And it feels like I've been rescued/ I've been set free/ I am hypnotized/ By your destiny

- Selena Gomez and the Scene, "Love You Like a Love Song"


So imagine, if you will, a gay junior in high school with a secret boyfriend and a sexuality only known by his sister. Then give him really dark brown hair, green-gold eyes, and the body of an athlete. If that image does not resemble me, then please get your brain checked.

Anyway, that secret boyfriend, all his blushing and dorky and perfectly adorable five feet, walks up to the gay junior between third and fourth periods in the middle of a crowded hallway and invites him to a sleepover.

Finally, imagine that this isn't pretend, that this is real, and this experience is making me choke on my gum.

Swallowing, I stare at Armin. "Wh-what?'

"I asked if you wanted to sleep over at my house on Friday…" he repeats slowly.

I glance around, making sure no one's watching, then lean down by his ear. "You don't mean, like, doing THAT, right?" I question.

"No- oh…" His eyes widen with horrible realization. "N-no! Not y-yet! E-eren, get your m-mind out of t-the gutter!"

"Sorry, Armin. Didn't mean to freak you out. As for the sleepover though?" I shut my locker with a satisfying clang. "Can't wait."

. . .

The next three days speed by at the rate of bread rising. Around me, the usual hubbub of school cradles me. Jean's being a jerk, Marco seems to be gaining freckles, Mikasa is hesitant to remove her scarf to .adhere to new dress codes. I'm lucky there isn't any soccer practice this time of year, because my thoughts are too occupied to worry about a ball hurtling at your face or crotch.

And then it's a cold October evening and I'm standing on the dried leaf covered front stoop of Armin's house. He opens the door with a smile. "Eren," he says in that kinda shy way I adore. It talks all my remaining self-control to not push him into the wall and kiss him in the hallway. Instead, I settle for a hug that I'm sure broke a few of his ribs. His hair smells like vanilla. "You've been baking cookies," I sigh joyfully. I can feel his nod on my shoulder.

He hesitantly takes my hand and I nearly keel over. "Shut the d-door, take off your shoes, you know the drill," he responds. "I need some help s-setting up."

I follow him into the living room, where I see a pile of pillows, blankets galore in mismatched patterns, some chairs I recognize from the dining room table, the cushions off the couch. I raise my eyebrow. "Are you suggesting-"

"A pillow fort." There's a mischievous glint that meets my gaze. "I-I figured we could outdo the ones we made as kids… you remember those?"

Oh boy, did I. Half-assed lean-tos that were under threat of collapsing in on themselves from someone sneezing down the street. I'm pretty sure Jenga blocks were more structurally sound. Then again, it's hard to be a master architect when you've barely grasped tying your own shoes. I sling my arm around Armin's shoulder. "It'll be the greatest pillow fort ever… but it'll need more than just this." I lead him into the garage. "Where do you keep the Christmas lights?"

"Um, er… over h-here, I think…" He pulls out a large box labeled "XMAS." "Do you need o-ornaments too?"

"For God's sake, Armin," I say tiredly, "don't be nervous. I haven't caused an electrical fire since I was twelve." Gently, I kiss the top of his head. His leg begins to jitter and I chuckle. "I'm also your boyfriend, so get used to affection."

His head bobs and he looks up at me before pecking my jaw for an instant. I mock swooning and nearly trip over an orange bin that I recall holds pumpkin decorations. Armin laughs and opens the first box. "What c-color?"

I pull out a couple of strands that are plain white. "These'll do. Now come on, we have a construction project to start."

. . .

We don't hit our first major roadblock until about nine thirty. The structure is completed, as is the wiring, and all that is left was interior decorating- something neither of us, despite stereotype, are good at. Armin's doing his best to stifle a yawn, but the boy's a piece of living saran wrap. I suggest to him we change into our pajamas, and he's all too willing to agree.

