Dancing with Eren, even the first time, came naturally to me; he was taller, I was older, we were strangers, but still I loved the weight of his hands on my skin, the movement of his body in time with mine, even the thankfulness in his eyes that was, I had thought, an automatic for everyone. It had been at a festival meant to commemorate the death of the queen, and while he tried, again and again, the art of dance eluded him with a terrible vengeance. I can still remember the way frustration coloured his face, the way anger pulled his jaw, because while he had a good sense of balance, strong rhythm, direction, even timing, simple movement that demanded careful footwork under the guiding hand of classical music seemed, at that time, downright impossible for him. People watched, a few even laughed, but no one had the nerve to approach him. As a child, I didn't understand why; ignorance made me fearless, even in the presence of the prince.

"Don't look so sad," I had said to him, offering out my hand in its stained, off-white glove. "We can dance together. I know the steps."

There were soldiers all around me, waiting for some signal that I meant to strike, but in my eyes I saw only Eren, only his pain, and while my gesture was small, I could tell it brightened his heart. "Show me," he had replied, getting to his feet. "Show me the dance."

Perhaps he had been tricked before, and that explained his caution; maybe he truly thought I was lying, that my intention was malicious and twisted; or maybe he just refused to believe a homeless orphan could dance before the statue of his mother with exactly the grace and elegance he thought she deserved. Whatever the truth, I danced with my heart on my sleeve, twirling and spinning around all on my own, knowing the movements like I knew the seasons, knowing the steps like I would come to know every line and scar on his face.

He stopped me before the music ended, taking my hand, touching my waist. "Teach me," he whispered. "I want to learn how to dance like you. I want to learn how to smile like you can."

I didn't think anything of it then, not why he was alone, not why he had agreed, and not why he would use similar words when he later came to find me after the festival was over. At the time all that mattered was taking him around the courtyard, telling him jokes when he stepped on my toes, laughing when he had nothing to say, and sharing with him the story of my life, the pieces that were happy and full of colour, the books I had read, I songs I could sing, even the silly old maps I could draw from memory. We were children and this was the only happiness I knew; this was the only happiness that counted.

/

I woke up to this memory the morning of Eren's coronation, his place in the bed beside me both cold and empty. He had dressed early, somehow managing to slip from my arms without waking me, and already I knew he was preparing for the crowning, pacing somewhere in a long, dark corridor, last minute notes stuffed up his sleeves with encouragements scrawled hastily along the sides. I had wanted to see him off, but perhaps it was better this way; I ate breakfast alone, his place at the table abandoned like a forgotten toy.

I ran into Mikasa just as the rest of the court was being ushered into the throne room, her red scarf too distinctive to miss. She smiled, as much as she could I suppose, but neither of us could hide the toll today would take on us. There would feasts and music and dancing, there would be speeches and tournaments and games, there would be performances and shows and who knew whatever else, all of which would require full attendance and full attention. Maybe there were people in the world who loved that, but for us we could only brace for the worst.

Of Eren's actual crowning I remember little, but the roses I remember best-the roses that decorated the podium, lined the steps, curled around the arms of his chair; the roses that hung from the ceiling, littered the isle, filled the windows; the roses that tangled in the sun, danced in the breeze, the roses with heart-shaped petals that fell softly to the earth like autumn leaves. They were the splendor of the occasion, loud and gentle and wild and soft; they were the glory of the morning, elegant and poised as only the stars could match.

Eren had stood alone at the front of the room, amidst the cheering and shouting and clapping and enthusiasm, but between us it felt like the room was empty, him and me in a sea of red and green. Somewhere in this expanse there was a single white rose, meant to bring good luck and good karma; like this moment it was hidden and fleeting, but of course still there for any with the skill and patience to find it.

/

Eren's first dance was supposed to be with Mikasa, as was tradition, but the hour drew fast and close without me ever seeing her again. After one of the events, the archery contest perhaps, she had just disappeared, the crowd swallowing her whole before I could so much as think to call out her name. Now, with the shadows dropping in through the windows, night crawling wicked and teasing along the streets, I realized she really had no intention of showing up.

