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Chapter Text

560 Days Before the Rumbling

“You have no chance with her, dude.”

Armin looks up from his ledger, his bubble of peace disturbed by Connie practically shoving Jean into the seat next to him.

“Oh, come on,” Jean grumbles in response. “It’s not even that serious. I don’t need your commentary.”

The library of the military’s headquarters in Stohess District had been quiet, save for the occasional scratch of Armin’s pen. He had been redoing some tables related to the Scouts’ finances for the past half hour. Not because anyone had asked him to, but because the formatting was a mess and it would bother him until it was fixed. But now…

Connie sits across from Armin, sporting a wide grin. His collar is askew, and his tie hangs loose like he’d fought it and won. “Armin, do you think Jean has a chance with—” He mouths her name: Emilia? 

“Oh, for the love of…hush. People can hear you.” Jean puts his head in his hands. The ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner is louder than their voices, at least for now. “It was a joke, Connie, I’m not going to ask her out.”

Armin doesn’t look up right away. He finishes the row he was filling out and then leans back slightly in his chair. The winter sunlight filtering in through the tall, ornate windows warms his chest.

“Ask her out to what? A duel?” Armin says, a smile playing at his lips.

Jean groans. “Not you, too.”

“Come on, let’s strategize.” Connie rubs his hands together conspiratorially like a fly. “Jean here is gonna need all the help he can get.”

Jean shrugs, like it isn’t a big deal, like he hadn’t been mulling it over for the past week, which Armin knows because he can read Jean better than any book in the library.

“First of all,” Connie says, “she’s out of your league.”

Jean rolls his eyes, drumming his fingers on the mahogany table. “Again, it’s not that serious. I’m not gonna do it.”

Connie ignores him. He’s enjoying this way too much. “But, there are ways to spin this. She’s a noble’s daughter, sure, but who says you can’t be her knight in shining armor?”

“It’s not like I’m proposing,” Jean mutters. “Just thinking of asking her to go with me to Mikasa’s surprise party.”

“She already hangs out with you, man,” Connie says. This much is true. Emilia had quickly become an auxiliary member of the Jean-Sasha-Connie trio after transferring from the MPs to the Scouts ten months prior. “You’ve got to turn on the charisma, make it clear that you’re into her.”

“I think you should do it,” Armin says, finally weighing in. Jean and Connie both turn to him as he speaks, his voice even and neutral. “If you ask her seriously, she’ll take it seriously.” 

“You really think I should?” Jean asks. He fiddles with a loose thread on the upholstery of his chair. “You don’t think she’s gonna laugh in my face or anything?”

Armin shrugs, eyes dropping to the ledger again. “If you want to ask her, ask her. I don’t know her as well as you do,” he clarifies, “but I really don’t think she’ll laugh at you.” She isn’t that type of person, Armin thinks. He hasn’t talked to Emilia very much one-on-one, but he’s paid attention to her. She’s just…in the room a lot. She’s loud when she’s with friends, but not in a grating way. It’s something else. Performed, maybe, like she knows how she comes across and is tired of explaining otherwise. But that’s not any of Armin’s business. He sticks to his lane, and that isn’t his lane.

Jean sighs and bounces his leg nervously. “I just don’t want to like, ruin our friendship by being weird.”

“What we need is more intel about how she feels,” Connie says, grinning mischievously. His chair creaks as he leans across the table.

“Absolutely not. You are not subtle, Connie,” Jean says, pointing.

Armin realizes that he’s been doodling in the corner of the page absentmindedly and erases the grey square he’d drawn. “I could try.”

“Really? You’d do that?” Jean asks.

Armin shrugs. “Yeah, why not? She spends a lot of time in here, actually. I can definitely chat with her for you.”

Jean nods and claps Armin on the shoulder. “Okay, just…don’t be too obvious about it.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Jean,” Armin replies. And thus, the plan is set in motion.

Chapter Text

559 Days Before the Rumbling

Emilia perches at the edge of her bed, tugging at the laces of her shoe. She winces. Too tight. She loosens it again and exhales through her nose, satisfied at last.

“What are you even doing?” Klara, her roommate, asks from across the room. She’s upside down on her bed with her legs slung up against the wall like a bored cat. “You’ve been tying and untying that shoe for the last five minutes.”

Emilia doesn’t answer right away, instead focusing on sloppily tightening her hair into a bun. She scrunches her nose, imagining how her mother would gasp at the lack of discipline in the style. “I’m going to the library,” she says, like it’s obvious. Like she hasn’t already been there once today.

Klara snickers. The girl is a year younger than Emilia, but sometimes the maturity gap feels wider. “Right. How’s your little book-boy?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Emilia says, too fast.

“Sure you don’t.” Klara turns over and props herself up on her elbows. “You loiter in there all the damn time. There’s no way Hange gives you that much work.” She wags her finger knowingly. “I know a crush when I see one.”

Emilia stands and crosses to the small mirror above the room’s desk, brushing imaginary lint from her uniform. Everyone wears the same thing, but she still likes to look put-together. “It’s not a crush,” she mutters, but can’t help smiling a little.

“Uh-huh.” Klara swings her legs back and forth idly. “I don’t even know who he is, but I bet he’s boring. Is he boring?”

Emilia gives a small huff of protest.

Klara squints up at her. “So, yes.”

Emilia meets her own eyes in the mirror. “He’s not boring.”

“Wow,” Klara whistles. “That’s almost sincere. Should I sit up for this?”

Emilia picks up a book from her desk. She’s already read it back to front three times, but she can pretend to leaf through if Armin happens to be at in the library again today. It’s easier to exist near him when she has an excuse. Not that she talks to him very often. She just…orbits.

“It’s not a big deal,” she says. “He probably doesn’t even notice that I’m there.”

“Then he’s an idiot,” Klara says, uncharacteristically gentle. “You’re the loudest person in every room.”

Emilia laughs despite herself. “If you talked to my other friends more often, you wouldn’t be saying that.” She’d always win a bronze medal in a volume competition with Connie and Sasha.

“No, really. You’re exhausting. Like a firework factory. Pretty, loud, and dangerous.”

“Wow, thank you,” Emilia says, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“You could flirt with him. You flirt with everyone else. Even that guy down the hall who always smells like pot roast.”

“That’s different,” Emilia says quickly. “With Armin it’s—" She cuts herself off. Damn it.

“Ohhh,” Klara drawls, sitting up. “So you do know his name. Crushing on Eren Yeager’s best friend is crazy work, girl.”

Emilia grabs her satchel and slings it over her shoulder. “You’re the worst.”

As she opens the door, Klara calls after her, “Try not to combust when he makes eye contact!”

Emilia doesn’t look back, but her cheeks are already burning. She takes a breath and steps into the hallway, spine straight, chin up. She doesn’t even know what she’s going to say if he’s there. She never does. But she’s going anyway.

When Emilia gets to the library—which is pretty big, almost as big as the one in the Karbrechts’ country house—she droops a little when she realizes that Armin isn’t here. This is about the time of day that he usually comes to read or journal at one of the long tables. Not that I keep track.

He might still show up, so Emilia picks a spot by the window and settles in with her book. Maybe I should flirt with him, Emilia thinks, wondering if Klara had been right. Life is short, right? Especially for a Scout. Even though things are easier on the island now with the pure titans being all but eradicated, there’s still no guarantee that any of them will live through what was shaping up to be a war with Marley. 

Emilia is completely lost in these thoughts when Armin practically materializes in front of her, and for a moment she thinks she may have willed him into being. “Mind if I sit?”

She inhales sharply, hoping irrationally that he hadn’t read her mind while she had been daydreaming about him. “Yeah, sure.”

He takes a seat across from her and takes out a pair of notebooks and a pencil. Emilia takes a quick glance around the room, noting several empty tables. And he chose to sit next to me. A little thrill courses through her as her eyes flit back down to her book. The words swim on the page as she tries to brainstorm a way to strike up a conversation. Despite moving in the same circles, she hadn’t talked to Armin alone very much. At least, not about anything other than errands for Hange or updated laundry schedules.

But as it turns out, Armin is the one to speak up first. “What are you reading, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Oh, this?” Emilia shows him the cover, which also serves to hide her slightly flushed cheeks. “It’s really boring. It’s just about negotiating tactics in business.”

Armin leans forward, his round blue eyes looking at Emilia with friendly interest. “Oh, is that because you’re helping with the fundraising efforts? I’ve been curious about that, actually.”

He remembered, Emilia notes with pride. Armin is usually off doing much more important things, but evidently he paid some attention to her work. She looks off to the side as she recounts exactly how the central government is spending funds from the nobility (the ones who are on the military’s good side, and the ones whose estates have been garnished), the anti-Marleyan volunteers, and Hizuru. There’s a lot of money coming in, but supplementing taxes for big projects like the rail line isn’t always easy. Being one of the sole Scouts with blood ties to the nobility, Emilia is at the center of it all.

Armin listens intently. “Wow. That sounds like a lot to keep track of. I’m impressed.”

Emilia blushes at the compliment, intensely grateful that the afternoon light is casting red and purple shadows over her features through the stained glass. “Ha. Thanks. It’s really not as much work as it sounds.”

There’s a beat, and she doesn’t want to risk the conversation’s end. She’d never had a conversation quite this long with him before. So she decides to be earnest. “What do you think we’ll do? When all of this is over, I mean? You’re the one with all the plans, so I thought I’d ask while I have your ear.”

Armin looks mildly surprised by the question. “I guess we could start by getting some sleep for a change.” He pauses, and his expression becomes more thoughtful. “But seriously, I suppose that without pure titans roaming around, and without any pressing exterior threat, we could really improve the quality of life here. We could start building bridges with the outside world where we can, and learn to live for ourselves.”

Armin’s words make Emilia’s mood turn wistful. “I never thought I’d live to see the day. Well, there’s still the chance that I won’t,” she chuckles, darkly. 

Just then, she spots Jean enter the room with his sketchbook. She waves at him as Armin nods, acknowledging his friend. Jean has been spending more time in here, too, Emilia thinks. He doesn’t come over to sit with them, though, instead finding a plush chair in the corner to sketch in.

Emilia turns back to Armin, putting her elbow on the table and resting her head in her hand. “You know, I still haven’t gotten a chance to travel to the sea.”

Armin’s face lights up with excitement. “You haven’t?” 

Emilia shakes her head. I knew that would get him going, she thinks. In fact, the first time she’d felt butterflies for him wasn’t in a social setting; instead, it had been during a routine debriefing session for a construction project by the coast about five months prior. The way he spoke with such vivid color about something as simple as building a dock made feelings start to stir deep in her chest. 

