This has been on my computer upward of months now, and I'm not quite sure what I had intended for it, but I feel compelled to pick it up again and see what it turns into.
The evening heat is uncalled for — summer is supposed to be dwindling away, the unforgiving sun segueing into breezes and turning leaves. A boy with an ever-clear mind finds himself uncomfortable, beads of sweat sticking to his back and underneath his clothes; Armin finds it worse with fingers tightly wound into the front of his shirt, pulling him off balance before rough hands acquaint him with the hard surfaces of Shiganshina. On some days he tastes the bitter earth in his mouth yet today they have chosen to be a bit more merciful, opting to flatten him against the brick of a back alley.
He winces but does not cry. It's been a long time since things like this have affected him in that way.
It's hard to follow a train of thought other than it's hot at the current moment — regretfully he's lived through this experience enough to no longer have to anticipate what will come next. The sunset is blinding and beautiful, an ironic setting for the beating of a soft-hearted boy. They spit the word heretic with lethal amounts of venom; each day he conditions himself to the poison and some are much easier than others.
True to the tragic song and dance he takes a blow to his face. Armin can feel the bruising almost immediately, high on his cheekbone; painful swelling, creeping just below his line of vision.
"The way you are, you'll never understand." His voice is soft and level and there's a long moment of tension. Anger bubbles between them, low and searing like the humid air around them. He waits with his stomach twisting into knots. More violence will come, as it always does —
"Hey!"
There are times when he's lucky, moments that don't come often or with fanfare and heroic dynamics. A boy his age rounds the corner at the wrong time; the last time it had happened he had cried out for help only to watch the bystander turn back, eyes wide and terrified. This entire day is off, unnatural. He's never seen anyone look that way as he turns his head — the boy charges toward them with an electric intent in his expression, determined.
He's quick, rushing past one of the boys when they try to intercept him and slamming into the one holding his shirt. He's jerked a bit before he lets go; the boy is tackling the other to the ground with no rhyme or reason to his fighting tactics. He swings savagely but the other two are there to pull him off and apprehend him, holding him still while their comrade gets to his feet.
"Don't you have anything better to do than to push other people around?" He shouts it like it had been a close friend he'd encountered being accosted and not a simple stranger. "What the hell makes you think that's okay—"
Silence, brought upon by knuckles knocked viciously into his chin. He's ashamed to watch this brave boy, with his dark hair and wild eyes fall at the hands of his own assailants. I never asked for your help… why would you do something like this for someone you don't even know? He can't watch so he turns his eyes away, the evening much too warm and filled with the sound of blows.
The sound of bitter laughter and taunts ring out in the alley as they leave them, and he scrambles to his feet and to the crumpled form of the other boy. Blue eyes scan the corridor to ensure they're really safe; he's surprised when the boy sits up and wipes the blood from the corner of his mouth with his sleeve.
"What do you think yo—"
"You're not hurt, are you?" It's incredible, the earnestness with which he asks. From up close his impassioned eyes are incredibly vibrant and still burning. They seem nearly unreal, like glass instead of bundles of tissue and muscle, scanning him up and down. He shifts nervously, shaking his head.
"It's not bad. But why did you…?"
His mouth curls into an easy smile, split lip and all. There's something resolute to his voice, something so different about this boy. His angled features melt into softness; it turns into the second time it's too much to look at, and for a moment Armin flicks his gaze away.
"What, you think something like that is okay?"
Swallowing, he answers, "I… It's not the first time. Not at all." His hands are small, tightening into fists in shame.
"How come?" The stranger boy's voice is rough and indignant and pricks a chill at the base of his spine.
Because, and at the thought he looks around the dusty alley for the book that had been knocked away from him. Dog-eared, spine worn, it's well loved. Armin lifts it from the ground and holds it close, folding it in his arms. He carries it over, weariness seeping into his bones at the effort it takes to protect this; it's a manuscript paving his dreams and he almost wonders why he's doing it. "It's this."
"A book?"
"It's not just any book," Armin says defensively. He drops to his knees beside the other and his voice takes on a hushed tone. "There's animals and plants and distant lands. Places no one's ever seen, or could just imagine." He swallows, mouth dry from apprehension and stale air. "Places outside the walls."
He expects disappointment; for the other to knit his dark brows in skepticism and then disgust and walk away, sorry he'd ever intervened. A muted, numbing fear creeps up through his fingertips, pausing his light touches over the book's cover – he'd just witnessed the impulsiveness of this stranger, and once Armin's told him the truth what's to say he wouldn't be just like the others?
Quickly, he lifts himself from the ground. "I'm sorry. I have to go—"
"Wait." He doesn't raise his voice, simply reaching out to wrap little fingers around Armin's wrist and tug him back down. Meeting the boy's eyes makes him swallow hard – the intensity housed within them causes him to feel small and skittish. "Aren't you going to show me?"
"No." Armin sucks in air through his nose. Straightening his back, he strengthens his resolve; uses his mind as his last wall of defense. "It's late and my grandfather will wonder where I am. I have to go home."
Confusion sweeps over the boy's face before he sputters out an incensed noise. "What? You're going to just tell me all of that stuff and then go home without showing me?" He seems deeply offended; something that causes wild perplexity within Armin as well. "That's not fair!"
They sit in disagreement; an extended period of unsettling anxiety hushing over the alley. Armin experiences faint trembling in his extremities – he isn't sure how to proceed when he truly cannot gauge just how genuine this stranger is being, if at all. However, the offense he seemed to take makes him lean on a complete chance, and he loosens his grip on his book imperceptibly.
"Fine."
It surprises him when the other stands, patting streaks of dust away from his pants; his knees are smeared with dark blotches of earth, level with the spreading swell of Armin's cheek. A living testament of what had occurred; he summons the bravery to look up at the boy and face him, questioning.
Armin's breath twists painfully in his throat; he smiles down, extending his hand.
"Wanna meet me here tomorrow? We can come after noon so your gramps won't worry!"
The heat is unbearable; Armin has never felt so warm in his life, odd little bubbles flurrying in his stomach and tickling his lungs. He's almost grateful for his bruise – maybe then this other boy won't see how the heat seeps under the fair skin of his nose and cheeks. Considering the other's fingers, curled invitingly toward him, he allows nothing but a quiet sound. "What?"
"I'm Eren," he responds, a little breathlessly; he regards Armin with a strange look, as his hand has been outstretched for far too long. Huffing, he withdraws it, features twisting into a pout; he flicks his focus away, grumbling. "That sounds fine, right?"
Chin tipped up, Armin can't help but stare as he's framed by the sun – far too intense for the start of fall; he cradles the stories of the outside world in his arms and thinks about how the boy before him has asked for him to share each one. One hand steady, he pushes it close to his chest as he uses the other to get to his feet. He notes that Eren isn't too much taller than him, his eyes are green, and that his cheeks are a little red as well.
"Yeah. That sounds fine."