It was a bad idea altogether, but Bertholdt couldn't help it.
He was never supposed to get this close — not mentally, not emotionally, not physically — yet every time he was offered a way out, he couldn't bring himself to decline what he was offered. Can we discuss this tale we're both reading? led to an unspoken arrangement in the library every Sunday, which then led to the two making themselves at home every week during that one afternoon where they could just unwind and enjoy each other's company as they read. Reiner encouraged it, even though he should've scolded Bertholdt for getting so attached to an island devil. But Reiner was a case Bertholdt had long since stopped trying to decipher.
What exactly made Armin want to pick him as a friend was beyond Bertholdt, but he figured that reciprocating such amiability couldn't hurt. He'd look more suspicious if he stayed in the shadows and rejected all advances but he had long lost the appetite to reach out to the Islanders, so when Armin reached out to him by his own accord, it was convenient. At first, Bertholdt tried as hard as he could to avoid it, but eventually, when Armin just wouldn't give up, Bertholdt no longer wanted to fight something he came to realise he much desired and gave in. Even if he instantly admonished himself for setting himself up for hurt when the inevitable happened and they had to leave Paradis knowing its inhabitants would soon after perish.
No hunch in the world could have prepared him for what would follow, though, and now that Bertholdt found himself with Armin melted in his lap, the blond's chest gently rising and falling as he rested his head against Bertholdt's bicep after he'd fallen asleep about half an hour ago, he couldn't help but feel like the universe was getting back at him for allowing himself to slip.
Why did he have to be so clingy? Why couldn't they just read side-by-side and leave it at that? Why did they have to be so comfortably close to one another? Why was it that every time they got together to do something as innocent as reading, Bertholdt always felt like there was something more going on between them, something just beneath the surface that he couldn't quite grasp but that was too glaring to ignore?
It made sense he was on edge, considering what had recently been on Bertholdt's mind. They were all gradually growing from children into teens, and with growing up came unwanted feelings. Feelings that by all accounts were detrimental to what he was on the island for. Feelings that he should've nipped in the bud the moment they first showed up, but he allowed them inside. Feelings that could end up costing them the mission — maybe even the world — if he failed to suppress them after letting them bloom into this late a stage. Feelings that he, of all people, had neither the luxury nor the right to explore as carefully and as thoroughly as they deserved to be explored by a regular teenage boy. He wasn't regular. These weren't feelings that he should allow himself to indulge, yet here he was.
And he'd tried to reason them away. Oh, he'd tried so badly, but when the sliver of a question he had dismissed as an odd occurrence led to an intrusive thought led to long nights laying awake and wondering about what was going on in his head, in his body, in his heart, he just couldn't pretend that nothing was wrong anymore. When he'd started to get distracted by the way Reiner's muscles were bulking up and it became evident he was no longer a boy but becoming a man, the same way he'd noticed that Annie was growing into a woman, that had set off a red flag in his head. He did not need this on top of everything else that was going on.
He had quickly relativised his worries away. It wasn't that big a deal back then. He was attached to his comrades, of course he'd notice the way their bodies changed as his own body changed alongside theirs, and of course his dramatically romantic soul would try to find more in a situation where there was nothing else to be found. But when he'd started feeling like an intruder in the boys' showers and people beside Reiner and Annie — girls, but also boys — invaded his mind more and more often, he knew he couldn't pretend nothing was going on.
All those feelings, he had tried to keep on the down-low. Not because of what Marley said. Marley had been wrong about a lot of things before, and this was no different. Their one man with one woman doctrine was nothing but a transparent ploy to breed more potential weapons for their war machine. But that didn't mean that it didn't leave Bertholdt terrified of the possibility. He'd rather pretend nothing was going on at all, because he could just as well be wrong, and he was a hormonal teenager with too many frustrations, and what had he done to deserve the right to fall in love anyway, regardless of which gender he fell for?
It all made such perfect sense why the answer to his questions shouldn't matter, but it's who Bertholdt was. Always one to overthink things and get lost in trying to figure out who he was, and in doing so, he'd only end up confusing himself more. He'd learned to avoid the questions altogether for that reason, but did that make him proficient at it? Of course not.
Why was he so terrible at this?
To make matters worse, those feelings were even more well-reflected whenever Bertholdt thought about his reading partner. It wasn't that notable at first, but as time went on and he got a clearer picture of those unwanted feelings, he started suspecting that they were disproportionately aimed at one specific person. If he had fallen for Armin, he was already too far gone.
But what was he supposed to do? The blond was just that great, and Bertholdt couldn't help it.
Maybe Armin didn't feel like he was that big a deal as just a lad trying to find his footing in an endless universe, but the boy represented all that was good in the world. Hopeful idealism to shape a better future for all of them. The yearning to push his limits beyond what he could realistically take just to see what's out there. Boundless curiosity that had left Bertholdt starstruck, because he was everything that Bertholdt could've had, if only he had been born elsewhere.