Someone needed to tell Eren, someone aware enough to notice his sister's absence, but as the ballroom started filling up, colorful bodies squeezing into anywhere there was space, I knew that person would have to be me. Pushing forward proved to be impossible, however, my short, thin frame easily kept back from advancing through the crowd, so I took a back hallway instead.

The route I used was poorly lit-it was meant for servants, so I don't know what I was expecting-so emerging again into the ballroom almost blinded me. Eren noticed and laughed, coming up to wrap his hands around my neck out of sight from the people waiting below the balcony.

"What are you doing up here?" He asked, nodding to the guards that had let me in. "Shouldn't you be waiting with everyone else, reveling in my majesty?"

I rolled my eyes. "Very funny," I replied, taking a moment to nudge rogue hairs out of his face; realizing my fingers were lingering, I dropped my hand. "I just...Mikasa isn't coming."

There was a glimmer of surprise in Eren's eyes, followed quickly by confusion. "What do you mean?" He demanded, more resigned then angry. "She agreed to do this. She said-"

"I know, I know," I cut in, hating having to interrupt him. "But there's no time to wonder about that now. You just need to pick someone else to dance with, maybe one if your suitors." I hesitated a split second before adding, "maybe King Erwin. He's probably your best choice."

But even as I was talking, even before I had gotten through more than a few words, I knew he had made his decision. I still remember wondering, did he already have a favorite, so soon into all this? Was there really someone else who could so quickly steal his heart? I should have been ashamed to think so.

Eren eventually voiced his thoughts, but instead of the cheeky, almost playful way he most often resorted to, there was instead a complete seriousness in his eyes. "Dance with me, Armin," he whispered, cradling my hands in both of his. "Do me the honor. Dance with me."

I had no words, no words at all. This was beyond me, this gesture too grand, too unbelievable. This was a dance meant for royals, meant to symbolize the newly crowned prince's most respected companion; even with that aside, there was still a room behind me full of people leaps and bounds more important than me, a room full of people who would judge me, judge him, judge this, and he still...

Eren leaned forward and kissed me gently on the forehead, knowing my speechlessness was a breathless yes. "I'll see you soon," he murmured, turning sharply back to the balcony in an effort to hide his amusement. He adjusted the run of his collar, fixed his suit cuffs, then shot me a quick look over my shoulder. His eyes seemed to say something, something sweet and warm and comfortable, but then he was gone.

/

I wasn't ready for him, when he finally offered me his hand, when the room went quiet and the eyes started to turn, when the music lulled and the air turned to smoke. The weight of the moment became too much, the emotions running through my veins too paralyzing, but Eren just...waited.

His patience made this feel real, and despite my fear, unease, and disbelief, I stepped forward quickly to meet him. I moved one hand to his shoulder, the other into his fingers; he squeezed back gently, his free hand dropping to my waist.

As we waited for the orchestra to pick up again, Eren kept his eyes on the crowd. "Don't look at them," he whispered, feeling the tension in my side where his fingers rested against the thin fabric. "Just keep your eyes on me."

Watching the crowd had proved impossible, but this was far from a good alternative; Eren was beautiful, and strong, and was suddenly the perfect mix of the best friend I loved and the prince he needed to be. To have them both in my arms, the glory of his pride but the kindness of his heart...I was undone.

Leaning forward a little, into his chest, I hid my smile, hid my face. "I'm not nervous," I whispered back to him. "I'm just worried you won't remember all the steps. This was the very first dance we learned together, do you remember?"

For a moment I feared he wouldn't, the memory either too old or buried in too much pain; instead, he laughed, warm and genuine, and pressed his lips to my hair so no one would see. "I'll never forget," he said, "that was the day I realized I needed you in my life."

I must have flushed, I must have, but I remember only the searing heat that flashed up my spine. Thankfully, thankfully, I managed to bury my embarrassment behind my concentration as we started dancing, the classical melody demanding movement and keeping attention away from my surely reddening face.