“I wish I had my book of photographs with me. I know you’ve probably seen some, but in person it’s just so much more incredible. The ocean is so big that it looks like a second, never-ending sky.”

His sense of wonder is contagious. “I’d better get on a detail being sent to the coast, then."

“It’s a little selfish of me, but I always try to switch my duties around so I can visit whenever I can.”

Emilia shakes her head. “No, I totally understand, I think I’d do the same thing. And I don’t think selfish is a word that could possibly describe you. Everyone in the military knows what you did in Shiganshina.” Emilia immediately bites her tongue. Curse me and my loud mouth , she thinks. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought that up.”

Armin looks at his hands. “No, it’s okay. I don’t mind talking about it,” he says, his words a bit forced. He takes a deep breath. “But I don’t need any special praise or anything. I did…what anyone would’ve done. To protect Eren.”

“I guess that’s what we all signed up for. To risk our lives for our comrades,” she says in an attempt to be casual. Still, she’s mentally kicking herself for making the conversation awkward. But it’s too late to turn back now. “But what you did is pretty incredible in my eyes.”

Armin’s expression is a blend of gratitude and sadness. “Thanks. I…appreciate that. But you’re right. We all knew what we were signing up for when we joined the Scouts.” He pauses, then looks at her curiously. “Why did you decide to join the Scouts? You seem really capable, from what I’ve seen. I’m sure you could’ve made it far in the MPs.”

Emilia looks out the window, trying to obscure any complexities hiding in her expression. Not even Sasha knows the full truth behind why she left the MPs for the Scouts. There were several reasons, really — and some of them are perfectly fine to talk about now. “After the Scouts retook Wall Maria, and seeing all of the corruption exposed in the government, I just knew I needed to be a part of rebuilding the society that I know we can rebuild. You know?”

Armin looks out as well, his expression pensive. “Do you like it better with the Scouts than with the MPs?”

Emilia chuckles, and it comes out more nervous than she intended. “I’ve really loved getting to know everyone. And I feel more useful here. Getting to do heavy lifting and use my writing skills is a nice change as opposed to lazing around in a square in Mitras.” She shifts her weight in her chair. “I didn’t have a whole lot of close friends in the MPs. But Sasha and Connie always know how to cheer me up. And Jean and I talk all the time about how different things would be if we had never joined the Scouts. Did you know he’d considered joining the MPs, too?”

The mention of their friends causes the corners of Armin’s mouth to quirk up. “Oh yeah, I know Jean all too well.” He gives a brief glance to where Jean is sitting in the corner, but the other man is too focused on his sketchbook.

There’s a brief, comfortable silence. Then, Armin says, “You come here pretty often. To the library, I mean.”

Emilia scratches a spot behind her ear, suddenly becoming very interested in the polished grain of the table. “Yeah, I guess I do. Lots of work to be done,” she says, tapping her book.

“I thought you said it’s ‘really not as much work as it sounds?’” he says, his eyes twinkling.

Emilia lets out a stuttering laugh at the call-out. “Okay, maybe I just like it in here.”

Armin sits up a little straighter and turns to get a full panorama of the library. “Because of the silence? Or the company?” he asks, his tone innocent. But Emilia knows better.

Her eyebrows practically shoot through the roof. Is he…flirting with me? she thinks. There’s no way.

“Are you accusing me of something?” she asks, leaning back in her chair a little too forcefully. It teeters a bit before slamming back down in the right direction.

Armin rests his back against his own chair, folding his arms casually. “Not accusing, just observing. You always seem to show up when certain parties are in the room.” From his body language, he looks quite confident about his conclusion. But there’s something in his tone that’s not entirely certain, as if he was throwing things at her secret at seeing what sticks.

No fucking way , she thinks. Maybe I’m not as subtle as I thought. And he’s way bolder than I thought. Emilia has another horrifying realization. Wait, did Klara tell him? They barely know each other! Plus, her roommate would only have had about a thirty-minute window to tell Armin if she had wanted to. Did he figure it out on his own? Of course he would. He’s a genius.

“Maybe so,” Emilia answers, her voice trending towards a higher pitch.

“Who’s the lucky guy or gal?”

Screw it. Maybe this is my chance, if one exists. “He’s…a Scout.” Of course he’s a Scout, dumbass, she scolds herself.

Armin leans in more, playing into her little game. “I see…do I know him?”

Emilia is too nervous to move anything besides her mouth. “Yeah, I think you know him pretty well.”

Armin grins, but his voice is calm. “Interesting. And what’s he like?”

She taps her fingers on her leg, unable to meet Armin’s gaze any longer. She picks a spot behind him on a bookshelf in the corner and glues her eyes to it. “Uh, well, he’s…very brave. And talented. He’s a great leader. I respect him a lot.” She purses her lips to moisten them before speaking again. “The Scouts would be lost without him.”

A silence.

Am I saying too much?

“Sounds like a great guy,” Armin says, finally.

“He is.”

Another silence.

“I don’t know if I should make a move on him or not,” Emilia chances, forcing herself to look back down at the table as a baby step to meeting Armin’s eyes again. “I’ve thought about it, though.”

“You don’t think he feels the same way?”

“Uh…I don’t know. I wish he’d make a move on me, but I don’t know if I’m dropping enough hints.” Can’t get more obvious than that, Emilia, she thinks. If he doesn’t get it by now, he never will.

Armin stacks his notebooks, one on top of the other, and slides them in his bag. “I think he’d be glad to know how you feel.”

Armin stands, and Emilia is about to lean forward and reach out, her body reacting before her mind can stop her, and then—

“Hey,” Jean says, running a hand through his hair and blocking the afternoon sun from reaching Emilia’s face.

“See you later, Emilia. Nice talking to you,” Armin says as he slings his bag over his shoulder. He gives Jean a meaningful glance over the shoulder as he goes, leaving Emilia in an awkward silence that Jean seems content to bask in.

Emilia’s heart falls into her stomach. She can’t muster the dignity to give Armin a wave as he goes. Oh. This…makes more sense than the alternative. Of course no world existed where Armin would flirt with her like that. He hadn’t been flirting with her at all.

“Hey,” Emilia says as Jean slides into the seat that Armin had just vacated. “What were you sketching?” she asks, hoping to avoid what she thinks is about to be the topic at hand.

Jean shoots her a boyish grin and flips open his sketch pad, showing her a few different cake designs ranging from minimalist to whimsical. A few solitary doodles of trees and stars fill in the gaps between the confections.

“Birthday cakes?” she asks, impressed with the intricacy of the drawings.

“Yep. Trying to design one for Mikasa’s party. It may be wishful thinking, though. I don’t know if we have this skilled a baker in our ranks.” He flips the sketch pad shut and his expression grows sheepish. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, actually.”

“You want me to help you bake a birthday cake?”

“No,” Jean laughs. “I’m on decoration duty, actually.” He laces and unlaces his long, artist’s fingers. “I was just wondering if you wanted to go to the party, like…together? I know it’s not gonna be the type of party you bring a date to, but it’s not like we get to go to any of those, either, and I was just…wondering.”

Ah. There it is. Despite the strangeness of the situation, it’s still so damn easy for her to talk to Jean, like they’d been friends for years when they’d only known each other for ten months. That’s probably why he likes me, Emilia realizes, guiltily. But…it’s not the worst idea in the world, to go on a date with Jean. Armin evidently has no interest in her if he agreed to be Jean’s wingman. And the worst part is, he seemed happy about it. He’d done Jean a solid, because Armin is a good friend. The whole thing stings harder than Emilia wants to admit. 

But here Jean is, putting on a brave face and asking her to go to a party with him. She hesitates. Jean is patient, smiling, probably expecting her to say no despite the conversation he had overheard coupled with Armin’s looks of reassurance.

Maybe she should say no. It would be kinder, given the embarrassing crush she has on Jean’s friend.

Jean is good. Kind, safe. Her friend. The one who had shown her the ropes on days when Sasha and Connie were too busy goofing around to give her any pointers. Maybe she should say yes. Any girl would be lucky to have Jean Kirstein. Maybe real feelings would replace the warm friendship she has with him already.

“Yeah,” Emilia says, watching Jean’s tentative smile spread into a wide grin. “I’d like that,” she adds, more firmly this time.

“Awesome,” Jean says, clasping his hands together and standing. “I have to go get ready for patrol, but…I’ll talk to you later, yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ll talk to you later,” she says as she watches him practically skip out of the room.

Emilia forces a smile, this time towards no one in particular, and opens her book again to the first page.

Chapter Text

555 Days Before the Rumbling

“Have you talked to Emilia much since you asked her to the party?” Armin asks Jean.

“Not a whole lot. But she seemed happy that I asked her. I think.” Jean rubs the ridges of the bottom of his shoe on the base of the field gun, scraping off some dirt. “I expected some awkwardness, ya know?”

It’s a simple drill—nothing too formal—but the four heavy artillery guns loom like giant chess pieces on the field. They’re spaced a few dozen meters apart, just far enough to have a private conversation while the pairs of Scouts practice loading and cleaning the weaponry. It’s significantly more advanced than the cannons that still line most of the Walls. The volunteers had risked a lot getting this tech to Paradis, and the military needs to get as familiar as possible in the case of a land invasion by Marley—or any other nation, for that matter.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Armin says, hoping silently that he hadn’t led Jean astray with any misread of the situation. Brave. Talented. A great leader. She respects him a lot. I know him. ‘The Scouts would be lost without him.’ That’s how Emilia had described the guy she has a crush on. That has to be Jean, right? Armin thinks to himself.

“Yeah…” Jean says, opening the breech of the gun barrel with a little too much force. His eyes are fixated upwards, not at the mechanism below.

Armin follows Jean’s gaze to where Emilia is paired up with Eren — she’s laughing with her head tilted back, her hand raised like she’s about to cover her mouth, but she doesn’t. Eren cleans the barrel of the gun with his fiber cloth, listening and nodding with a friendly smile. Armin sees Jean tense just slightly, and he himself feels a glimmer of uncertainty. He runs through Emilia’s description again. Could she have been talking about Eren? 

The unease of the moment is broken up by another Scout—a newer boy that Armin doesn’t recognize—jogging up to Emilia and Eren to offer them some water. Emilia’s convivial nature carries over just as easily from Eren to the water boy; her hands move vividly when she talks, and she brings a bright smile to the other boy’s face before he moves on to the next group. It’s easy to see why people get drawn into her orbit. Armin’s uncertainty fades. 

He looks down at Jean, who still has a slight pout disturbing his features. “Look, see? She’s like that with everyone. You don’t have anything to worry about.”

