Armin would always choose Mikasa. Always.
Even when he saw his roommate moping in bed Monday morning, despite having an internship and classes that day. He didn't have to tell him something happened Friday night. Armin knew when he didn't come back to the club, was certain when he came home to an empty room and heard him sneak in late into the night.
And he remained silent regarding the matter for the entire weekend. Mikasa had promised to call him the next day, but she hadn't. And Armin knew why. When he tried calling her, she didn't answer the phone. But he was not the only one trying to reach her.
Armin looked at Jean curiously as the brightness of the morning shone through their window. The sunlight highlighted the bare skin of his torso, caressing curves and divots of musculature and enhancing his tinted peachy hue. Dark denim hugged right below his hip bones, the line of his Adonis belt carved into his abdomen. His hair ruffled when he slipped on a striped sweater, and he ran his fingers through short dirty blonde tresses to tidy up.
He stood over his own bed, straightening out the digital alarm clock and other décor on his nightstand. Annie had taken a liking to messing up his room a little bit. The overt neatness and organization annoyed her. He was at the stage of infatuation where he would let her trash the place with a bat if it made her happy.
And his eyes remained on Jean, who scuffled underneath his blankets with a grumble at the energetic greeting of the sun. Placing a neat row of textbooks into his backpack, Armin cleared his throat.
"So are you going to tell me what happened, or do I have to ask her myself?"
A wave of silence passed, and Armin could physically feel the uncomfortable drift between them. Jean was a large lump underneath the sheets, and he could see the visible rise and fall of his chest when he sighed.
"I'm…not talking to you about this."
Jean's voice was muffled and low, and Armin rolled his eyes slightly as he made his way over to his roommate's bed and sat at the edge.
"I'm going to find out one way or another."
"Then go fucking find out."
A frown tugged at Armin's mouth, and without hesitation he pulled down the blanket. Jean recoiled from the gesture, his eyes narrowed from the sudden welcoming light. He looked like shit, hair unkempt, facial hair speckled across his jaw and cheeks. His tee shirt was wrinkled from his persistence to not leave the bed.
"This is serious, Jean," Armin shot towards him, the blue of his eyes glistening a threatening deep navy. "You've been moping around all weekend and we all know why."
"Then why the fuck do you keep asking me?"
He attempted to lift the blanket again, but Armin tightened his grip against the fabric. "Because she's my best friend and I need to know the extent of the fucking damage."
When Jean sighed again, it emerged as a sound of defeat, his lips pursed as he sat up and closed his eyes, rubbing at his forehead. Armin thought he had never looked more pathetic than he did at that moment.
"Did you guys—"
"Yes," Jean interjected, plainly. "It was her idea."
"It doesn't matter." Armin frowned, a dimple pressed by the corner of his mouth as his brows slanted. "She's not in the right headspace to make that decision."
Jean gave him a strange look, running both his hands through the length of his hair. "We didn't fucking finish, okay? Half way through, she just started crying."
"And you're surprised? What did you expect?" Armin heaved a sigh as he kneaded at his temples. "That she'd be fucking enthusiastic?"
"I don't know." He spit the words out one by one, capturing Armin's gaze gravely. "I just felt like we really had a connection, and when she asked—"
"What connection, Jean? Do you think Mikasa is the type to do that just from a connection? She made Eren wait six weeks, and she's in love with him. She's hurting right now. You should have walked away."
Jean stared at him blankly for a moment, his lips parting to speak, but he stalled, searching for the words. "And Mikasa knows how I feel about her. She knew, and she asked me anyway."
Armin returned the gaze, his eyes heavy. "That may be true. But you know what she's going through. And you accepted anyway."
The sadness in his eyes dripped like honey, and Armin had to suck in a breath to conceal any pity he felt towards him. "I'm…in love with her, Armin." The words were spoken softly, defeatedly. He saw him squeeze fistfuls of his blanket, a gentle tremble to his forearms.
And a soft slouch curved Armin's back as he sat there, a tug of confliction in his heart, but not unyielding in his decision to choose his best friend.
"Mikasa is in love with Eren." He made sure the words hit his ears solemnly. "A connection isn't going to change that. Two weeks apart won't. A couple of drinks at the bar. A few interested glances. Being her rebound won't change that, Jean."
He took another breath before he finished. "And if you really did love her, you would have realized that instead of sleeping with her."
