, leaving behind pus that clung to his skin. Armin thought of Eren often, but now each recollection was laced with jeering voices, reminding him of how passionate Eren was, of how many things he loved, and how someone like him could never want someone so empty and lifeless.

Armin noticed Eren's eyes trailing around the room, staring intently at someone or something far away and his chest tightened.

"Eren, I love a lot of things, and-"

"Tell me in a sec, I've gotta go." With that he was gone. The words weren't said unkindly, Armin had heard far worse and Eren left him with a friendly pat on the shoulder, but they stung horribly all the same. They hurt worse than the cold that settled over him without Eren's body heat nearby, worse than watching him leave to join in on a game of Twister.

Armin was still drunk - the world wasn't quite upright and his body still moved clumsily when he commanded it to be graceful - but he wasn't happy anymore. He felt as though something was missing, except that he wasn't sure what, though he knew that it was something he had never had before, that he had come into this world missing something essential. He thought of taking another shot, but instead sat on the ground with his back against the wall and began to cry.

Armin was always a pain at parties - he knew this. But at least no one was there to watch this time. He was free to cry as loudly as he wanted, for as long as he wished. No one would look to each other this time with confusion or disdain or recoil at the sight of him like this. The freedom was novel and horrible.

He hated himself for coming. No one wanted him here. He had only wanted to see Eren, but even he didn't care, not in the way Armin wanted him to. And now he was here, alone again, too tired and too sober to insert himself into an ill fitting conversation. Armin looked over at them all, spotted Eren's messy hair peeking out from behind a sofa. He waited for someone to notice his absence, to scour the room, spot him, and call him over. Perhaps that would be enough for another hour of shallow happiness. No one did. Armin held his knees against his chest and stared at the wall.

"You can't go to sleep yet, dummy."

Armin felt a soft and persistent nudging at his shoulder, one he would have ignored had it not been for the voice that accompanied it.

"Eren?" Armin spared a glance upwards and saw him there, curtained by his own blonde bangs. He would have quickly brushed them behind his ear had they not given Eren the illusion of glistening. Eren sat down beside him, leaning against the wall in a similar fashion, but with a certain poise that Armin doubted he himself could mimic.

"This seems like a shitty place to nap," remarked Eren. "My neck already hurts."

Armin smiled in spite of himself, letting the sadness slip away.

"Did you win?" he asked.

"At what?"

"Twister."

"Oh. That." Eren laughed. "I don't remember, actually."

Armin didn't bother suppressing his own giggle, allowing himself to join the laughter as it blossomed, climaxed, and then dwindled into something not uncomfortable but hardly satisfying either.

"And you still don't remember when you asked me what I loved?"

Eren squinted, his eyes knitting so tightly that it seemed as if they'd stay that way forever. They didn't, and when Eren opened his eyes they showed no more assuredness than they had before.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "Not at all." Armin's heart depleted. "But you can tell me about it anyway."

Armin parted his lips with the intention of insisting wholeheartedly that Eren forget about it, that it didn't matter to begin with, he'd just had too much to drink. Perhaps he'd manage to convey something passive, light, and even likable. He allowed himself to deliberate, crafting the words exactly as he pleased, but when the time came to share them, when Eren glanced at him with patient expectedness, he tossed them aside.

"It's just that I've been thinking about it a lot lately. I was so mad at myself for not knowing what to say. I feel like I never know what to say. But I know what I want to say right now, so is it alright if I say it?"

Eren nodded, so Armin closed his eyes and urged himself to continue.

"There are so many things worth loving, Eren. I love the sky. It just goes on and on and on forever. And I love the ocean too, for the same reason, I think. It's silly though, because I've never been before. To the ocean, I mean. I'd like to, though. I'd really really like to."

"I'll take you."

"You will?"

"Promise. You and me."

Armin smiled. "I love writing, too. I write all the time. I think it's important to make sure that you remember things, like grocery lists, or stories that you make up in your head, or feelings especially. I like poetry a lot, too. There are lots of rules you need to follow, but that's part of what makes it so nice."

"No," Eren said with insistence. Armin's heart sank, then resurfaced, when Eren's tone warmed and solidified. "Poetry shouldn't have rules."

"No?"

"No. There's less freedom that way."

Armin laughed. He considered justifying his claim a bit more, explaining the importance of rhythm and rhyme and how either could make words dance in your head. But he didn't. He was too tired and it didn't matter. Instead he drew just a touch closer to Eren. A throbbing ache pained his head, and he thought of resting it against Eren's shoulder, knowing that he wouldn't mind, knowing that he was his closest friend, but he didn't. In that moment, things were alright the way they were. They sat in silence for a long while, alone in the room that had become their world for the night and not caring what became of it.