“Hm?” Jean says, feigning confusion. But Armin sees his shoulders relax slightly.

Armin lowers his voice to a whisper. “She wasn’t flirting with Eren just now, if that’s what you were wondering. She’s like that with everyone.”

As if on cue, Armin and Jean watch as Connie and Sasha run up behind Emilia, smacking her playfully with their soot-stained fiber cloths. Emilia gives a surprised yelp and then bounces into action, grazing Connie on the shoulder with her own dirty cloth. Armin gives a silent thank-you to the universe for proving his point to Jean.

“Alright, alright,” Jean concedes. 

“Time to switch pairs, everyone! Down the line!” Levi’s voice rings out through the yard.

Armin gives Jean a reassuring pat on the back as he switches to the next spot, where Eren had just been standing. Emilia’s hands are still on her hips as she turns back to the artillery platform from sticking her tongue out at Connie and Sasha. Armin notices her playful smile fade into a much more subdued expression as he approaches.

“Hey,” she says, her voice nearly devoid of any recognizable emotion. She steps up onto the artillery platform, barely making eye contact with him as she holds out her hands for him to pass her the practice shell.

“Hey.” Armin feels a strange twinge of hurt. Hadn’t he just been explaining to Jean how vibrant Emilia is with basically everyone? Armin searches his mind for a moment like this, of Emilia talking to him like that. But he comes up blank. She’s never teasing or jokey with him. The conversation they’d had in the library the other day was the longest one they’d ever had, and he was the one who’d initiated it. Maybe she just doesn’t like me that much, Armin thinks.

“You’re being…uncharacteristically quiet,” Armin offers, tentatively. Even though she wasn’t exactly lively in the library, she had still seemed happy to chat with him about the ocean and her crush on Jean. Why is today different?

Emilia freezes with her hand on the breech. After a moment, she opens it with a steady, measured hand. “Yeah, I’m just thinking.”

“About…Jean?”

“Maybe,” Emilia says. Armin notices that there’s a stiffness to her that isn’t usually there. Sure, her usual demeanor is a performance, he guesses, but this is a performance of a different type. But why? It’s a piece that doesn’t quite fit. 

Then, she makes a small error in the way she loads the practice shell, not clicking it into place properly. The problem is, he’d already seen her do it correctly when she’d been paired with Eren.

“Are you trying to throw off our rhythm here?’ Armin chuckles.

This gets a small smile from Emilia, and he feels some of the tension ebb. “How’d you know I did that on purpose?”

“A lucky guess.”

“I didn’t know you paid that much attention to me,” she replies, slotting the shell in its slot, correctly this time.

“Of course I pay attention to you. You’re my friend.”

“We don’t talk that much.”

Ouch.

“Well, no, I guess we don’t…” Armin replies, his voice small.

“I’m sorry. That was mean.” She steps back down onto the grass from the artillery platform. “What I meant to say is, I guess most of the time I see you, it’s in the library. And it’s quiet in there.” Her voice steadily shrinks as the sentence goes on, until it’s as small as his.

“That’s true.”

Emilia’s jaw tightens for a moment as they stand awkwardly in the grass listening to the clunks of metal and idle chatter around them. “I’m sorry,” she repeats. “I’m totally being weird. I just have a lot on my mind, is all.” 

“It’s all good,” he says, gently.

“For example,” she says, more lightly, “I’m thinking about how I have to bake a cake for—” She glances around and lowers her voice. “—Mikasa’s surprise party this weekend. I was gonna ask Sasha, but I feel like she’d eat the ingredients.” She fidgets with her hands as she speaks, and Armin looks away, suddenly feeling like it’s an intrusion to notice Emilia’s nervous habits. “You wouldn’t happen to be good at baking, would you?”

First, it seemed like she didn’t like me, and now she wants my help? It almost feels like a peace offering, Armin thinks.

Armin looks back at Emilia, resolving to stop trying to figure her out and just let her be. “I can try, if you need an extra hand.”

“Awesome,” she says, but there isn’t a whole lot of enthusiasm behind the word. “Sounds like a plan.”

“Alright, everyone! Time to switch!” Levi shouts from across the yard.

Armin waves goodbye to Emilia as he walks to the next station, where Connie is waiting for him. The corners of her mouth twitch up as if she’s going to smile, but it doesn’t fill her face. 

So much for leaving the Emilia puzzle alone. He hasn’t even picked up the next shell, and already he’s wondering how many kinds of “weird” she’s capable of being.

Chapter Text

551 Days Before the Rumbling

Emilia isn’t sure what she expects when she opens the door to the annex adjacent to the mess hall, but Armin is already there with his sleeves rolled up and apron on, cake ingredients organized neatly on the rosewood countertop.

“You’re early,” she says, and immediately regrets how blunt it sounded.

“I figured it would take a minute to find everything, but you were already prepared.” Armin taps the now-empty basket that Emilia had prepared with the ingredients the night prior. In truth, she’s been keeping herself quite busy. She’s not quite avoiding talking to her friends, but… No, I am avoiding them , she admits. She can’t deal with any more teasing about her and Jean’s impending date while she’s still so damn confused about this whole situation. About her own feelings.

The stiffness in her shoulders won’t budge, but she drops her satchel on the floor anyway and grabs an apron from the rack by the door. She ties it around her waist, cinching it a bit more than necessary. Not that she’s trying to show off her figure or anything…

Definitely not. 

This is all totally innocent. If I’m going to test out whether my relationship with Jean can develop into something romantic, I’m going to see if I can just have a normal friendship with Armin. After all, they have overlapping projects, mutual friends, they live down the hall from one another…Emilia can’t let her disappointment from that conversation in the library affect her too much.

“Where do we start?” Armin asks, letting her take the lead.

She looks at everything, satisfied with her level of preparation, and oddly looking forward to spending some quiet time after the messy week she’s had. That is, until Armin inevitably asks me about the Jean thing again, she thinks. “We should mix the flour, sugar, eggs, and milk.” 

“Right, got it.” Armin grabs the mixing bowl and begins adding the ingredients. As he pours the flour, a cloud of it filters through the air above the table, tickling her nose as it falls. After a few silent moments, Armin adds, “So, are you going out with Jean now? Not that I’m trying to pry, just curious.”

She almost drops an egg on the floor. Well, that didn’t take very long. “I’m not sure.” At Armin’s raised eyebrow, she squeaks out, “I mean, it’s tentative. We’re discussing it.” Armin holds the bowl still while Emilia cracks the last egg and mixes, and she has to resist staring at his long, delicate fingers. She silently hopes that Jean hasn’t been talking to Armin or the others, wondering why she’s avoiding him. “I haven’t really gotten much of a chance to talk to him since he asked me.” 

She reaches for the baking tin just as Armin does, her hand landing on his. In that second, a tempest of butterflies courses through her. “Oh, sorry,” she says, pulling her hand back. Well, shit, she thinks. That answers one lingering emotional question with clarity.

“No, it was my bad. And sorry for asking you about Jean,” Armin says, his voice a careful tiptoe.

“Don’t worry about it,” Emilia says as she focuses intently on pouring the globs of cake batter into the tin. Fuck, what are we supposed to do to fill the time while the cake is baking? We can’t do this strange dance forever. A few minutes pass in relative silence as she makes sure there aren’t any lumps in the mixture.

You’re the one who arranged this, she reminds herself. The least she can do is act normal. “Can you open the oven, please?”

He opens the oven door. She bends to slide the tin in. Her arm brushes his—lightly, but enough. A now-familiar electric bliss skitters across her skin, and her heartbeat pounds in her ears. This is bad. This is really, really bad. She can’t remember having felt this way since she was fourteen, spending time with one of the stable boys in her family’s employ. He had been off-limits, too. But she still went after him. 

No, she thinks. I need to quash these butterflies. Which are—for some reason—even stronger now than they had been the past few months of admiring him from a short distance: her idling in the back of debriefing rooms or eyeing him as he sat on the edge of one of her conversations with Mikasa or Jean. There’s zero indication he’s interested in her; he’d helped Jean ask her out, for goodness’ sake! And now she’s going to the party with Jean, who actually likes her. She should be grateful for that.

And besides, it’s not like this could be a long-term situation. A seed of melancholy nestles in her chest as she remembers the Curse of Ymir. Armin has about ten years to live, give or take a few months.

The rising heat from the oven was too early to blame for the flush on her neck. Their wooden stools scratch the floor as they sit to watch the wall-mounted clock run down. They both narrate little things to fill the silence: electrical improvements around the castle, the different species that are about to come out of winter hibernation, and how Sasha had cried over a croissant that Niccolo had made for her recently. 

Emilia is so focused on staying relaxed and casual that she doesn’t notice when it stops feeling forced. She leans back on the countertop behind her, and Armin mirrors her posture without seeming to notice, their shoulders just inches apart. They fall into a nice rhythm, one that feels neither like her normal jubilance nor the measured set of half-glances that she’s used to with Armin. Just…calm. Even the nervous butterflies stop their frenzy and settle to a cadenced flutter around her heart.

She doesn’t know whether her next question arises out of genuine curiosity or the urge to self-sabotage before she can get any closer to him, but she blurts it before she has the chance to consider otherwise. “Hey, Armin…what’s it like being a titan shifter?”

Armin leans back on his hands, looking a bit taken aback at the inquiry, just like he had last week when she’d brought up what happened in Shiganshina. “Eren’s never talked about it with you?” 

“Uh, not really. I mostly missed the action while I was in the MPs…so…” Emilia says, and this is true: she’s never even seen a normal pure titan, and she hadn’t been assigned to Stohess during the Female Titan’s rampage three-and-a-half years ago. She’d been stationed in Orvud at the time…Seeing Rod Reiss’s abnormal over that damn wall was as much horror as my fifteen-year-old self could’ve withstood, she thinks. She’d seen Eren’s titan a few times during short outings outside the Walls, but never in action; there hadn’t been a need. She’s certainly never seen Armin transform into the Colossal. As far as she knows, he only does it at the coast, far away enough from any infrastructure to test Hange’s theories without real damage.

“Honestly…it’s a lot of pressure. I never asked for this. But Eren didn’t either. But I’ve come to terms with it, I think.” His earnest response momentarily erases her fear that she’d made the conversation awkward. “For now, at least. And I’m doing what I can with the second chance I’ve been given.” He’s staring at the clock, and she’s grateful for it. She doesn’t know if she could take the eye contact.

A few beats. He scratches behind his ear while their silence stretches. 