~oOo~
A touch that wasn't his. A kiss, a stroke, a foreign feeling of fullness. It felt like her body didn't even belong to herself anymore.
A decision she never should have made. It haunted her every waking moment. She felt the goosebumps on her arms recalling his embrace, the way he touched and held her. It was different. It was comforting. It felt good but horrible all at once. Whenever she recounted his mouth on her body, she felt the powerful urge to vomit.
She had hoped she would become attached, thinking it was a guarantee of having sex. That she could forget about Eren this way. But now she never wanted to see Jean again. She didn't even want to look at herself. This wasn't her, she felt like a different person. The real Mikasa would never have jumped into bed with someone just to soothe an aching heart.
Her eyes remained focus elsewhere but her own reflection in the mirror during Ballet IV that Monday, her grip against the barre so tight that her knuckles turned white. Natalie's instruction echoed throughout the room, and she could feel Connie's presence behind her.
After the barre portion of the class, they staggered in the back of the studio, and there Connie just began gushing to her, oblivious to her current anxious and distressed state.
"I tried calling the number Pieck gave me, but it was a disconnected line."
Mikasa sighed, the sound leaving her throat loud and exaggerated as her feet slid into the fourth position. "Why does that bother you? You never call a girl after you sleep with her." She gave him a narrowed look, her brow pressing a dimple into her forehead. "Unless you didn't?"
"Oh no, we did it in my car."
"In the Honda Civic? You do know she's loaded, right?"
"It's a ninety-eight Honda Civic. It's practically new."
The soft melody of the piano engulfed the studio and Natalie's guidance and counting followed. "Why did you call her then? You got what you wanted."
Their conversation became more hushed as they fell into the combination. He caught her attention again during a deep arabesque. "Because she's a goddess and I must see her again. Did you watch her dance? I think I'm in love."
Mikasa chocked a laugh, the momentum pushing her to her next step. "There really is a first time for everything."
"So what do you think? About the number she gave me?"
"One of two things," she said, the music dying down while Natalie walked about the room making corrections. She focused heavily on Historia again. She looked more crushed and hopeless with each passing class. It was a sad sight that Mikasa wasn't sure how she felt about yet. They still had not spoken, and she preferred they keep it that way.
"She either gave you a fake number. Or, she was so high out of her mind that she wrote the wrong number down. Either way, it doesn't look good for you."
Connie's lips fumbled as he scratched at the buzzed hair atop his head. "Fuck, you really think so?"
When her hands found her hips, her head tilted as she gave him a knowing look. "Doesn't feel so nice when it happens to you, huh?"
Yet, when she witnessed the disappointment etched in his face, how his expression dropped and his eyes shone with affliction, she felt a wave of guilt consume her. Didn't she just do the same thing? Didn't she use someone for her own clemency and indulgence? Wasn't she, too, avoiding someone who was obviously into her?
Mikasa had never felt so much disdain for herself, as if she were outside of her own body, watching her make such stupid decisions. Why did she tell him to stay? Why? Because now she felt even worse, set herself back from her own healing. She just wanted to feel better, to release this anguish that was eating at her heart. Why couldn't she free herself from this pain? She never thought it could get worse. But it did. It felt so much worse now.
When class had ended, she left the studio abruptly, shoving herself into her sweatpants and jacket, her face plain and clear of any make-up. Her hair was a pretty mess atop her head, as she adhered several bobby pins to keep her fringe away from her face. Her Skechers squeaked against the smooth surface of the stairs as she walked down, her backpack hanging off one shoulder as she loosely held onto the strap. The passing of other art students was a blur as she focused on the exit, sunlight beaming through the glass doors.
Yet, the instant she descended the final step, she felt fingers clamp onto her wrist.
A familiar hold. Strong, yet gentle. A large hand curled around her slender bone. Warm and soft. A feeling so safe and secure, yet simultaneously threatening and dangerous.
Mikasa felt her heart stop, suffocating within the constricting walls of her chest. Her breath trapped in her throat, unable to release into a soothing exhale. Her whole body became numb, stiff. And her eyes were large, two silvery orbs consumed with a vision that she both dreamed of and never wanted to fucking see again.
