"Eren," Mikasa's hair fell in front of her eyes, "We need to get that seen to. Armin, is there a nurse's room or something here?"

Mikasa was looking at Armin expectantly. He was expected to say something, but if he was honest, he wasn't sure the little room next to the office that he'd used back in his second year was something Eren would like- if it was even open at this time of day. He looked at his watch. Twenty minutes, already, since the school day had ended.

"Um…" Armin couldn't quite tear his eyes away from Eren's wrist, but forced himself too in order to open his rucksack. "I… Ahem," he cleared his throat and lowered the tone of his voice, masking his upset the best he could, "I… Er, Eren, you don't like that sort of stuff, I mean… People. Um. It's just…" He found what he was looking for, buried deep in the inside pocket of his bag. Thankfully, he'd not had to use it for a few years. "I have this, if it's easier."

Eren and Mikasa both looked somewhat surprised to see him holding up a first aid kit. With his free hand, Eren lunged for his own bag, taking out one of his notepads. Armin flinched as he ripped out the back page, and it became obvious what was happening once Mikasa shoved a pen in front of Eren's nose, which he took without thanks.

Armin could read upside-down as he wrote. Why have you got one of those?

Eren held the paper up, and Armin took a moment to appreciate how well his scribbly handwriting seemed to represent this messy-haired contradiction sat in front of him.

"Um," Armin began, blushing a little more, "It don't really need it anymore, it's just… I don't know, when I was younger I got pushed around for being… Well, me."

Eren was writing again. Give me their names and they won't bother you again he held up, a shy but cheeky grin spreading across his lips.

"Ah… No, I think they had to re-sit the year too many times and dropped out. Or at least, one of them did. Um… Anyway, Mikasa will be angry if I let you get into any more fights," he giggled nervously under the gaze of the girl in question. Eren was holding his gaze now, which was strange. He'd been avoiding it before.

Eren definitely had heterochromia, and Armin couldn't help but find this beautiful.

"Uh… I-I guess you probably want Mikasa to do this?"

Eren shook his head, not as sure as before. There was a moment in which Mikasa's eyes flashed dangerously, before she seemed to acquiesce, moving out of the way so Armin could shuffle next to Eren, not daring to look up from breaking open the clasp of the first aid box as he realised he could smell Eren's deodorant.

On Monday morning, Jean would still be upset with him for having called him a douchebag, and Armin would apologise, before explaining that he still meant it because "Jean, you idiot, Eren's got selective mutism and you yelled at him about it.". Jean would wear that guilty expression of his that Armin had once found somewhat endearing, before muttering some English swear words to himself and asking Armin what he should do to make it up. At no point, would Armin mention how close he had been to Eren Jaeger: how he had felt him tense up as Armin took his wrist before slowly, slowly, slowly trusting him and loosening into Armin's gentle grip; how he could feel Eren's breath on his fringe as he dabbed at the cuts with non-alcoholic wipes; and how he felt tested, somehow, through his endurance in not crying as Eren scribbled an apology with his spare hand and Mikasa watched on like a hawk.

Armin had been in love before. It had mostly been with boys, but then it wasn't as if gender really mattered- not once he realised that being in love with boys made things a lot easier, as he could do many more things with them before having to be straight up with them and other people about what their relationship really consisted of. People asked questions when he hung round Sasha's one Sunday to play video games, but no one seemed to bat an eyelid when he woke up in Jean's bed with a hangover (though then, someone had spiked his drink the night before, so it was somewhat excusable, even if he did enjoy Jean's peaceful sleeping face for upwards of half an hour.). He liked to think he had himself pretty sussed out when it came to being in love, and there was no ambiguity now as to how Eren was making him feel.

That said, he'd never been this uncomfortable with being in love before.