Emilia inhales sharply, re-adjusting herself on the stool. “Sorry to bring that up. I’m always turning the conversation serious, aren’t I?” she chuckles humorlessly. But maybe that’s not a bad thing. “You know, if anyone has to have that power…I’m glad it’s you. You’re…gentler than most people.”

Armin quirks his head at her curiously, and she realizes with dread that her observation could easily come off as either intimate or an insult. She quickly adds, “Not in a bad way!”

I’m running through every possible way to embarrass myself, she thinks. She’s usually so deft, able to make anyone squirm how she wants them to, but she’s flailing here. 

“Thanks,” Armin says softly, his eyes studying her.

She scrambles to figure out what to say next, but the clock saves her. “Oh, the cake should be done now!’ she says, too brightly. “Do you think Mikasa would want vanilla or chocolate frosting?”

“Oh, uh, I think she’d prefer the vanilla,” Armin says, slipping on the oven mitts with practiced ease. He pulls out the cake and sets it on the counter. The sponge is an appetizing golden-brown. Emilia’s stomach grumbles. But she’d have to wait a few hours before digging in.

“Alright. Vanilla it is,” She begins to warm the bag of frosting in her hands. “I know it’ll be a small party, but I’m still thinking about what to wear,” she says, eager to shift the topic of conversation in a more casual direction. 

Emilia smooths the frosting in a thin layer across the top of the cake. It’s just glossy enough to catch the muted kitchen light. She keeps her elbow tucked in, careful not to bump into Armin while she works. Yet, the charged proximity keeps reminding her that her feelings towards him are not just platonic. She tries to swallow it down—the flutter in her chest, the pull in her gut. Jean likes her. That should be enough. It’s greedy to want more.

“Whatever you wear, I’m sure Jean will be excited to see it,” Armin says, as if reading her mind. 

Her stomach flips, her guilt low and sharp. Armin takes the frosting bag from her to pipe the other side of the cake. She can feel the warmth of his body temperature as he skillfully decorates their creation. He matches the raised border of frosting she drew on the outside of the cake to create a full, perfect circle. It’s not as artistic as Jean’s drawings— no strawberries, not in season —but she likes the simplicity of it.

“Nice. It looks great,” she says, putting her hands on her hips and admiring what they made together. “We make a good team.”

“Yeah, we do, don’t we?” Armin says, snapping the dome over the cake. The faint scent of vanilla still lingers in the air. “We should hide this from Sasha.”

She laughs as he stows the cake in a high cupboard for later. “Yeah.” She unties her apron and folds it, lucky to have something to keep her hands busy. “I guess I’ll see you later tonight at the party. And thank you for helping me with the baking. You’re a good friend.” 

His smile falters.

Did I say something wrong again?

He looks at her, his head tilted slightly. “You have a little frosting, just about here,” he says, gesturing to his own jaw.

Her cheeks redden instantly, and she pats at her face.

“No, other side,” Armin says. Before she can correct herself, he reaches out, the soft pads of his fingertips brushing her jawline.

She gasps—barely. Then prays that he didn’t hear. “Oh. Ha. Thanks.”

The flicker of emotion that crosses Armin’s face is gone before she can identify it. “No problem. I’m always happy to help. With baking. Or frosting. Anything, really.” 

They’re standing there between the counter and the annex door, staring at each other for half a second too long.

“I’ll see you later. Thank you,” she repeats. And, without thinking, she leans forward. A kiss on the cheek, lighter than air. She turns to walk away just as quickly before she can see his reaction. And before he can see her face turn tomato-red.

This is all the indulgence she’ll allow herself, and then she’ll forget about this little crush.

Armin’s face flushes in utter surprise as she kisses him, his cheek growing warm where she made contact. 

“Yeah, see you later,” he calls out weakly, but she’s already made it halfway down the hall. He raises a hand to his cheek, almost in disbelief, as he reimagines how soft her lips felt against his skin. What was that? Surely that was just friendly. Nobles do that kind of formal thing, he rationalizes. 

Yep, that’s it. Nothing more.

Chapter Text

551 Days Before the Rumbling

The equipment outbuilding in the corner of the training yard has never looked less like itself. Sasha had thrown a few quilts over the old metal chairs, and someone—almost certainly Connie—had written “Happy Birthday Mikasa” on the chalkboard, complete with stick figure drawings of the group. Emilia can only tell which one represents her because it’s holding the reins of a horse that is apparently supposed to be Jean. The battered phonograph they’d swiped from the officer’s quarters is cranked louder than usual, blaring a brass-heavy tune over the chatter. Mikasa had nearly jumped into action when the other Scouts had sprung out of their hiding spots to surprise her, but now she sits bashfully with a glass of ale in hand, adjacent to Eren and Armin—as always.

Emilia catches herself staring at the trio and inhales sharply, glancing back down at her date for the evening. She’s perched atop the arm of a plush chair that doesn’t look like it belongs with the other, more rustic furniture of the outbuilding. This drab dress makes me look too serious,  Emilia thinks, but Jean had said she looked great when she met him at the door, so she had smiled and taken his arm anyway.

“Hey, you want another drink?” Jean asks, grinning up at her. The armchair is low to the ground, and the way his hands are clasped with his elbows atop his long legs makes him look pensive.

Emilia looks down at what’s left of her ale, which is actually a mix of two different rejected ales that the more senior officers in the Garrison hadn’t wanted. “Maybe in a bit? I’m still working on this one.” 

Jean’s smile doesn’t quite falter, but he looks at her for a second longer than necessary, like he’s trying to decipher something.

Already a little tipsy, Emilia knows the next time she rises from her seat, her head will be spinning. Her brain’s inhibitions already have a foot halfway out the door. She casts her gaze around the room, and it snags again on the spot where Mikasa sits talking to Eren and Armin. A few of the younger Scouts had made Mikasa a woven flower crown, and she holds it to her head as Sasha comes along to yank her to the makeshift dance floor. Emilia grins to herself. What wonderful friends I’ve made.

She leans back further, her leg pressed up against Jean’s shoulder. The music and chatter wash over her, and she lets it happen. This is nice.

But she can’t seem to get her chest to stop tightening.

Eren is talking to Armin alone now, angled just enough that Emilia can’t catch what they’re talking about. Eren gestures with a glass in one hand, probably making one of his low, offhand comments. Whatever it was, Armin’s lips quirk up at the corners in response. Then, as if feeling her stare, he glances over the room. Their eyes meet for just an instant.

Emilia immediately looks away, heart stuttering. Stop that, she scolds herself. She takes a bigger sip of her drink than she meant to.

“What are you smiling at?” Jean’s voice is light, but she can hear the thread of tension in it. She turns and sees him watching her, his smile losing energy. His eyes shift to Eren and Armin.

“What? Oh, no. I was just…” She downs the last of her drink, clinking it with her fingernail. “...thinking about what a great week it’s been.”

Jean’s gaze snaps back to hers, and he gives her another grin, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Here, let me fill that up again,” he says, taking her glass.

Connie meets Jean halfway across the dance floor, nearly missing Sasha and Mikasa swinging around in a clumsy waltz. “No can do, keg’s out already,” Connie announces. A few groans sound from around the room. “But don’t panic, comrades! I know where there’s another keg! But there’s a small problem.”

“What is it?” Jean asks.

Connie points down to his feet, which Emilia now notices are bare. “I seem to have lost my shoes.”

“Already? It usually takes longer,” says Sasha, stopping her tipsy dance with Mikasa to point and laugh at Connie.

“So, if someone else could grab the keg from the cellar, that would be great,” Connie continues, “because my toes will freeze out there. And I need my toes.”

“I’ll go,” Emilia says, already standing. It’ll be nice to get some fresh air and escape the tension for just a minute. A brief reset. 

“No, I can do it,” Jean says, ever the gentleman, but Connie grips his shoulder in protest. 

“Jean, my man, I need your height to help me look on the tops of these cabinets for my shoes.” 

“I’ll help you, Emilia.” Armin sets his glass down, giving Connie a good-natured eye roll. He moves to meet her at the outbuilding’s sliding wooden door. 

Well, shit.

The February air is crisp on her face, bringing her back to sobriety for just a moment. She swallows, both nervous for the walk to the cellar and more excited than she should be. Her cheeks burn with more than the cold of the night or the flush of the alcohol.

They walk in silence at first, the charged rapport they’d built during the early afternoon drained by Emilia’s resultant self-castigation. Her arms swing back and forth as she listens to the crunch of the training yard’s grass beneath her feet. It will probably frost over by morning.

“The cake was good,” Armin says. His smile is more lopsided than normal; the ale is clearly getting to him, too.

“Yeah, it was. We did a good job.”

They reach the cellar stairs and regard the dim, echoing abyss below. A tad too eager to find the light switch, Emilia feels the stair fall out from under her shoe, sending her sliding downwards. She catches herself on the railing before she can hit the ground and cringes internally. “Be careful, it’s a little slippery.”

She looks up to see Armin’s hand outstretched as if to catch her. Too slow, he pulls it back. “Yeah, I can tell.”

The two of them move in silence yet again until they find the keg, hoisting it between them on their shoulders. Emilia swallows, needing to say something to break the tension. “Sorry for dragging you into this.”

“You didn’t drag me. I volunteered.”

The weight of the keg is nothing compared to the one pressing on her chest. “Still, I don’t think carrying kegs is in your job description.”

“Neither is baking cakes, but here we are.”

She smiles faintly even as guilt twists in her gut. She hates this, hates how easy it is for him to make her body heat up, hates how she can’t control it, hates how she loves the feeling. “Can I ask you something?” she asks once they’d ascended the rickety stairs.

He chuckles lightly. “You just did.”

Good thing he can’t see my face right now, she thinks, grateful for the hunk of wood and metal between them. But she knows her voice still carries the emotions she’s feeling. I need to be careful. But the ale in her veins awards her boldness a victory over her trepidation. “When you were asking me those questions in the library last week…you were trying to figure out if I liked Jean, weren’t you?”

Emilia hears him exhale through his nose. “You’re perceptive.”

“There were no other candidates?” she says, jokingly. But she has to know. Has to.

“Ha. Actually, he thought Eren might be a contender.”

He’s being more loose-lipped than normal, she thinks. But then again, so am I. 

“And that’s really it? Nobody else?” she replies, pushing her luck far past the point of plausible deniability.

“Pretty much, yeah,” Armin responds, his words starting to run together. “I mean, who else could it have been? Connie?”

Readjusting the metal rim of the keg on her shoulder, she says, “I dunno. Samuel. Or Floch. Or…you.” She shuts her eyes tightly on this last word before forcing them open again so she doesn’t trip and fall in the grass. That would truly be the end of her.