"There are more things I love, but that's all I can think of right now," Armin said at last.

"Those are good things," Eren replied. He sighed, and the sound was heavy and sweet. It made Armin smile, before he started upright with a suddenness that shattered the pleasant idleness between them.

"Where is everyone?" He asked. Looking hurriedly around the room he saw no one and heard nothing but the soft humming of the furnace.

"Upstairs." Armin looked up and saw Jean at the top of the stairs, leaning limply against the railing. He shut the door behind him, but made no further move to come down. "We were looking for you guys." He didn't seem entirely sober, but the drunken liveliness from before had been replaced by muted grogginess. It was a sentiment Armin could sympathize with.

"They're not still worried about us, are they?" asked Armin.

Jean shook his head dismissively. "They're mostly all asleep by now. Claimed all the bedrooms, too, so good luck." He smirked at the last bit.

"Don't be a dick, Jean," spat Eren. "Can't we sleep in your room?"

"God no. I've got Marco up there."

Armin frowned. Marco came? He really had missed a lot.

The door squeaked open and Armin noticed Jean beginning to turn his back to them. "Look, if I were you guys I'd cut your losses and try to find the coziest spots on the ground. And make sure you're out of the house by noon, my mom's coming home tomorrow." The door shut definitively and Jean was gone.

"Fuck Jean," Eren lamented. "Fuck, fuck, fuck Jean." With each expletive he sank ever closer to the floor, and by the time he was through he had come to lie feebly on the ground.

"It's really not that bad." Armin studied his surroundings carefully before spotting something useful. "There are plenty of blankets right over here." He stood and made his way to the sofa, startled somewhat by his stumbling. The last of it apparently hadn't worn off yet. He collected a bundle of quilts in his hand and made to toss a few of them to where Eren had been, stopping short after seeing that he was gone. Armin stared at the empty space and flushed painfully.

"It's better over here." Armin followed the voice and saw Eren sprawled haphazardly on a deep red rug several feet away. It didn't look particularly soft, but he supposed it was better than the floor. He came just close enough to toss a few quilts Eren's way.

Eren sat up just as Armin had begun to turn around. "No, stay here." He gestured to the empty place beside him.

Armin hesitated but only briefly. There was plenty of room after all, and he did need a place to sleep. So settled himself beside Eren, bringing the rest of the quilts with him. Deftly, they piled blanket upon blanket on top of themselves until the cold air was masked as best as it could. When all was said and done, they lied down Armin at last felt the full weight of the night, but was kept from sleep by a nagging thought, too persistent to be suppressed.

"Eren?" Armin waited for his eyes to flutter open in affirmation. "Are you sure you don't want to sleep on the sofa?"

"No. It only has room for one."

There was silence for a great while and Armin knew that it would last until morning. He was tired, exhausted even, but he had no yearning to sleep, not when there was so much of the moment yet to be experienced. There was darkness that blanketed them, leaving little visible to Armin but Eren himself, and even that could be attributed more to memory than anything else. There was the rug beneath them, rough and well worn, but better than the floor, or even a bed. And then there was Eren himself

Because he wasn't thinking, or because he was, he burrowed his head beneath Eren's, allowing it to rest against his chest. He was overcome by motion and touch and the warmth of it all. Everything was still to real to be a dream, and yet he felt Eren's figure move closer to his own. Armin could feel the tickle of his breath on his shoulders. He chanced a glance upwards, saw his face from a bizarre angle that emphasized the pointedness of his jaw and the softness of everything else. It was beautiful. He buried himself deeper into Eren and was overcome with gratitude. Silently, he thanked whatever force had allowed him to know, just for a minute, what it might be like to be loved by him in the way that he wished.

All at once sound filled the room. It was heavy, then light, then heavy again and fluttering all the while, and Armin could immediately tell what it was: snoring. Eren was snoring. The revelation didn't strike him in the irritable way he expected it to. There was something inherently calming about being near something with so much strength. His exhalations sounded like what he thought the ocean might sound like as its tides collapsed onto the shore and then retreated. In and out. In and out. In and out.

Armin was overcome with thoughts: wonderful and awful, nihilistic and brimming with hope for what was to come. They were everything Armin had ever known as well as fragments of experiences just out of his reach. But they was all he had, so he seized something that felt like contentment and fell asleep to the sound of the tides. In and out. In and out. In and -