Green eyes, trembling a deep, despairing emerald. They were so beautiful yet so ominous she wanted to break down into tears. His hand was still adhered to her wrist, his grip secure yet delicate. Just feeling his skin against her own again sent her into a sensory overload. That her eyes bled from the vision of him, his beauty, his pathetic state. He was always so handsome. Unzipped leather jacket, baggy jeans. He wore a brown and white bandana, his hair pulled away from his face. His skin looked so smooth, as if he had just shaved that morning. And her eyes followed the sharp line of his jaw, the curves of his parted lips. He smelled strongly of cologne, yet he didn't even need to start talking for her to detect the alcohol on his breath.
His grasp felt like fire on her flesh. She wanted to pull away, yet felt frozen in place, locked down by the intensity of his gaze, the hopelessness that seeped mercilessly from his eyes. She could feel the subtle graze of his thumb on the inside of her wrist.
"Mikasa," he stated, a quaver to his tone. She melted at the sound of his voice, and there she felt the butterflies fluttering at the pit of her stomach. How did he always have this effect on her? That for a moment, one sweet, wonderful moment, she forgot about everything. That maybe nothing had gone to shit, that they could go back to the way they were before.
It was so easy to get lost in him, from the tenderness of his hold, the passion dripping from his eyes. She wanted to touch his cheek and feel how smooth his skin was. To experience his warmth against her fingertips. The way his lips separated, so supple and desperate. Being so near to him made her miss him even more. And it fucking hurt.
"Can we talk?"
Somehow she pulled herself back to the realms of reality, that a scowl cursed her face as she yanked her arm away from him. "No," she shot back, her heart suddenly rediscovering its rhythm and pacing profoundly. She could feel the pulse in her head.
But he grabbed both her wrists this time, his hold on her vehement and unrelenting. Grief leaked from his eyes, and it made her solidify in his grasp. "Please," he begged her, and she stumbled when he jerked her hands against his chest. "The last few weeks have been hell for me. I can't stand it anymore."
She felt his heartbeat. Rushed, pattering like an animal trying to claw its way out. But she frowned then, an angry glimmer in her eyes. "How do you think I fucking feel?"
"I know. And I'm so sorry. Baby, please let me explain—"
He had dragged her to a corner, only slightly more secluded. But she didn't care if anyone saw them or heard their conversation. Embers of her rage encompassed her then, sadness and fury holding her captive in unison. She would have given anything to hear him call her baby again. But the beautiful sound that sang from his throat cut her like a knife, that she pulled away from him again from the sharpness of the pain.
"What are you trying to do here, Eren?" she asked him, hugging herself protectively. "Are you trying to make me hurt more? Is that what you want?"
He frowned. "No, of course not. I don't want to hurt you. I love you."
She wanted to scream, desperate to take the knife he had plunged into her chest and free herself from this misery. It was everything she wanted to hear from him. To see him so needy and groveling and forlorn. But right then, she felt cut but the edges of his diction.
"You should have thought of that before you fucked Historia." The gleam in her eyes was menacing, her expression grim and she gave him a solid push. "Or better yet, before you fucked me and made me so goddamn attached to you. It's like you wanted it to fucking hurt as much as possible."
But he was shaking his head, so desperate for her to listen. "No, Mikasa. It was a mistake. A stupid fucking mistake. I messed up. I'm messed up. I want to tell you everything, please let me tell you everything."
It was getting difficult to hold back her tears, but she never wanted him to see her cry again. She would stand her ground, not allow herself to be swayed by his words. But it was so hard, so fucking hard. The way he looked at her, how sweet and haunting his voice spoke the words. She felt herself wanting to hold him, comfort him. To reach over and zip his jacket. The desire to take care of him was overwhelming and made her feel dizzy, that she closed her eyes shut and rubbed at her head.
"I don't want to hear why you fucked her."
A stifled gasp lodged itself in her throat, and her eyes burst open when he clamped his palms onto her shoulders, shoving her closer to him. A breadth of air kept them apart, and she could feel his shattered breathing caress her face as he looked down at her with those miserable, sad eyes. Her fingers curled into fists, and she kept her arms secured at her sides.
"I want you back," he spoke slowly, steadily, tightening his grip on her. "Even if it takes the rest of my life to make it up to you. It would be better than living it without you. Please, Mikasa. Please."
She felt her nails press into her palm, gathering clumps of skin. Every muscle of her body contracted to keep herself from shaking, but she failed. Because as much as she wanted to forgive him, to jump into his arms and take him back as he wanted, she just couldn't. She couldn't look at his face without seeing her. Imagining them together, wondering how he touched her. To feel his embrace again would be a lifelong torment of the visual, a never-ending comparison. She would kill herself wondering. Why be with him if it wouldn't end her pain?