And here that idyllic soul lay, resting in the lap of the devil that plunged his world into chaos and then proceeded to feign innocence, lulled him into a false sense of security, like he didn't fall asleep in the arms of the largest mass murderer in mankind's history. What a contrast it must've been, for someone so good to find himself in the den of something so demented, covered head to toe in the blood of his people.
All Bertholdt could do was accept his request to huddle together for warmth in this cold library whenever Armin asked for it on particularly harsh winter days. It led to Armin's blanket draped over Bertholdt's shoulders in exchange for keeping the small blond in his lap warm with his body heat and sparing him from having to suffer a cold ass. They'd done it before, but lately, there had been more to this. To this unusual moment, where the frigid room didn't quite seem to stand a chance against the heat that radiated from Bertholdt's chest at the closeness he was sharing with Armin.
If his experiences with other cadets had left Bertholdt confused, Armin had left him beyond baffled. He'd honed in almost exclusively on Bertholdt since early on, and the taller cadet's aloofness had consistently failed to deter Armin from trying over and over to create a connection between the two of them, until Bertholdt finally gave in and allowed himself to get caught in the whirlwind of enthusiasm that the boy had displayed towards him. But despite being so focused on Bertholdt, it never seemed like Armin was actually interested in him.
The unwanted feelings, Bertholdt could take. The confusion and the way his puberty sent him on a begrudging journey to discover himself when he had far more important things on his mind were just secondary. It was the way Bertholdt feared that even if he read his own feelings correctly, there would never be a reality in which the boy would reciprocate, that wore out his mind.
He wanted to leave those feelings behind him and make it easier for the both of them, but Bertholdt couldn't help it.
Armin's book still lay in his lap, threatening to slip off. Bertholdt had been reluctant to move it in case he stirred the blond from his sleep. The last thing he wanted to do was disturb such a peaceful looking slumber, even if it meant spending the night in the library. His own book, he had already put aside long ago, finding he had a far more interesting subject in front of him that deserved his attention. With great care as not to disturb the boy, Bertholdt moved his free hand to grab the book, insert a bookmark on the page Armin had left off at, and place it aside. He didn't need it to fall on the floor and wake the blond with a loud noise.
He wrapped his arms around Armin a little tighter, maneuvering the lad's head so that it was no longer hanging against Bertholdt's arm and it instead rested on his shoulder. Bertholdt didn't have the guts to wake him up and break this moment, so the least he could do was help Armin prevent waking up with a stiff neck due to bad sleeping posture. Bertholdt had plenty of experience of his own to know how detrimental neck pains were to a day filled with drills and 3D maneuvering.
Bertholdt knew he shouldn't look down, but he did so anyway. The way Armin's dark eyelashes so perfectly complemented the gentle look of his closed eyes, the unburdened relaxation legible on his features, the perfectly smooth blond hair that was messy only where his head was resting against Bertholdt, the picture of serenity he formed as his breathing was barely noticeable, the thin line of drool that trickled from the corner of his mouth and made Bertholdt treasure how endearing he looked.
Would there ever again be a moment where they'd be this close?
The thought sent ice shards down Bertholdt's belly. This wasn't the first time that Armin had taken place in his lap to avoid the cold, but what were the odds that he'd ever fall asleep again when this close to him? He'd only fallen asleep in the library on one other occasion, and just like now, that was after they'd had a particularly nasty drill the day before and Armin couldn't stay awake until the evening. Sweet as he was, he was too proud to admit he was too tired to continue and ask if he could return to the barracks early, and instead powered through his fatigue. Tonight was a rare outlier where he was so comfortable he'd dozed off.
No, the stars had aligned to make tonight happen. There would never be another moment like this. Not when Armin didn't think of Bertholdt the way Bertholdt thought of him and when Bertholdt was too much of a coward to ask him questions of such a delicate nature.
Maybe if he tried it now, in secrecy where no one had to know about it, Bertholdt could find the answer to his confusion of late. If he really felt attraction to boys, to Armin, or if he would feel disgusted the second he tried anything. There was an easy way to find out, one that wouldn't take him more than a moment to try out. And the window of opportunity was closing with the second.
It was now or never. He couldn't spend any longer worrying about how he really felt, if his feelings were to be trusted at all, when he could find the answer right in front of him. When he could be relieved of that which he did not want to feel, because Bertholdt never really understood his mind and his body and the second he tested the waters, he would probably find it an unpleasant experience altogether and he'd be able to stop worrying. And if he did enjoy it…
At least he'd know. At least he wouldn't have to keep denying how often he'd laid awake wondering if there truly were something more. Even if he was never allowed to move closer, at least he'd have his answer. He could worry about what knowing would do to him later.
Gently, he moved the arm closest to Armin so that he could reach for Armin's face, the movement alone tilting it just a little closer towards him. The way he was slouching, the boy barely even came up to Bertholdt's collarbones with the top of his head. Bertholdt was grateful. He didn't know how well he could resist if the blond came a little higher.