Armin laughs, and the sound warms Emilia’s body against the cool night air. “Samuel and Floch were not in the pool of contenders.” He pauses. “And don’t be a smartass.”

Emilia kicks a rock on the ground. “I’m not,” she says, her voice growing pouty. “Why wouldn’t those people be viable options? I thought you’d be more thorough with your investigation.”

“You’ve never given an ounce of attention to Samuel. You hang out with Jean way more than you hang out with Floch.” Another pause, longer this time. “And do you really consider me to be a viable option?”

“Why wouldn’t you be?” Her voice is tinged with indignation, and through her more-than-mild inebriation, she isn’t sure whether it’s personal or if it’s offense on Armin’s behalf. 

Armin huffs out a laugh, but it’s humorless this time. “Do I need to start listing all the reasons why we wouldn’t work? That’s a little silly, don’t you think?”

The words are like a kick square to the chest. 

“Yeah, go ahead, why not?” Emilia’s voice is betraying a clear exasperation now. 

She’s at once thankful she can’t see his face around the keg, and wishes more than anything that she could.

“Okay, sure. For one, I’m not exactly attractive. I’m not a hero like Jean or Eren. I don’t think you and I are wired the same way—”

Emilia almost stops walking but forces her legs to keep moving in tandem with Armin’s, refusing to betray herself.

“—and I don’t just mean the social class aspect, because I think that’s archaic, anyway. The way you move through the world is just…different than the way I do.”

Has he…thought about this? Blood rushes through Emilia’s ears. If only it were loud enough to drown out what she’s hearing.

Armin’s still not done yet. “You light everything up, people notice you. And I stutter, I overthink.”

If only he knew how much I overthink about him. “Are you just saying this because you’re drunk, or is it what you really think about yourself?”

There’s a tightness in his voice that he tries to cover with a half-laugh. “I’m being serious, I just would not be a good match for someone like you.”

“And who would you be a good match for?” Her voice drips with aggravation that she knows he’s going to question, that she knows she’ll regret in the morning.

A pause. Emilia can hear Armin take a shaky breath. When he speaks, his voice is also coated with vexation, as if he doesn’t know why she can’t understand the obvious. “Honestly? I don’t know. Probably nobody.”

It’s like someone’s pierced her heart with a hot knife. “Okay, fine. Sorry I asked. I don’t even know why we’re talking about this.” Her words are sharp, and she knows she’ll have to apologize for them later. Or maybe I won’t, and we won’t speak again. That’ll be her cosmic punishment.

The outbuilding door is in sight now. 

There’s another pause before Armin says, “No, don’t apologize. You asked a simple question, and I dumped all of that on you. I’m sorry.”

Why is he making it so fucking difficult to stop caring about him?

She’s busy formulating a reply when Sasha slides open the wooden door and all but dives for the keg. “Hell yeah, thanks, you guys!”

They place the keg on the table near the door, and Emilia fixes her face into a friendly smile from the pained expression she’d been wearing the whole walk over. As she stands back up, her head starts spinning again; at this point, she’s 90% ale, guilt, and regret. 

“No problem. But it was mostly Armin doing the heavy lifting.” For the first time since the cellar, she gets a glimpse of Armin’s beautiful, unreadable face as he adjusts the spout on the keg. The next words out of her mouth fall like flower petals on the grave she’d dug for herself. “The Scouts would be lost without him.”

Sasha claps, and Connie comes walking over with some empty glasses, but Emilia’s focus is elsewhere. 

Armin freezes, his hands still on the spout. His mouth falls open just slightly, enough to signal to her that he recognizes the words. Brave. Talented. A great leader. The Scouts would be lost without him. It’s what she’d said in the library when he thought she’d been referring to Jean.

He slowly turns to meet her eyes with pure, honest confusion, as if he’s sure he’s just misunderstood. As if he might ask her to repeat herself. But of course, he doesn’t. 

Emilia’s lip quivers as she pairs his stunned expression with a tender look of her own. It’s the closest she’ll ever come to telling him how she feels.

She walks away before he can recover fully. She doesn’t need to see what he does next.

Jean meets her halfway across the room, glass in hand. She puts her hand over it, and her smile cuts through the devastation she’s feeling deep down. “I honestly think I’ve had enough for one night. Want to take a walk?”

The night air is cooler than it was before as Emilia walks with Jean down the gravel path that leads back towards the fortress proper. The party behind them has blurred into laughter, but here it’s quiet, the kind of quiet that forces things out of hiding. As I know all too well, Emilia thinks, trying to force away thoughts of the walk with Armin and the trouble it had brought her to.

Jean kicks a small stone ahead of them, hands in his pockets. It might even be the same stone Emilia had kicked earlier in all her mopiness. “It’s nice out,” he says, and his tone is light, but not aimless.

“Yeah,” she murmurs, hugging herself. “It is. Crisp.”

They walk a little farther before he says it. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

Her steps falter. “About…?” she asks, but she knows.

He stops walking, and she does too. “You’re not comfortable being with me, are you? Not…like that.”

She feels the guilt rise sharply in her throat. “Jean, I—” She rubs a hand across her temple. “I’m so sorry. I thought maybe I could feel that way. You’re great, you are, you’re one of my best friends, a-and you mean so much to me. And I didn’t mean to—”

“Hey.” He gives her a soft smile, gentler than she deserves. “You don’t need to explain. I think I kind of knew already. But I had to ask. Or at least let you say it.”

Emilia exhales, her breath catching slightly on the way out. “I got ahead of myself. I wanted to feel something, and I told myself maybe it would come if I gave it time. But that’s not fair to you, and I know that now.”

Jean looks at her for a long second, then nods. “Thanks. For being honest.”

There’s a pause, long enough to breathe in the cold.

“Is there someone else?” he asks. Not bitter, just curious.

Emilia hesitates. She doesn’t say yes. She doesn’t have to; he knows what the silence means.

“It’s not…Eren, is it?”

Emilia gives a quiet laugh and shakes her head, melting the last of the tension in the frosty air. “No, it’s not Eren.”

Jean laughs in kind. “Good,” he says. “Uh, what I mean to say is…whoever it is, I hope it works out. Really.”

Emilia looks at him, grateful in a way that hurts. “I don’t think he feels the same way I do. So…I guess we’re in the same boat, huh?”

“I guess so,” Jean says, smiling a little sadly, for the both of them. “But whoever he is, he’d be a fool not to like you back.”

“Thank you, Jean.” Emilia sighs, letting her hands fall to her sides. The first of the night’s crickets begins to chirp. “You deserve someone who looks at you the same way you look at them.”

He shrugs, hands still in his pockets. “Yeah. Maybe someday.”

They turn back toward the party, walking in a silence threaded with understanding.

Chapter Text

550 Days Before the Rumbling

The morning sun streams through the window of his room, and Armin squints against it as he ties his boots. After so many years of waking up to the sounds of the other Scouts rustling their clothes, falling out of their bunks, or smacking each other with pillows, it’s weird having his own space. Sometimes it’s too quiet. But he’s grateful to have a warm bed, a desk to store his books, and even a wardrobe instead of the rusty utility trunk he’d gotten used to back when the greatest threats to humanity were the titans.

His limbs are still a bit heavy from the alcohol and hauling that damn keg, and his head carries the faint echo of his half-finished conversation with Emilia. He hasn’t seen her since she slipped out of the cleanup with a vague “Goodnight,” not looking him in the eye.

What could she have meant by what she said to Sasha?

He’s still thinking about it when Jean knocks on the side of his doorframe with a cup of tea in one hand, looking more subdued than usual. “Hey,” Jean says. “You alive?”

“I guess so,” Armin mutters, running a hand through his hair. “I could honestly go for a cup of coffee right now.” The drink the anti-Marleyan volunteers had brought with them has more kick to it than tea does, and this is one of those desperate mornings.

Jean sips his own drink. “If you can convince Hange to give you some of their stash.”

Armin watches as Jean slumps against the doorframe. He doesn’t want to be the first one to bring up Emilia. He can’t trust his read on last night. Not yet. But he could tell by the way Jean had looked after his walk that whatever he and Emilia had talked about hadn’t gone the way Jean hoped. 

He gestures to the chair at his desk, urging Jean to sit. Clearly, he wants to talk about it. Even if I’m probably not the best person to listen—but he doesn’t know that. Jean sets his cup down on Armin’s desk, and they both watch the steam rise for a moment. 

Finally, Jean says, “So, Emilia and I talked last night.”

Armin schools his face into something neutral. “How did it go?”

Jean sighs. “She let me down easy.” He says it without bitterness, but there’s a pinch of something softer beneath it. “Said she got ahead of herself, realized it wasn’t going to work. And I kind of figured, after she barely talked to me all last week, so it wasn’t a huge surprise. Still sucks, though.”

Armin swallows, nods again. There’s guilt about the fact that he was wrong about Emilia’s crush, but there’s something else swirling in his mind, too, which…adds to the guilt. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Jean shrugs. “It’s alright. We’re still good, I think. She was nice about it. She said it wasn’t fair to keep pretending, and I respect that.” He pauses and takes another sip of his tea. “I asked if there was someone else.”

Armin doesn’t move. “What’d she say?”

“She said yes.” Jean rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “But that it’s not Eren,” he adds quickly. A small mercy, Armin thinks, that Jean didn’t have his crush swiped twice by the same person. “And that whoever it is doesn’t like her back. So I guess she and I have more in common than I thought, ironically.”

Armin's throat goes dry, and he wishes he had that coffee in hand already. “She didn’t say anything else?”

Jean leans back in his chair. “Nah. And I didn’t pry. Don’t want to make it any more awkward than it is.”

“Hm…well, maybe you could just give it time? If she doesn’t like you, she doesn’t like you, but she might still come around.”

“I’m not holding my breath.” Jean waves his hand, as if the whole thing is no big deal. “I’ll get over it. I’m a tough guy.” He gives one of his characteristic wide grins and stands to leave. “Thanks for listening to my issues, Armin. I’ll catch you later.”

“Yeah, it’s no problem. I’ll see you later.” Because that’s just the thing; that’s who Armin is, the one who listens to everyone else’s romantic dilemmas. He’s not supposed to be the one who has romantic dilemmas. For goodness’ sake, he’s been third-wheeling for Eren and Mikasa his entire life because they’re too stubborn to admit their feelings for each other. 

I’m the one who notices things that other people don’t. Could I really have missed that Emilia…? No.

After Jean is gone, Armin runs over a list of the facts in his mind that could potentially lend themselves to the conclusion that…that…it’s so absurd that he can’t even think it. 