Because she was still just so fucking angry. What he referred to as a mistake was everything to her. Plaguing her mind, her thoughts, making her question her worth, her value. And he thought he could just come back now and she'd so easily take him back?
"You didn't walk me home after class Tuesday night," she said to him quietly. She felt his hold on her shoulders loosen. "Last week, and the week before. You said you would always come to walk me home."
"I'm…I'm sorry," he said, and he seemed to look for a reason he could give to her, but chose to remain silent.
"I thought you would. I really thought you would come. When you didn't is when I gave up on you."
"I—I didn't think you wanted to see me—"
"And what the fuck makes you think I want to now?"
"I know you don't, alright? I know you can't stand me right now. And maybe you did give up on me, but I'm not letting you go. I can't. I just can't." His eyes glittered, as droplets of rain dripping down the leaves and vines of a dying flower.. It was deep, moving. She almost let herself get wrapped up in him and the emotion that evaded his body.
"I love you. I love you so fucking much," he added, and she could taste his words on her tongue. The sweetness turned bitter, the flavor making her feel sick to her stomach.
And she looked at him then. In anger, in heartache. A fire brimming in her belly, her head pulsing and thoughts racing. And she decided she wanted to make him hurt just as badly as she did.
"Maybe we can get back together, Eren," she said to him, her tone flat yet sharp, "now that we're even."
A beat passed, the tension strong and uncomfortable between them. He blinked once, then twice, his expression falling as he released her shoulders. "What?"
Mikasa took in a deep breath, conquering her nerves, shoving clenched fists into the pockets of her jacket. "I said now we're even."
A scowl pressed into his features, his brows slanted and sewn together. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"
Her body quivered as she maintained her stance. "It means I fucked somebody too."
She saw the color leave his face, his tanned hue suddenly becoming very pale. And he gestured with his hands, as if to say something heated towards her, but he stumbled with his words, taken aback by her statement.
"With—with who?"
Maybe it was the suffering in his voice, how hopeless he sounded as he spoke to her. Or perhaps the trembling of his eyes, how tears clutched desperately at his bottom lashes. The way he looked at her, so torn and anguished, hoping with everything inside him that she would take back what she said to him, that it wasn't true. There was something about the way he looked at her, love and pain spilling from his eyes, his heart, his fucking soul.
It made her weaken, relax her posture. Suddenly a gush of guilt and grief engulfed her. And she didn't want to see him hurt anymore. She didn't want to make him hurt.
So she swallowed the dryness gathered in her throat and said the only other name she could think of.
"Armin."
He seemed to exhale fire through his nostrils, a fury she has never seen from him exhuming from his body. He huffed a laugh, in his rage, from the irony, scratching at the fabric wrapped around his head, his eyes shifting focus as he struggled to soak in what she had just told him.
"You…slept with Armin?" he repeated, unbelieving almost, or at least hopeful of it. And she struggled, faltering before nodding slowly.
"Yes."
He exhaled sharply from his nose, shaking his head vigorously. "You told me not to worry about him. That you two were only friends."
Mikasa realized that she had been holding in her breath for a long time, and nearly collapsed when she released it. Dread filled her chest, and she felt unbalanced. Suddenly everything was even worse, but she knew if she had told him the truth it would absolutely destroy him.
"I was lonely. And he was there." A single tear escaped her, making its slow, burning trek down her cheek. She wiped at it quickly with her knuckles, sucking in a muddled breath. At least that part was true.
And she saw the transformation in him them, the rage that seized him. His possessiveness, devotion to her. It was scary to witness, how upset it made him. That even though he cheated on her, the idea of her with another man would send him over the edge like this.
He stood there, dumfounded, for a moment longer, before he walked away, trudging past her swiftly. She didn't expect him to leave so suddenly, and as much as she wanted to feel relieved, it fucking hurt watching him go. Her mind was a jumbled mess, tainted by her pain and emotions. What if she had just taken him back? What if everything went back to normal? What that even possible?
And as she leaned against the wall for support, a flurry of tears fleeing her eyes at once and drenching her face, she wondered to herself, completely vexed, why the hell did she say Armin?
~oOo~
He loved holding her hand. It was so cute and small, her fingers soft, with callouses decorating the tops of her knuckles.