He wrapped the bandage round three times, loose enough to fit two fingers under, but tight enough that it didn't move about. He wondered about asking Eren not to hurt himself again, but it was arrogant of him to assume his opinion meant anything to this boy. Besides, he'd already been accommodating enough to put himself into an uncomfortable situation in order to make Armin feel useful and validated.

"Done," he said, looking up, and Eren was writing something again.

Do you want to go for something to eat?

"Oh! I…" Armin dared look at Mikasa, but, for once, she didn't seem to be paying attention. Perhaps she was tired.

Eren was still waiting for his answer. On the one hand, maybe he should give Eren his space, so he could talk to Mikasa freely- well, he assumed he could talk to her. Then again, it was Eren who was offering, with his apologetic grin and crumpled piece of paper.

"Do you guys… um… not need to get back?"

"We walk, like you," Mikasa deadpanned.

"W-Wait, how do you know that I-"

"We go the same way. It's an apartment on the corner, 3rd floor, right?"

Armin had always though Jean was a good judge of character, even if he himself was a little rough round the edges, but perhaps Mikasa had been an exception. "About the food, I think…" he began, but was given no opportunity to finish, as Eren caught hold of the sleeve of his jacket between his forefinger and thumb, stopping Armin from heading back up the corridor.

"Eren…?"

It was only then, as he'd placed his judgements on the pair, that they both subverted them. Eren looked somewhat hurt that Armin was going to leave, despite the fact that so far, Armin had been thinking that he was making Eren uncomfortable. That, and in the same moment, Mikasa held up her wallet.

"I'll pay."

Eren pointed at Armin, as if to say ha!, while Armin's cheeks tinged themselves pink, partially with embarrassment that Mikasa thought he couldn't afford it (well… he couldn't, not really) and partially because they were both being so nice to him, even though he'd not done or said anything special.

When his mum returned from work later, around eight, he wouldn't tell her where he'd been. Not because she would mind, but because he wasn't sure she'd believe that her son, whose skin was slightly too pale to be healthy thanks to his tendency to have no reason to go outside other than for errands and school, would end up eating a Subway sandwich on the embankment, watching the lights of Berlin illuminate one by one as dusk fell.

Mikasa had indeed paid. Armin had stood by awkwardly, watching his fingers on the glass of the cabinet as his face burned with humiliation for having left his wallet at home. He now owed Mikasa in more ways than one.

"How do you know what Eren wants?" Armin had asked, and Mikasa just flicked her fringe at him.

"He always has the same thing. And picks out the cucumber."

Eren did pick out the cucumber. There had been a whole five slices, which seemed a bit unfortunate as each one he picked out made his sandwich fall apart even more, oozing chilli sauce on his skinny fingers. He licked his thumb as he flung a cucumber frisbee at a plump looking pigeon, which pecked at it experimentally, before deciding it didn't suite its tastes and bobbing off towards the next bench: where a loud English couple sat sharing a Currywurst.

For the most part, they sat in silence. Armin wasn't sure what to say. He wasn't sure if the silence was heavy, or if it was natural to Eren and Mikasa. Either way, he envisaged a number of different conversations, all of which took different turns. It was part of the way he was that he would imagine Eren running off to chase the birds and irritate pensioners with his wild movements and scuffed trainers. Mikasa and Armin would watch, and Armin would ask Mikasa how she felt, and, without looking away from Eren taking a picture of the clouds on his phone, she would reply that she was sad, but content. In his head, her smile said exactly the same thing as she said, even though the Mikasa in the real world looked as if she were lost- not in thought, just in the empty corridors of her own musing.

He liked to think back to that first meeting a lot. At that point, Eren seemed easy to understand, and Mikasa seemed rational. Not to mention, he could leave so many questions unasked- where were they from, what was their family like, were they related, what made Eren hate himself so badly and what made Mikasa seem as if she were retreating into her own melancholy stare when she thought people weren't looking- without it tearing him apart at night.

By the time Eren had finished with his sandwich, the streetlights had come on, and Armin was regretting not having worn a jacket.