Tentatively, he laid a hand on Armin's cheek in an effort to hold still his head in a supportive hold. When it didn't wake up the smaller boy, Bertholdt bit the bullet and angled Armin's head just a little better. The sensation of his warm skin under Bertholdt's fingertips alone set his hair on edge. Letting his eyes fall closed and licking his lips, he leaned forward, back disconnecting from the wall he was seated against, until they made contact with the golden locks of hair draped over the boy's forehead, not stopping his advance until he could feel the hard bone of Armin's forehead behind them.
Armin's hair was so silky and smooth against the feather-light brush of Bertholdt's lips that it sent electricity into his cheeks, nose, and neck. He'd felt the texture before, against his fingertips, but never against his sensitive lips, and Bertholdt's heart skipped a beat at every sensation it brought along — the fine hairs his face was now almost submerged into, the tickling sensation across his nose, the cold temperature that made the strands feel wet even when they were dry. Even his smell was soft and pleasant — nothing he could particularly assign a name to, but somehow, so undeniably and fittingly Armin.
He opened his eyes, seeing only a sea of blond in front of him. Did that count? Of course he'd feel overwhelmed when he bombarded his nerves with so many sensations he'd never felt before. He needed to know what it was like if he did this for real, skin-to-skin instead of kissing him through the protection of his hair. Bertholdt moved back, just slightly, to brush those blond locks aside with the hand that didn't hold his face. Under the light brush of his fingertips, Armin's skin was pristine smooth. There was nothing rough about this boy, not a single imperfection. And so close to Bertholdt's own face, his breathing indicating that he was still fast asleep, was there even one person alive who could resist?
He didn't have the right, but Bertholdt couldn't help it.
Taking one last careful look to make sure Armin was absolutely still asleep and not pretending after having felt a disturbance around his face, Bertholdt decided that he couldn't resist it any longer. In one movement, he closed his eyes again and pressed his lips against Armin's forehead, and the weight of the world slid off of his shoulders as he got caught into the moment, every nerve ablaze, heart thumping wildly in his chest as goosebumps littered his entire body and his legs went weak.
This was divine. This was pleasant, satisfying, long overdue, something he suddenly realised he had wanted all along, and he couldn't believe that he for so long denied just how amazing this would feel.
For a moment, he stayed like that. Seconds, minutes maybe. He didn't know. He didn't care. He didn't need more. He didn't want more. He was exactly where he wanted to be, how he wanted to be, and he wasn't going to break this up unless he absolutely had to.
He made no sound, stayed as still as he could, but as the moment longed, nothing could suppress the tremors welling up within him and it became apparent that there was a tangible end in sight to what he was doing. A mild panic overtook him. The way he currently was positioned, he couldn't take note of whether or not Armin was still asleep. If the blond woke up now, what would he think? Could Bertholdt explain his way out of it? Would their weekly gatherings be over and their friendship unequivocally ruined if he found out just how much advantage Bertholdt was taking of his vulnerable position right now?
What if he were already awake and too afraid to speak up, uncomfortable by what was happening?
A spike of anxiety surged through Bertholdt, causing him to abruptly abort the kiss and lean back, letting go of Armin's head again, which slumped against his chest. He nearly slammed his head into the wall behind him, gritting his teeth as he kept his eyes pinned on the ceiling of the now-dark library. If the sudden ending of the kiss hadn't woken Armin, the thunderous beat of Bertholdt's heart definitely would. Somewhere between the remnants of jolts that shot through his face and the arteries that pounded in his neck, he might have noticed that across his cheeks trickled something warm and wet.
So that's what it was like. There was something after all.
Fuck.
Bertholdt looked down again, Armin's head now again in an uncomfortable position, and for a moment Bertholdt was almost surprised that none of the blood he was coated in from head to toe had smudged Armin's cheek and forehead where Bertholdt had touched him. The boy wasn't tainted. Like someone like Bertholdt would be enough to do that.
Shame overtook him as the fire of the prior moment died down. What would Armin think to know that a monster had kissed him in his sleep? In that moment, Bertholdt could only hope that the boy would never find out. About who he really was, about how he'd been closer to him than he could've ever known, about Bertholdt's feelings and his secrets and his sins.
He let out a long sigh. How he'd hoped it would be terrible. How he'd prayed that it would just be something he did on a whim, and not something he would replay many more times in his head as something he just couldn't have. He sat there in silence, eyes on the ceiling again as Armin snoozed on loosely contained within Bertholdt's arms.
Why did he allow himself to do that? Why did he have to burden himself with this knowledge? Did he really expect that there wouldn't be any feelings involved? Was he really that blind, or had he just denied the feelings that would complicate everything?
He pulled Armin just a little closer to him with the arm draped around him. What nonsensical questions. Of course he understood why, the answer had been there the whole time.
He simply couldn't help it.
It had always been a bad idea, but at least now he knew.