Armin loved when their fingers would loop alongside one another, and he could feel her squeeze back. Sometimes in warning, cautionary, or just because she wanted to. Because despite her fiery personality, she could show affection towards him, too, in her own, hostile sort of way.
He watched as she tipped a cigarette against her mouth, a gentle pucker of her pink lips as she closed her eyes and inhaled. He could see her side profile, the lovely curl of her lashes, the slope of her nose, how her hair fell near her shoulders and framed her face.
When Annie opened her eyes, she released her breath, a gust of smoke dancing around her body as she looked up at him quietly. A gentle chill tickled between them, swaying her hair. Her windbreaker was unzipped, showing the unbuttoned purple and black flannel shirt she wore underneath, long and baggy, covering part of her thighs. Her legs were concealed with black leggings, showcasing the curves her of body and the strong muscles of her front thighs. He noticed one contract as she crossed one foot over the other, the bottoms of her combat boots scuffing against the cement.
She gave him a glance he couldn't really decipher, and she squeezed his hand before taking in another breath from her cigarette. Her hair shimmered a very vibrant neon orange in the sunlight, and he could see honey blonde roots beginning to sprout at the base of her scalp.
"Pieck, what happened between you and that guy on Friday?" she spoke suddenly, tapping ashes from her cigarette. Pieck sat at the bench, her legs spread open, her pleated green skirt pressed down to provide some form of modesty. She squinted her eyes, balancing the cigarette between two fingers as she seemed to sip from it.
"What guy?" she asked dully, hunching her back.
"The one who you obviously went to go fuck in his car."
She squinted harder, as if pondering, her eyes two thin slits. A long quiet moment drifted between them before she finally replied. "What?"
Bertolt chuckled as he leaned against the brick of the building, his arms crossed over his chest. The edges of his jnco jeans brushed against the ground. "She doesn't even fucking remember."
Pieck closed her eyes, relishing in the taste of the tar, oblivious to their words. She had the entire bench to herself, the heels of her oxford shoes lodged into the dirt of the grass. Reiner stood beside Bertolt in a similar stance, wearing a backwards cap and more form fitting light blue denim, a smirk crossing his lips as he inhaled from his cigarette.
"Fucking A, you are such a goddamn slut," Annie mused, a hint of a smile pulling at her lips as she continued to smoke, then eyeing her boyfriend carefully, as if expecting him to chime in. He really should have, Connie was one of his friends, after all. Already their worlds were colliding in a very strange way.
Armin dug his head into his plaid jacket for an extra morsel of warmth, smiling sheepishly. He wasn't smoking today. Annie wouldn't let him. He was kind of starting to like it, too. But perhaps it was better this way. She seemed very intent on keeping him from being influenced from her bad habit. She had told him she had wanted to quit eventually. But today was not the day she was going to try, it seemed.
"You need to quit staring so much," she said to him quietly, almost threateningly. But he only smiled at her, her fingers trickling over hers as he tugged her closer to him.
"Can't help it. I like your face."
She gave him a dull look. "Do I need to sit on it again for you to know how much I like yours?"
A blush curtained his cheeks, and he smiled nervously, shuffling beside her. "If I say yes, will you sit on my face?"
She shrugged casually, balancing the cigarette at the side of her mouth. "I will regardless."
While Annie was unbothered by the conversation, Armin could already feel himself getting worked up. From the warmth that pooled in his belly, the restrictive feeling of his jeans, the hollow flutter he felt in his chest. If he could take her now, he would. And she knew it too. But he stood there, holding her hand, his fingers delved in the hollows of her own, his thumb grazing her skin.
And despite the early November chill, it was a nice day, their bodies embraced by the sun, the gentle traffic of students only a light background noise. Armin didn't realize at that moment that the sharp breeze of cold air that struck them then was actually an ominous warning of what was to come.
"Hey, Armin!"
It was a voice unsettlingly familiar to him, yet the tone was foreign, chaotic. Furious. That when he turned his neck sharply to the sound, he felt Annie secure her grip against his arm, and his eyes consumed half his face when he saw Eren storming towards him.
"What the fuck does he want?" Annie mused, a frown curving her lips. And Armin furrowed his brows in concern as Eren approached him briskly, standing several inches taller than him. But somehow he felt bigger, much taller, a thick grimace painted over his handsome features.