The song didn't last long enough; I breathed once, in and out, and suddenly it was over. There was a few seconds of polite clapping, as I expected there would be, but then there was a desperate clamor between everyone who wanted to take my place, a frantic yet restrained push forward that all but devoured me. Eren had only enough time to ask me to stay, to tell me we'd dance again, before turning to his collection of suitors and allowing one to take his hand.

I lost track of time after that, between dancing briefly with Eren and then losing him to someone else, but the night seemed endless and he always came back for me. After the third or fourth dance, however, some of his suitors began to realize the degree to which I monopolized Eren's time; they were courteous, to their credit, but it soon became clear what they were really after.

I found relief from them only by hiding out between dances among the waiting staff, my dark suit looking similar enough to theirs that I blended in with ease. The servants were kind to me-they'd always been-so when this tactic stopped working they offered me things to do, hiding me behind trays of food and wine that left me open for conversation only long enough to say hello.

Until, that is, I found someone worth a little more than that.

"You look busy," the prince of Trost said with a laugh, accepting one of my offered drinks. "Having fun?"

"It keeps me from socializing," I admitted, appreciating his humour more than I could understand. He laughed again.

"I can sympathize. You wouldn't believe some of the windbags in here, won't shut up for hours." At that he quickly looked over his shoulder, as if afraid someone was close enough to overhear him-the gesture was comical, though, overdone and accompanied by an expression that did little to feign seriousness. I found myself smiling, despite being on guard; he wasn't the first suitor to precede an interrogation with jokes.

It was because of that apprehension that I refused the seat beside him when he offered, although he surprised me by not insisting on it. In fact, as the conversation progressed, it quickly became clear his interest in me held no ulterior motive, nothing outside genuine curiosity and friendliness. It was...it was actually really nice, spending time with him.

There was something about Jean, something that felt honest and trustworthy and authentic. I'm not sure what it was, his eyes, his mannerisms, his nonchalance, but whatever it was…I kind of liked it, so much so that when he asked me to dance I actually considered it.

"I promise not to step on your toes," he said, getting to his feet and offering me his hand. His smile was so easy, so good-natured, so unlike the intensity I had first seen in his eyes, the seriousness I was once so sure defined his face.

Although I felt a little strange about it, I realized very quickly that I had no intention of turning down his request. I convinced myself, however, that I was agreeing because it made sense, because it would protect me from the other suitors for a while and allow me to stay close Eren; I was not, despite the nagging feeling at the back of my mind, agreeing for any other reason. Besides, surely I could handle one dance with a handsome stranger who hoped to marry my best friend—surely I could stand to have a little bit of fun tonight.

Jean, as it turned, how no idea how to dance. "I was so sure I knew this song," he stammered, all but tripping over himself in an effort to keep up with the rhythm of the music. "I swear I'm usually better than this."

Maybe I should have minded, but honestly I could hardly keep myself from laughing. His effort, even in the face of his inability, was really endearing, and his embarrassment turned him quickly from the suave, flirtatious Jean I had known from the past twenty minutes into the awkward, almost sheepish Jean I now had in my arms. "Just follow my lead," I said, switching positions with him so I had my one hand at his hip. "I'll show you the steps."

He was an all-to-willing partner, mimicking my movements the best he could manage until he fell out of time and ended up scrambling to avoid my toes. In-between his struggles he joked almost nonstop, trying to mask his embarrassment behind the tears he brought to my eyes. I can't remember it at all, I don't know when it happened, or how, or why, but suddenly I felt like I was having the time of my life, laughing like we were the only two people in the room, caught up with the pacing of the music, the sound of his voice, and the rush of my heart as it beat against my chest, happy and full of light like it hadn't been in a long time.

Eventually, though, the song ended, and we were left basically where we started save for the breathlessness that had overtaken both of us. There was a short lull in the music, perhaps in preparation for the next song, so I took the opportunity to step away from Jean, fidgeting a little under the strain of trying to find a way to thank him for dancing with me.