For starters, Emilia’s in the library all the time, even when she admittedly doesn’t have much paperwork to do these days. She’s shy around him when she’s lively around most other people. She’s been weirdly hot and cold with him, especially in the past week. She kissed him on the cheek after they baked the cake together. And then there’s what she said last night after they set the keg down.

No, that can’t be right. All of these things have alternate explanations.

She could be in the library all the time because she likes being there, as she’d said. She’s more studious than people realize. Plus, she reads for pleasure, as Armin had noticed from peeking at the titles of fiction books she’d read in his vicinity over the past few months. 

Emilia might be shy around him because he’ s shy around her. She’s skilled at mirroring people, making them feel at ease. That must be the reason.

She’s almost certainly been acting weird with him recently because of the whole situation with Jean. He had incorrectly encouraged her friend to ask her out. That’d be enough to make anyone irritated.

The fact that she’d kissed him on the cheek is easy to explain away, as he had right after she’d done it. She’s got noble lineage, and they still do things like that. Although I haven’t seen her do it with anyone else, Armin thinks, but shakes off the thought as soon as it arises.

And then there’s the strongest piece of evidence: ‘The Scouts would be lost without him.’ At first, he hadn’t been sure that he’d heard her right. The way she’d looked at him with something like…sympathy? Or…warmth? That look had recontextualized every other interaction they’d had. This whole time, could she have had a crush on him?  

The idea is so ludicrous that there must be some other plausible explanation. For one, she’d been drunk and not thinking straight. Second, he had just given her a self-deprecating monologue five minutes prior. After something like that, sympathy makes sense. She was trying to make me feel better. Because she’s a nice person.

It’s a shame she probably isn’t going to be around as much anymore after the awkwardness with Jean. And with me, Armin thinks ruefully. I was starting to really enjoy talking to her.

538 Days Before the Rumbling

The terrace lights glitter like low-hanging stars, casting a warm haze over the polished marble of the Grunwald family’s city estate. Emilia adjusts her bracelet and tries not to flinch when Klara clinks her half-empty champagne flute against her full one with exaggerated cheer.

“To glamour and schmoozing,” Klara toasts. She tosses her auburn curls over her shoulder. “Two essential skills of the modern war effort.”

Emilia gives a tight smile, already regretting the fact that the usual Garrison representative who attends these occasions with her and Hitch had been struck down with the seasonal flu. Klara is her exceptionally untrained replacement this evening.

They’re stationed near a wide column just off the main garden path, posted like sentries in upscaled versions of their uniforms while the nobility circulates in arcs of conversation around them. Emilia is the perfect candidate to go to these types of affairs, talking (Let’s be serious, it’s flirting. Why else would the military send three pretty girls?) her way into money that would top up the donors’ regular tax contributions. The regime change several years ago had markedly weakened the power of the nobility, but as Emilia knows too well, it’ll take a lot more than that to tear out such an embedded part of society. Where the mighty fall, new players sprout to take their place. 

And thus, things like this shitty party are necessary.

Hitch had vanished the moment they arrived, off to greet half a dozen girl friends with double cheek-kisses. But now she’s circling back, combing her hair lazily with her fingers. She’s run out of energy already, it seems.

“There’s a group of guardsmen near the fountains,” Hitch says, tucking a stray strand behind her ear. “They’re all tall, handsome, and probably looking for a runaway rich girl to sweep off her feet. Very your type. You should come say hi.”

Emilia stiffens. “I think I’m good here.” She’d known Hitch quite well during her three years in the Military Police; they’d only been in the same squad for a year, but crossed paths often. And Hitch knew me. Though she likes the other girl, it pains her to be reminded so often of her former life.

Hitch blinks, then tilts her head in mock offense. “Come on. They’re harmless. And at least one of them has arms like—” She whistles. Don’t say it, Emilia pleads. “Well. Just trust me.”

An older nobleman passes by and nods at Emilia, who responds with a slight, elegant dip of her chin with the kind of trained politeness that earns nothing but invisible social points. Klara, meanwhile, rolls her eyes so hard it’s almost audible.

“Ugh, you could teach a seminar on posturing.”

“It’s etiquette, it’s just our job,” Emilia replies, then immediately regrets sounding like a bitchy textbook. “I’m just grateful I’m not out there fighting titans.” And you should be, too.

Hitch sighs dramatically. “You’re both so combative. You’d have more fun if you relaxed a little. Actually, Emilia…the cute guy over by the trellis has been staring at you for ten minutes. Want me to introduce you?”

“No.” Emilia says it too quickly. “I mean, no, thank you.”

Hitch tilts her head. “Why not? He’s hot. Don’t tell me you’re satisfied with the eye candy in the Scouts.” Hitch makes a ‘tsk-tsk’ sound. “You’ve changed, Emilia.”

“I’m just not in the mood.”

Klara snorts. “You’re never in the mood. Not for these types, anyway.”

Emilia shoots Klara a warning look. It’s bad enough that her abrasive roommate knows the truth about her crush on Armin. She doesn’t need the whole of the MPs finding out, too. Especially after what happened at Mikasa’s party.

Hitch squints at Klara, trying to read her. “What does that mean?”

“It’s because—” Klara begins, voice rising as she raises a finger. “It’s because she’s got a little thing for—”

“Don’t,” Emilia says sharply, cutting her off. Her voice isn’t loud, but it lands like a splash of cold water. “Please.”

Klara freezes. Her smile falters.

Hitch’s brows lift. She glances from Emilia to Klara, recalibrating. After a beat, she steps in with a laugh that sounds just breezy enough to pass. “You’re so bad with secrets, Klara,” she says, lightly. “If I ever get court-martialed, remind me not to trust you with the details.”

The heat in Emilia’s cheeks starts to cool as Klara glances down at her glass, looking a little sullen. The group of guardsmen has started laughing loudly about something in the distance. They could be perfectly nice guys. But they still make Emilia’s skin crawl. Hitch shifts closer, her voice low enough that Klara can’t quite hear over the noise.

“You want out?” she asks, without looking directly at her.

Emilia hesitates, then gives a small nod. “Yeah. I think I’ve had enough mingling for one night.”

Hitch doesn’t nod, doesn’t push—just raises her voice slightly. “Oh no, I just remembered. Weren’t you supposed to check in with the Premier’s people about the Grunwald account before the end of the week?”

Emilia catches on instantly. “You’re right. I totally forgot about that.”

“If you go now, you might still catch them before they head back to Mitras,” Hitch says.

“Right. See you guys later,” Emilia says with a small, grateful smile.

Klara stays silent, either nursing her drink or her bruised ego.

Emilia sets her drink on the nearest table and walks calmly until she’s off the terrace, then breathes out a sigh of relief. It’s time to go home.

The fortress’s front gates close behind Emilia with a metallic hush, less final than she’d like it to be.

She exhales into the night air. Her heeled boots click softly against the stone floors as she walks the empty courtyard, keeping her arms close to her body even though the night is oddly warm for late winter. It’s late enough that the halls have quieted, and the remnants of the fundraiser still cling to her like static: Klara’s drunken teasing, Hitch’s practiced charm turned protectiveness, the too-rich hors d'oeuvres still lingering on her tongue.

She pauses outside her door but doesn’t open it.

The idea of sitting in the room she shares with Klara makes her feel queasy. Even though it’s not really about Klara at all, is it? Now Emilia has two February nights of careless words, half-empty glasses, and reckless truths occupying her brain.

She turns on her heel.

She walks a different corridor instead, one that’s intimately familiar to her by now. No one would be in the library at this hour. Not the MP officers who pretend to read during the day, nor the junior Garrison soldiers who only come when it’s mandatory. Just the dark wood shelves, the stained-glass windows, and the company of pages that never ask her to smile.

She pushes the door open gently, the hinges barely creaking.

Only the soft amber sconces near the front of the room are lit, and the moon and stars are the sole source of light near the back, in the curved, open area by the windows. The stained glass is far less vibrant than during the day, but the muted colors are a different kind of beautiful now.

And there, at the far end of one of the center tables, sits Armin.

The air rushes out of her body, and it’s a struggle to silently breathe in again.

He’s leaning forward slightly, one arm on the table, the other rubbing at his temple. He’d changed out of his uniform for the day, instead sporting a blue cardigan over his collared shirt. A book lies open in front of him, but he’s looking down at his pen with the ink cartridge removed, as if he’s waiting for it to speak for itself.

I could leave.

The door’s still barely ajar behind her. If she steps backward, if she moves deftly enough, she can disappear before he even looks up.

But she hesitates. Maybe it’s the shock of seeing him after she’s been so distant from the group since the party. Maybe it’s the way his features look in the warmth of the firelight, contrasted with the cool blueness of the night behind him, the two tones meeting in a halo around his silhouette. Or maybe some part of her wants him to look up and see her.

She steps inside, softly closing the door behind her with a click.

Armin lifts his head.

Their eyes meet across the room, and for a second, neither of them says a word.

“Hey,” Emilia says, voice barely above a whisper. It still echoes in the near-empty room.

He straightens, surprised, though not with displeasure. “Hey. What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be at that gala?”

“I left early,” Emilia admits. She’s grateful in the moment for the makeup she’d been so reluctant to put on before she left for the fundraiser.

It might be the low light, but Emilia thinks his expression softens. She takes a few more steps into the room, steadying herself on a bookcase. She’d only had half a glass of champagne, but the pain in her feet from the heeled boots makes her less stable than she’d like to be. The heels, the makeup, the gloves, and the grandness of the library remind her of being a kid again, entertaining her parents’ guests. But it’s just Armin.

Armin quirks an eyebrow, setting his pen down and threading his fingers together. He doesn’t seem to be ogling her in the least, which is...oddly disappointing. Even though that’s one of the things she likes about him. “Did the well run dry with the Grunwalds?”

Emilia runs her fingers along the dusty books on the shelf in front of her. “Actually, we got the money within the first thirty minutes. I spent another half an hour talking to the younger Mr. Grunwald about how trains work.” 

“Oh, that’s good, then.”

She brushes her hand against one particularly ornate encyclopedia spine, feeling the edges of the felt. “Then, Hitch spent a while trying to introduce me to boys .” She rolls her eyes playfully. Perhaps the single glass of champagne is lowering her inhibitions more than she thought it would. Or maybe it’s because she doesn’t have a lot left to lose. 

“It’s a shame you weren’t there, Armin. You could’ve explained the steam engine better than I could have.”

He gives her a bemused smile. “Maybe.” He lowers his gaze back down to his pen cartridge, popping it back into place. “I…like the alterations they did to your coat.”

She does a complete spin, hoping to hide her blush in the process. “Oh, yeah. It’s more fitting for society events than the normal greens.” 