"Eren—"
"Did you sleep with Mikasa?"
The question caught him off guard, and he had to blink several times to adjust to the statement. "What?"
He grunted when he felt Eren shove his chest and then grasp the collar of his jacket. "Did you fuck Mikasa?"
He pushed him off, stepping in front of Annie. "What the hell kind of a question is tha—"
Armin was stunned, stumbling backwards when he felt the blast of force against his skull. His right eye was burning, clamped shut in pain, as Eren shot a livid punch directly to his face, his frenzied aura exhuming from his closed, solid fist.
Annie gasped as she caught him, and it took Armin a good moment before he stopped seeing stars and his sight cleared from the sputtering black splotches, but his vision was still blurred, his flesh pounding in pain.
"What the fuck is your problem—" he tried to counter back, securing his palm against his eye, feeling the awful pulsing of his skin.
And it was a fucking catastrophe then, as Eren continued to cause a scene, everything happening so fast that Armin could barely comprehend it. Eren grabbed at his jacket again, jerking him forward belligerently.
"You fucking touched her, that's my fucking problem."
Reiner and Bertolt surrounded him, pulling Armin back as the much taller men got in Eren's face. But they accomplished nothing then, because Annie intervened. It all happened within a second, but played out in slow motion almost. Armin saw her step between them, shoving an uppercut directly into Eren's stomach as a sharp grunt tickled her throat. The impact of her punch was unexpected, as he coughed and cowered forward. Before he could even assimilate what happened to him, Annie threw her back leg forward, landing a harsh roundhouse kick right in the center of his face.
Armin heard something crack. His nose, jaw? The blow of her boot knocked him backward. And he saw how precise and swift her movement was, as she sprung from the ground, lifting her supporting leg to reach his face.
Bertolt and Reiner sang a wave of sound effects, crushing their hands over their mouths as they watched Eren hit the ground. Pieck sat at the bench, smoking her cigarette, observing the spectacle in vague interest.
Annie's tiny shadow draped his form as she approached him aggressively, and he tried to regain his composure, his eyes shuffling around while a thick stream of blood dripped from his nose. Eren grabbed at his mouth, shifting his jaw and smearing the blood over his chin.
Annie took a kickboxer's stance, tapping her left leg forward, hips squared as her arms guarded her face.
"Hit me, asshole! I fucking dare you."
Bertolt and Reiner had pulled Armin away, supporting him as he struggled to maintain his balance, his head pounding as he watched Annie confront Eren in probably the most bewildering showdown he had ever seen.
"Come on, get up! I stick douches like you up my cunt!"
Eren hesitated to stand, blinking profusely as if to stop the spinning in his head. More blood trickled down his face, and when he huffed a breath, a thick crimson glob oozed over his mouth. He was unbalanced getting to his feet, but Annie didn't hit him again. Instead, she spit out her cigarette, a stream of smoke tracing her body from the ground. She was angry, fucking pissed, throwing her fists down as she moved one step towards him.
"You fuck with Armin again and you'll have to deal with me. If you think that hurt you have no idea what else I can do to you," she fired at him, pointing a slender finger at him stiffly. "I don't know what your fucking problem is, but Armin didn't sleep with Mikasa—who fucking hates you, by the way."
When he didn't answer back, she continued, her brows pressed together in a scowl. "And you should thank god she didn't, because Armin is a fantastic lay. She would have forgotten all about your sorry ass."
Armin could feel even more redness scorch his face, his eye fucking on fire now as he felt Reiner slap a palm to his back, Bertolt shaking his shoulder aggressively as they cheered for him. He didn't know if he should smile and feel proud? Embarrassed? Humbled? Annie looked even smaller next to Eren, but her confidence and strength made her seem much bigger than she actually was.
Eren was still dazed and confounded by the blow, looking between Annie and Armin with frantic eyes, blood creasing at the corner of his mouth. He looked down at his fist, now unraveled and shaking, as if he didn't believe the violence that had emerged from him.
"Mikasa said it, she told me, she said she—" He was stuttering, unable to form a complete thought. But it was obvious what he was trying to say, and it left Armin floored.
"Well, she fucking lied," Annie spat, elongating the last word. "Unlike you, Armin isn't a fucking prick. And I swear to god, you better not touch him again."