Although I expected he was about to do the same, he surprised me again by saying instead, "Oh, I actually know this song." He turned his head towards the orchestra, nodding along with the slow and harmonic melody that was now floating across the room. He didn't need to say it; I sensed the implication.

"I think one is enough for me," I managed after a moment, hoping I didn't sound rude or ungrateful. Maybe I hadn't tried hard enough, because his face fell almost immediately. "I had a lot of fun, though," I added quickly, ducking my head. "Thank you for that."

When I found the courage to look back up at him, Jean had his hand on the back of his head and his eyes were on the other dancers. "Man," he said, sounding quite wistful, "if I had known I would only get one dance with you, I would have saved my one dance for this."

Whether or not that sentiment was true, it was still quite heartwarming; no one had ever said anything like that to me before, outside of Eren.

"Well, if you're going to talk like that, I suppose I can fight off exhaustion for one more dance."

Oh, his smile was something to behold; in truth, it made my heart ache, knowing I could affect someone I hardly knew like this. I sensed, inherently, that I should not be so swayed by this man, that surely he meant at some point to ask me all about Eren, but for the moment I enjoyed the attention, even if I believed it was feigned, at least somewhat.

"I promise I actually know this one," he said, taking me into his arms again. "I'll show you what I can do."

/

I couldn't have said I was terribly surprised, but one more dance became two more dances, then another, and then another. The night seemed to slip through our fingers, the melody of a dozen songs bringing us together again and again. And for a long while, I was happy; I could forget my pain, the dark tendrils of cold flame that wormed deep in my soul; I could forget and it was wonderful.

Jean ended up being nothing like I had first expected. While there was still a determination to him, a strength and courage and bravery, there was also a softness, a caution. He wore his heart on his sleeve, no buffer at all between his emotions and his expressions, and spending time with him was refreshing if nothing else. By the end of the night we felt almost comfortable, stories of childhood shared between us, whispers of hopes and dreams tangled in the looseness of Champagne. I didn't know what we had, and I didn't need to know—for one night, it was all I could have ever wanted.

Eventually Eren caught up to us, my face flush with laughter and alcohol, and he touched my shoulder with just enough force to silently demand all of my attention. "You'll have to excuse me," he said to Jean, eyeing him with a steeled expression I wasn't used to see on his face. "But could I perhaps borrow your dance partner for a little while?"

Immediately Jean stepped away from me, making no effort at all to offer resistance—not that he had any reason to. "Of course," he said, returning Eren's stare without flinching. "I can see why you like him-he's an excellent dancer-but not to boast, I'm not terrible myself."

And there it was, so quick I almost didn't catch it. Jean had made his subtle move on Eren, reminding me with shocking violence of the reason he was here in the first place. Of course he was here for Eren, of course he had used me to get to him. Of course. Of course.

/

After my last dance with Eren, I decided I had finally had enough and went to find my jacket before turning in. It was late, well past midnight, but most of the guests would probably linger until dawn, or in the very least until Eren announced he was going to bed. A few seemed inclined to believe my departure preceded Eren's, but a quick word of assurance sent them right back to the dance floor.

I was tired, so tired it took me substantially longer than it should have to find my jacket again. I had slung it against the back of a chair, but after sifting through an uncoordinated mess of them I finally found it nowhere close to where I remembered having left it. I was about to toss it haphazardly over my arm when something caught my eye, and turning it over…

There, hanging in the topmost button hole, was a single white rose, the very same white rose I was certain was now absent from the throne room. Someone must have gone back to find it, and for whatever reason, selfish or otherwise, they had given it to me; I held it close, feeling the brush of sweet honey, spring rain, and velvet against my nose.

It was beautiful, but I did not deserve it; without thinking, about who or what or why or how, I brought the petals gently to my lips before leaving the flower behind on one of the satin-covered chairs. To this day I can still remember how beautiful I thought it was, but I knew, even then, that it had to have been a mistake.