A pause. 

“Don’t tell Jean. About the boys. Not that you would,” Emilia rambles, unsure of where she’s going with this.

Armin gives her a tight-lipped smile, clearly wondering the same thing she is. “I won’t say a word.”

“Thank you,” she says, walking to the open space between Armin’s chair and the window. There’s a similar space in the Karbrechts’ library where the musicians used to set up for parties. Here, it’s just occupied by a light coat of dust above the wooden paneling.

He doesn’t turn to face her. 

Part of her is grateful; she can better conceal her emotions this way. “I’m guessing you heard that Jean and I decided to be just friends.”

Another, longer pause.

“Yeah, I heard.”

Emilia gazes out at the moonlit night below, at anything but the shape of him sitting across the room, turned away from her. “I felt bad about it, because he’s so incredible, and any girl would be lucky to date him. But…”

She almost hopes Armin will interrupt her now, to give her an out from what she’s about to do. Some witty remark, a question about her fundraising work, even a cough would suffice—anything that might mean she doesn’t have to keep going.

But he says nothing. Ever the good listener.

Her pulse thrums in her ears like it’s trying to drown out her thoughts, but they rise above the noise anyway. She breathes in slowly, steadying herself.

He has no idea how hard it is to be standing this close to him and still feel so far away. To pretend that she didn’t feel electricity spark across her skin every time they’d touched when they were baking, to pretend she didn’t catch the faint confusion in his eyes when she said, “The Scouts would be lost without him.” To pretend she didn’t mean him in every possible way.

Because, truthfully, even his rejection would bring her more comfort than displaying social niceties to any of the guardsmen at that stupid party. 

She’s a Scout, damn it. She should be brave enough to confess a crush.

She gives Armin a sideways glance, making sure he’s still looking anywhere but at her. It’s now or never. “I couldn’t lead him on knowing I like someone else.”

Armin tenses up, the change in his demeanor barely perceptible but still certainly there. “That makes sense.” His voice is higher than usual.

The muted blue of the lowest window panel casts a faint glow onto her hands as she fiddles with her gloves, slipping them off and letting them drop onto the windowsill. 

“Armin, what do you want to do with the rest of your life?”

His hazy reflection in the window looks up into the middle distance, still not turning to face her.

“That’s…a loaded question,” he says. After a moment, he speaks with more clarity. “Honestly, I still have so many questions about the world, and I want to answer them. I’m curious, and that feeling fuels me. I won’t be able to see everything I want to see before I die, but that’s the beauty in living, isn’t it? That there’s always more out there. But if I’m going to have to spend the rest of my life fighting, I’ve made my peace with that, too.”

As he’s speaking, Emilia slowly takes one step, and then another. It’s slow and deliberate, like she’ll spook him if she moves too fast. There’s nothing she can say to follow up his response to her query to do it justice. By the way, I think you’re cute and I’d love to make out with you right now. Stupid.

So she uses the last of her courage to carefully settle her hand on his shoulder. He stiffens but doesn’t shy away. An eternity passes in the seconds she waits to see if her touch is accepted. He turns his head, but not far enough to meet her eyes. And then, his posture relaxes underneath her fingers.

But he still says nothing.

She slowly places her other arm across his chest and leans her head against his. 

Her terror returns. The hell am I thinking? If he rejects her now, the mortification she’ll endure will end her. I’ll have to quit the Scouts. I’ll never show my face here again. I’ll get in a boat and start paddling all the way to Marley and try my luck there.

Through the fabric of his shirt underneath her hand, his heart is beating just as fast as hers is. 

After a moment, he finds his words. “What are you doing?” he asks, his voice just loud enough for her to hear.

“I don’t know,” she says, even softer. It’s the truth.

“You’re…you’re not just doing this because you’re…drunk?”

“I—” she stammers and unwraps her arms, backing away immediately. “I’m not. I mean, I didn’t have any—” Her eyes threaten to well up with tears, but she forces them back for now. She’ll have a good cry later. I fucked up. He’s not even going to want to be friends with me anymore after this. Great job, Emilia.

Armin swivels around in his seat to face her, his feelings a mystery beyond a thick veil of incredulity.

“I told Jean…I told Jean that I couldn’t…because—” She can’t get the words out, but she can’t leave it like this. Can she? Emilia gives a sidelong glance towards the door but forces her gaze back to Armin’s dumbfounded expression.

“You couldn’t do what, because why?” he asks, voice quivering, his eyes wider than she’s ever seen them.

He already knows why. He’s not stupid. This is the same person who’d figured out their enemies’ plans time and again with nothing but crumbs to go on. Why is he making me spell it out for him?

No longer able to look Armin in the eye, Emilia instead chooses to focus on a spot on the wall past him to prevent herself from crumbling into dust under the weight of how unbearably awkward this whole thing is. 

At last, she speaks. “I just want…to hug you.” What the hell? “I just want you to come over here and give me a hug.” What am I saying? “Please.”

In the silence that follows, she forces herself to look at him for the shortest iota of a second before her eyes dart away again. He looks as white as a sheet. Emilia again considers running out the door. 

But before she can make a break for it, Armin stands and takes a few, tentative steps forward. “You…you want me to…hug you?”

The last time her heart had raced this fast must’ve been the first time she tried using ODM gear. She manages a rueful chuckle. “For someone so observant, you can be very clueless sometimes.” This is torture. Premier Zachary should take notes.

Armin takes another small step towards her, like she’s some sort of strange new animal that might fly away if he gets too close. It’s exactly how she approached him a few minutes ago, like a skittish thing.

Emilia’s mouth feels so numb that she’s not sure she can speak again. Every part of her is rooted in place. If he asks me another damn question, I’m going to assume that the universe has abandoned me.  

At last, he closes the distance. His hand hovers at first over Emilia’s arm like he’s still uncertain if he’d heard her correctly. But she leans into his touch, the space between them collapsing as she rests her head on his shoulder and his arms settle lightly on her back. Emilia wraps her arms around him in kind, loosely, so he can back away if he wants to. 

But he doesn’t back away. Her cheek rests near his collarbone, his against her temple. Maybe I haven’t fucked everything up just yet.

Despite the remaining uncertainty, Emilia can’t help but melt into his embrace. It’s warm and soft, patient and not lustful. Despite the darkness outside, he smells like sunshine. This is what she meant when she’d called him gentle. Though she still has no idea if he’s just humoring her or if this really means something, her anxiety steadily retreats. 

Her eyes are shut tight. “Armin…”

He relaxes his arms and presses his head against hers—a question.

Her pulse flutters. “Have you ever kissed anyone?” 

His breath hitches, and his heart rate jumps sky-high. “No…I haven’t.”

Emilia remembers the first time she’d stepped off a rooftop, putting all of her faith into her ODM grapple to carry her to her objective like a baby bird discovering if its wings are flight-worthy or whether it’ll meet a harsh fate below. This is scarier.

“...Do you want to kiss me?”

“I…” He swallows hard and pulls back just far enough to meet her eyes. The night’s crescent moon reflects in the deep well of his pupils. “...Yes. I do.”

The gap between their lips takes a century to close as she once again gives him the chance to back out. And once again, he doesn’t take it. 

Her lips graze his. In the best way possible, Emilia feels like she’s going to pass out, the air stolen from her lungs by the beautiful boy in front of her. Armin closes the last of the distance between them, pressing his mouth flush against hers.

His lips are so, so soft. How can anything in this vicious world be so tender?

Her nerves continue to ebb away as one of his hands leaves her back and cups her face, her skin electric under his surprisingly uncalloused fingers. Oh, she thinks. Titan healing. Duh. Her hand, rough like nearly everyone else’s, slides up to thread fingers through his hair. 

Emilia’s lips are closed at first; she doesn’t want to overwhelm him or make it seem like she’s any more desperate and needy than she’s already shown herself to be tonight. 

Then, his mouth parts, just a centimeter. She takes a jagged breath of surprise. He stills, likely wondering if he’s done something wrong. Emboldened and wanting him, she opens her own mouth and brushes her tongue over the smoothness of his lips. He traces her jawline with his fingers and moves his other hand down to the small of her back, sending her mind into a tailspin.

I didn’t fuck it up. He likes me back. He actually likes me back. 

She can’t help but smile against his mouth as her teeth toy with his bottom lip. It’s the most wonderful form of breathlessness in the world. She’s dizzy and numb and sensitive and vulnerable and completely safe, all at once.

His tongue slips into her mouth, another barrier broken. She lets a satisfied sigh escape her. Nothing about the guys she’s kissed in the past could compare to the paradoxically peaceful thrill she feels kissing Armin. But she knows that if she keeps going, she won’t want to stop. I can’t ruin this. Reluctantly, she pulls her face away, her face still angled opposite his. 

“How was that?” she whispers.

Armin takes a moment to catch his breath. His hand moves from Emilia’s jawline down to her shoulder. His cheeks are flushed, and his eyes sparkle in the low light. “That was…I…”

She steps back, tracing her fingers down his arm until they’re interlocked in the hand he had around her waist moments before. “I told Jean I couldn’t go out with him,” she says, returning to the matter at hand, “because I really like you, Armin.” Emilia looks down at their interlaced hands, blushing at the chaste contact despite the fact they’d just been kissing.

He looks down as well, not meeting her gaze. “I…I like you, too.” It’s half a statement, half a question. 

“Somehow I feel like you don’t believe me,” she replies, joking but sensing the doubt in his words.

“I do. I do believe you. I just…can’t believe this ,” Armin says, and Emilia gets the implication that this refers to the circumstances . 

“Why do you think I always took so long filing those papers in the library? Rereading the same books over and over again?”

His mouth is agape, his blue eyes wide. His words are his greatest weapon, but she’d disarmed him.

She blushes, hard. “I know, I know, I’m embarrassing.”

“No, not embarrassing. I just…I guess…”

“I’m sorry if this is all too much,” she says quickly. 

He shakes his head adamantly. “No, it’s not too much. I like you. I’m just not sure I know how to be with a girl like you.”

She furrows her brows. She’d been afraid of this. ‘I just would not be a good match for someone like you.’ It’s what he’d said when they’d been carrying that damn keg.

“And what is ‘a girl like me?’”

Armin looks at her softly. As if he could look at me any other way. “You’re smart, kind, strong,” he starts, taking a shaky breath. “And beautiful. You’d probably have any man in the Walls falling at your feet. I just want you to understand that I’m not like them. I’m not…an experienced guy.”

Emilia swallows. Part of this stings, though she’s not entirely sure why. “Well, that’s too bad for the other guys in the Walls, then.” She moves Armin’s hand so that it rests again on her waist.