Eren seemed flustered, confused. Dismayed. It was painful watching him like this. And it felt odd to Armin how he could pity the guy who just fucking punched him in the face. When he turned around to walk away, he clamped his palm against his wrecked jaw, his posture weak. Annie faltered for a moment, her fingers curling into small, compact fists.
"Hey, Eren!"
He stopped, but didn't turn to face her.
"Just because Mikasa didn't sleep with Armin," she began, her voice heavy and furious as her expression darkened to a grimace , "doesn't mean she didn't fuck Jean."
Armin saw the snap of his neck, how haunting his side profile seemed then. The anger that evaded his eyes was daunting, how his upper lip twitched, the heaviness of his exhale. Both his hands gathered into fists, his posture lifting. And yet, at the same time, he looked as if he had been struck with a bullet to the heart, the anguish that spilled from his body, shimmering pools of dark green in his irises. He looked so defeated, absolutely fucking crushed, that he walked away rather slowly, his gaze shot downward.
Annie seemed a bit taken aback by his reaction, her stance loosening as if she questioned herself and the cruelty of her words. But she regained focused quickly then, going to Armin and cupping his face in her hands.
"Fuck, are you alright?" she asked him hastily, clenching his cheeks. He tried to smile, but it really fucking hurt.
"I'm fine, don't worry about me." But she frowned at his words, her eyes darting between Reiner and Bertolt.
"Don't you assholes just fucking stand there, go find him an icepack."
The two of them scuffled in a brief panic before walking away towards their assigned task, while Annie slipped her arms around his waist, leading him to the bench. Pieck sat there in the same position staring down at the grass that speckled the ground, taking deep inhalations of the cigarette held loosely in her hand,
When she felt their shadows, she looked up bleakly, tilting her head with squinted eyes as if she were looking directly at the sun. "Shit," she quipped, sipping more smoke into her lungs. "Armin got fucked up."
Annie took in a deep breath, probably to control her anger, her embrace solid against him. "Get the fuck out of here, Pieck. Be useful and get him some ice."
She allowed her cigarette to drop to the ground, and she pressed the ball of her shoe against the burning butt, ceasing the steady stream of smoke. She extended an erect palm towards them and sighed. "Alright stop, collaborate and listen. Ice is back with my brand-new invention."
Then she stood, her skirt wrinkled and hiked up, her tie loose and nearly undone. As the wind blew past them, her hair was too tangled to move against the breeze. "There, I gave you some fucking ice. Peace out."
As she walked away, Armin stared after her for a moment, a bit dumbfounded. Eventually none of this was going to surprise him anymore. Annie seemed unfazed by her friend's response, if only slightly annoyed. She forced him to sit on the bench beside her, facing towards him as she inspected his face.
Her fingers compressed his cheeks, and he could feel the pressure against his teeth, as she licked her lips before sucking them in. When she caressed the hammered area by his eyes, her touch was uncharacteristically gentle and tender, and he winced from the contact. She frowned.
"Damn, it's already starting to swell."
"It's really not that bad," he tried to ease her. "I'm more worried about you. I hope you didn't hurt yourself."
She seemed amused by his concern however, a generous roll to her eyes as she rested her palm against his cheek and kept it there. "Don't worry. His head isn't as hard as it looks." When he placed his hand over hers and relaxed into her touch, she sighed.
"I guess this was god's way to get me to admit I like that pretty boy face of yours." She failed at concealing her smile, and he was glad. Annie had such a pretty smile. It made her eyes brighten up even more, and a cute dimple pressed just below her mouth. Her palm felt so warm against his cheek. He moved it slightly so he could kiss the inside of her wrist.
She inhaled sharply when he hiked her leg onto his lap, gently clamping his hand over her ankle, dipping into her boot.
"I don't want you hurting your joints," he clarified, his thumb kneading at the circumference of the petite bone. "Especially right before your big fight."
She huffed an amused breath. "You're not going."
"But I am, I'll be cheering you on with my new shiny black eye."
She gave him a look then he hadn't quite yet seen from her. A hint of a smile, something sexy yet loving glistening in her eyes. And she pulled his face down towards her, kissing his mouth in a series of short, fluid motions. He smiled against her lips, his hands slipping inside her jacket, circling her waist as he pressed her closer to him.
He loved the taste of her mouth, her saliva warm and dribbling over his lips. She tasted like warm, supple flesh, and her light fruity scent caressed his senses. He wouldn't mind being punched in the face more often if it meant getting this kind of attention from her.