For me, I simply peel off my jeans and hang out in my green hoodie and boxers, perfectly content to expose my slightly tan limbs. I sit outside our fort for about ten minutes, wondering what the delay is. It's because my boyfriend and host cooked something up in that magically mysterious noggin of his. As usual. "Holy balls," I mouth at the sight of him.

Like me, he's dressed in shorts and a long-sleeved shirt, although he seems much more self-conscious about the skin being visible. There's an overly large white sweater draping from his tiny shoulders, nearly slipping off. The butterfly pattern on his socks are the exact same shade as the- oh God, they're nearly daisy dukes- pants cladding his calves. He has a small paper bag in his hand, and a shy look of seduction.

I'm drooling. This boy is caring, intelligent, and sexy. How did I get so lucky?

I stand up and stride over to him, taking his shoulders forcefully. "You. Look. Amazing." I press my forehead to his. "And that deserves something." I start to close the few inches between us, the air is buzzing, his nose brushes my upper lip and he exhales and-

"YOWCH!" I shout, jerking my knee up into Armin's belly. He falls to the floor, yelping with agony. Then I'm tackled to the ground too, my legs on fire.

"B-Bilbo! Bad boy!" Armin struggles to get his wild pooch under control. "Stop it! You know not to attack people's legs!"

I wince as I sit up. "Now I remember why we wear pants at your house…" I scan the attacked appendages. Most of the scratches are superficial, but a few have drawn blood. I grimace.

Armin sighs. "I was going to go get his claws t-trimmed tomorrow… I'm so sorry, Eren…" He's in tears. It's only fair though, as his legs are in just as bad shape as mine.

"Is everything alright in here?" an older voice calls. I turn to find Mr. Arlert in the doorway. I nod.

"I-I'm ok, grandpa… Sorry for worrying you…" Armin says quietly between sobs. The white-haired man comes over and takes the black-and-white mutt from his grandson.

"I'll take this rascal for the night. You boys enjoy yourself," he says, giving me a knowing glance. I frown but he's silent as he leaves. I return my attention to the crying high school student, who is still crying.

"It's ok, Armin. C'mon, let's get some bandages on these. Don't want them getting infected." I pull a pack of Band-Aids from my duffel bag. My boyfriend looks at me quizzically. "Soccer practice," I explain. "It's my sports bag. Go ahead, take a whiff."

The blond responds with a weak laugh. "I'll pass…"

I carefully lay the adhesive strips over each of his open wounds, leaving the scratches to heal on their own. Before I can start on myself, though, he takes the box and gives me the same treatment. Before laying the finally bandage, though, he stares at me. "Y-you want me to kiss it to make it feel better?"

I smirk as our lips collide.

. . .

Eventually oxygen demands our separation, and Armin practically gallops into the kitchen, leaving a tomato-tinged shadow of himself in my lap. I chuckle and plug in my laptop, setting it up inside the fort. If he's doing what I hope he's doing, we'll need some entertainment.

Sure enough, he returns with a platter of popcorn, chocolate chip cookies, and Pepsi. We carefully maneuver the food in and Armin crawls in on all fours. I hold up some DVDs and ask, "So the awesomeness that is The Amazing Spider-Man or the guilty pleasure known as Mean Girls?"

He settles next to me, clutching that same paper bag from earlier with an aura of secrecy. "No so-bad-it's-good The Room?"

I shake my head. "We can do that movie in our sleep, Armin. We need to branch out our cinematic repertoire," I scoff.

He looks at me, pupils flickering with pain. "You're tearing me apart, Lisa!"

We break into a fit of giggles, but at some point I see the Marvel logo flash on the screen. I shrug, satisfied. Armin is not. "I wanted Mean Girls…"

I roll my eyes and give him a noogie. "Boo, you whore." That unleashes another bout of laughter.

The movie plays for a while longer, and I notice that Armin is fidgeting. "What's wrong?" I question him.