He squirmed on the seat when she planted several wet kisses down his neck, his hand sliding to the low of her back.
"I could have taken him, you know." A smile automatically crept on his face as soon as the words left his mouth. He felt her teeth graze his skin.
"Shut the fuck up, Armin."
~oOo~
Eren grasped the edges of the sink, the porcelain surface cooling his heated palms as he glared at his reflection. He stood there shirtless, a layer of sweat glistening on his skin. The bandana felt so tight around his pounding head, but he kept it there. The sound of the faucet echoed in the bathroom, the stream thick and steady. Gathering water into his palms, he splashed at his face, diluted blood emptying into the drain.
He clenched at his jaw, then pressed against his nose. Though painful, nothing seemed to be broken. That little lunatic (whoever she was) had really fucked him up. Did Armin have a girlfriend now? She seemed very protective of him. It would have been cute if she didn't sock him square in the fucking jaw.
He felt the bulge of his biceps as he gripped the sink, his body tense and quavering. He didn't know what he was thinking when he decided to find Mikasa and beg her to take him back. He figured the strong and obvious possibility that she would reject him. But sleeping with someone else? That sent his mind boiling into a rage he never knew he was capable of.
She had lied and said it was Armin, perhaps to soften the blow? Because she still cared about him? And he wished it was fucking Armin. Nice, goody two shoes, harmless Armin. And not motherfucking asshat Jean.
Was this shit some divine prank? Was it high school all over again? Why was this fucker still hovering around and interfering in his life? He looked down at his hand, fresh cuts still pressed into his skin from the bottle that broke in his hand Friday night.
Just seeing them together was enough to fuck with his head. Watching her, looking so good and so fucking beautiful, walking beside that dickwad, who always drove a Toyota Camry to school like a such a tool bag. And now thinking of him touching her, his fucking hands on her body, his filthy mouth, his eyes taking in the vision of her beauty.
Eren swore he would gouge Jean's eyes out. He would fucking kill him for looking at her, having her the way only he was allowed to. It didn't matter if he and Mikasa were broken up for ten years. He didn't want anyone else fucking her, touching her, kissing her. Even holding her fucking hand. Declare him the biggest asshole on the planet, he didn't care. Because he loved her and wanted her, no matter how much it hurt, how much she reminded him of his mom.
Why was he so fucked up like this? Didn't he purposely sabotage the best thing that happened to him? Wasn't this what he fucking wanted? He stumbled from the bathroom into his room, finding the scotch on his desk. He ignored the glass and drank straight from the bottle, throwing his head back as he took a heavy swig. He felt the liquid sting his throat, until a soothing warmth engulfed his abdomen.
Swallowing another gulp, he winced from the flavor, his eyes shutting as he leaned onto the desk for support. His palms pressed flat against the surface, and he felt a splinter pierce into his skin. Slowly, his thoughts began to spin less, more just sauntering, painful reminders. When he opened his eyes, his vision was foggy, but he could make out the bed and stumbled towards it.
He laid down stomach first, his cheek sinking into the pillow, his eyelids heavy. He envisioned her next to him. Even the fucking dog between them, too. How wonderful it felt, as if they were a little family. Everything about her was still so fresh in his mind, the rosy scent of her hair, her sweet perfume. The softness of her skin, how she would gush between her legs whenever he would touch her breasts, rubbing her knees together, his name spilling from her mouth like a beautiful song.
Her laughter, her smile. Black hair, puckering lips. Pink tipped breasts. It's too cold for you not to zip up your jacket.
I miss you already and I hope you're having a really nice day.
Call me when you feel better.
I love you.
Zip up your jacket.
I love you.
Tears spilled from his eyes, without caution, one after the other. Drenching his cheeks, his pillow. Trickling over the edge of his jaw and down his neck. He wished he could undo the damage he caused, the pain he inflicted on her. He should have told her what happened to him, to his mother. He should have gone to the cemetery that day. Asked her to come with him.
What would his mother think seeing him behave this way? Refusing to visit her because it just hurst so damn much. Treating the people he claimed to love with such disregard.
I'm glad your mom is fucking dead. Because she would be disgusted to see the shit person you are now.
He felt the sharp edges of each individual word, slicing at his flesh, straight into his heart. And all he wanted right then was for Mikasa to lie beside him, holding his hand as the dog slept by her feet.
It's okay, baby. It's going to be okay.