He hands me the bag wordlessly and I peer inside. Clips, stretch bands, bows… I frown. "What do you…? Huh?"

His hand overlaps mine and our gazes meet. "D-do you mind… making me pretty?" Droplets of salty tears well up in the corners of his eyes.

"Why do you… You know what, I don't care. You already look great to begin with but if you want me to play hairstylist, I will. Thank God I've had practice on Mikasa."

His smile is genuine and warms me to my toes. "Thank you, Eren… not many boyfriends would be this understanding."

I sit him in my lap and run a brush through the silky blond strands. "That's a real pity. Told you humanity is in a decline." I pull the hair into two even bunches and begin braiding the right.

"You're really good at this," Armin comments. I shrug. "All that RuPaul you watch?"

I blush and choke on my popcorn. "Sh-shut up! You know I much prefer What Not to Wear!" Behind us, Peter is trying to ask Gwen out. It reminds me of when Armin first confessed to me.

Well, maybe confess isn't the right word. I mean, neither of us have said… it, yet. Even though it's been eight months. Is that rushing things? I honestly have no clue. I guess when the time is right…

I place the barrettes in and begin working on the left. As my fingers twist and turn, I start wondering if Armin does. You know, like me like me. I feel like such a dork saying it like that. But I'm curious because… I think I do. I probably always have. It's just that in this moment, with everything peaceful and happy and perfect, I feel like I can say it and mean it.

I finish styling his hair and give him a mirror. "What do you think?"

He blushes at his reflection. "Thank you, Eren… Thank you so much…" He leans his cheek against mine, and I wrap my arm around his shoulder, grabbing onto his hand.

I swallow. Best to make sure he's secure before I probably implode his brain.

"Armin…" I whisper. He looks at me questioningly. "I… I love you."

The only noise is that of Spider-Man fighting the Lizard and my pulse pounding in my throat. I'm not sure if Armin is even breathing. His mouth starts to move soundlessly, and yet I can hear him clearly. "Are you certain?"

I nod, not trusting my voice either. Eventually I croak out, "one hundred percent. I'm in love with you."

Suddenly my sweatshirt is soggy and my lips are swollen. I can't understand a word of what Armin is shouting into the fabric of my shoulder but I do manage to make out "me too… oh God Eren I love you too…"

It's at about that point I start laughing like a loon. "Oh my God! Armin you have any idea how ridiculous we must look like by now? You're sobbing like you're at a funeral and I sound like I'm an escaped asylum patient!" I bellow. There's a chuckle from my arms and I can't really explain how but we were laying down, Armin in my arms, movie forgotten.

He reaches up and cups my face. "Why did you say it now…"

"Well, um, cuz I do. Besides, it's only fair. You're the one who said you liked me, and our first kiss was kind of… mutual. I figured I should man up and be the one to take the next step. After all, I'm the more masculine one in this relationship," I explain clumsily.

He howls and gasps. "You really are a simple mind…"

I scowl, hurt. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, love," he coos, kissing my lips. And that's more than enough to forgive him.

. . .

When Mr. Arlert wakes us the next morning, we're tangled in a nest of limbs and blankets. Apparently our pillow fort wasn't as structurally sound as we had hoped.

Armin looks at his grandfather guiltily. "I was going t-to tell you… Please don't be mad Grandpa…"

In response, the old man leans down and pats his grandson on the head. "I've had my suspicions, boy, and I'm glad it's with someone like Eren. Lord knows what would've happened if you had started dating that other boy you had a crush on. What was his name? John?"

I stare at my boyfriend with daggers and firearms in my pupils. "You had a crush on Kirschtein?"

"I-In middle school! Eren you know I love you!" He clamps his mouth shut with his hands after this declaration. Mr. Arlert just snickers and I do as well, but I quickly soften.

I place a kiss on his brilliant blond brain. "I know. I love you too."


This is dedicated to the real Bilbo Baggins, the bravest little puppy of them all.