He musters the confidence to pull her closer, and she reacts by pressing a bold kiss to his neck, just beneath his ear, and another to his lips. Emilia sighs blissfully, and it might be her imagination, but she thinks she can feel his skin heat up in response.

Then, in the distance: footsteps. Emilia tenses as she and Armin both become acutely aware that they’re still in the library, and although it’s unlikely that anyone would be walking in to study at this hour, some drunken Scouts or MPs coming home from the Grunwalds’ gala or whatever pub crawl had been organized this weekend could very well stumble in. 

Emilia leans in one last time, whispering, “I’ll come find you after lunch tomorrow.” 

She presses one last kiss to his flushed cheek, just like she did in the kitchen annex thirteen days ago. The only difference is, this time, they both know it’s romantic.

Once again, Armin watches as Emilia leaves, her tailored Scout coat swishing behind her. The last thing he sees is a bright smile she gives him over her shoulder as she pulls the library door closed behind her. He drifts back towards the table, patting at it blindly to find his notebook and pen, still unable to take his eyes off the doorway. 

The starlight is dim on this cloudy night, but it pierces his chest, nonetheless. Joy cuts through his disbelief. Her eyes, her lips, her hands, her waist... 

Maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow and this will have all been a beautiful dream.

Chapter Text

537 Days Before the Rumbling

Emilia polishes away at a piece of ODM gear—the latest model—in a dusty, forgotten supply room when she hears Armin’s voice ring clear through her incomparable daydreams. She scurries to the door and ducks her head outside, where he’s walking by with some junior Scout. “Sorry, I have to borrow Armin for a minute,” she says, resisting the urge to grab his sleeve and pull him inside.

He follows her into the supply room, hands hanging by his sides. She quickly realizes that whatever she had planned to say, it was forgotten the moment she saw his face. The sunlight filters in through the old glass windows, casting a glow on his golden hair.

“Hi,” she manages with a bashful smile.

“Hi,” he replies.

“Did you sleep well?” she asks, settling onto one of the few battered wooden benches lining the wall. The air smells faintly of dust and old stone. No one will wander into this forgotten corner of the fortress.

He sinks down beside her, nodding, though his tired eyes betray him. “Sort of. Not as much as I’d have liked. What about you?”

“Pretty well, I guess.” The words taste hollow. Should I be the one to bring it up? The questions crowd in, relentless. Was last night a mistake? Does he regret it? Did I come on too strong? The daylight seems harsher than last night’s quiet shelter, and she feels exposed. She aches to reach for his hand, to bridge the growing silence—but her fingers stay clenched in her lap.

“I was just cleaning some new ODM gear. It’s already pretty clean, so it’s just busywork.” Emilia doesn’t meet Armin’s gaze in fear of what she’ll find there. Plus, if she turns her head, her lips will be centimeters from his. “Nobody really comes back here.” So we can talk alone.

He sits up a bit straighter, his knee brushing hers in the process. “I’m glad we get the chance to talk more, then.”

“What do you want to talk about?” She turns her head just enough to glimpse his profile. In her standard-issue uniform, her hair plain and her skin bare, she feels stripped of the confidence she’d found the night before. Still, she shifts her hand on her thigh, palm up. If he wants it, it’s his.

His fingers twitch, but Armin doesn’t take her offering just yet. “I want to talk about last night.”

Her heart pounds against her ribs, but she forces herself to stay composed. If this is where he tells me he regrets it—if this is where he pulls away—I’ll handle it. I have to. They’d still be comrades, still part of the same circle. There’d be no room for awkwardness. No room for heartbreak. “What about it?” she asks, her tone as neutral as she can make it.

He swivels to look at her, taking something out of his pack and setting it into her waiting hand. “You left your gloves in the library.”

“Oh,” she says, feeling the warmth rise in her cheeks. She places the gloves aside. “Thanks.”

“Also…” he says, and Emilia’s heart skips a beat. “I liked…what we did. I want to do it again. If you want to, I mean.” Armin reaches out and tentatively places his hand onto hers. She feels his heartbeat quicken through the skin of his wrist.

Her whole body relaxes. Interlacing her fingers with Armin’s, she says, “I’m glad. I feel the same way.”

He tightens his grip on her hand a little as he smiles. Facing away from the sun, the shadows obscure most of his blush, but a triangle of sunlight reveals a sliver of red high on his cheek. “I wasn’t sure if you did, especially after…”

“Especially after what?” she asks, brushing her thumb over his knuckles.

His gaze darts from her eyes to her hand. “I wasn’t sure if I did anything wrong. I’d never done anything like that before, so…”

Oh. Right. Leaning in a bit closer, she looks at him through her lashes. “I’ll say that you’re a very quick study.” And it was true, she had enjoyed it. Most of the boys she’d kissed before had been…grabby. Self-indulgent. Last night was different.

Armin lets out a quiet, nervous laugh. “So I didn’t mess it up, then?”

“No,” she says, her own soft chuckle escaping before she can stop it. And then she can’t hold back any longer. She leans in, steadying herself with a hand on his shoulder, and kisses him.

Every thought vanishes the instant their lips meet. The warmth of him, the slight tremor beneath her fingertips as her grip on his shoulder tightens. Part of her is anchoring herself; part of her is trying to reassure him. They’re both trembling, and when she draws back, she rests her forehead gently against his.

“Are you okay?” she breathes.

“Just nervous,” he admits.

“Me too,” Emilia whispers, and a fragile smile flickers at the corners of her mouth. “But it’s okay.” And before doubt can creep in, she kisses him again. She’d never cared this much about what any MP boy thought of her. She’s never felt this raw, this exposed. But at least if we’re both scared, we’re scared together.

The muscles in his shoulder loosen under her grip as he wraps his free hand around her waist. She wants to move closer, to lean into him, but the bench they’re sitting on won’t allow for it. 

Then, she has an idea. 

Emilia stands, beckoning Armin to follow her to one of the tables in the center of the room. She slides the pieces of shiny ODM gear aside and hops up on the high surface, facing outward. The sunlight hits his face as he stands before her; he’s more flustered than I thought . The heat rises in her cheeks—no, her entire body.

Her legs rest on either side of his waist, and one of his hands finds her knee, the other caressing her waist again. Emilia wishes she were wearing anything other than her Scout Regiment-issue long khaki pants. She wraps her arms around him and looks at him expectantly, their faces level.

This time, she’d wait for him to kiss her.

A myriad of thoughts swirl in his wide blue eyes. Then, he shuts them and leans in. The kiss is everything it had been last night and more. Though Emilia had been desperate to keep her nerves hidden, all the while, Armin’s are endearing. Here in her arms is the inheritor of the destructive power of the Colossal titan, nervous to kiss her. 

Emilia closes her eyes tightly, her entire world shrunk to this moment. She’s unsure if he pulls her closer or vice versa, but suddenly their chests are pressed together, the plush softness of hers against his lean muscle. Her body paradoxically feels numb and yet so incredibly focused on his touches at the same time. She sighs, and without thinking, she swings her feet higher, wrapping her legs around his waist and locking her ankles together. 

He gasps against her mouth in surprise, and she’s worried she’s overstepped, but then Armin’s fingers run up from her knee to her hip, and her eyes flutter open. She wonders what it would be like to untuck his collared shirt and run her hands freely underneath it. Not now, she scolds herself. I can’t push my luck. Besides, Levi would give them both kitchen duty for a month if he found out they were stripping off pieces of clothing in the storage room.

Armin’s breath hitches as she presses a kiss to his jawline, his hand on her hip tightening. A bead of sweat runs down Emilia’s face, and she’s not sure if it’s hers or his. She doesn’t want to…frustrate him too much into something she can’t finish here. But why would I ever want to stop? 

Just then, the pair hear the chime of the newly rebuilt Stohess clock tower, marking six in the evening. Has it really been that long? She unhooks her legs and lets them dangle off the table.

Emilia and Armin exchange sheepish glances. We shouldn’t be embarrassed; this is a normal thing for two eighteen-year-olds to do. And she’d done far more than this in the past. But she just cares so fucking much. She rubs Armin’s arm reassuringly, and as he backs away, she hops off the table and straightens her shirt collar. 

Armin takes a shaky breath, raking a hand through his hair as if he can smooth down the nerves still flickering beneath his skin. “We should probably head to dinner.”

Emilia nods, though her mind is already racing. Should they leave the room separately? Would it look suspicious if they didn’t? The thought knots with another before she can stop it: has Armin told anyone? She wouldn’t mind people knowing, eventually. Just... not yet. Not when the wrong whisper could twist everything before it gets the chance to blossom into something real.

“Hey,” she says, adjusting her jacket, “did you tell Eren, Mikasa, or anyone else about last night?”

A flash of something she can’t name crosses his face. “No, I…didn’t know if you’d want anyone to know.”

Relief softens her shoulders. Good. No need to let the world complicate this before we’ve even figured out what it is. “For now, maybe it’s best we keep it between us. You know how fast gossip spreads.” And I don’t want Jean to be upset. She hopes Armin hears what she isn’t saying.

Armin hesitates, lips pressing together, thinking it through. “Yeah...yeah. Probably best not to say anything.”

She rearranges the ODM gear on the table, erasing any sign of what they had just been doing. “Okay, how about you head down to the mess hall first and I’ll follow a couple of minutes behind?”

“Okay. I’ll…see you there.” He smiles, though not quite as genuinely as before, and she wonders quickly if she’d done something wrong. Emilia shrugs it off. She’ll have time to ask him about it later.

After he leaves, she waits a few minutes before heading out as well. The brilliant rush of exhilaration is still so present in her mind that she doesn’t even notice the figure sitting in the courtyard, watching her through the hedges. 

Armin makes it about halfway across the mess hall before Sasha’s voice calls out behind him. He startles, heart kicking up as if she might somehow know what he’s just done. He swallows the panic, shoving down the thoughts swirling in his head—about Emilia, about whether she cares for this fragile, uncertain thing between them as much as he does, or if he’s being foolish. Clingy. Maybe she’s just having fun. Maybe she’s ashamed of him, and that’s why she wants to keep it a secret. He clamps down on those doubts, afraid that if he lets them run loose, someone will read them right off his face.

“Heard there’s meat loaf tonight, Sasha,” Armin says, trying to keep his voice casual.

Sasha grabs Armin’s shoulders from behind. “I know! And Hange has an announcement.”

“Hange has an announcement?” Armin asks, but Sasha has already run ahead of him. Generally, he’s one of the first people to hear about any upcoming plans. Have I been that distracted?  

He heads for the food line, his worries still spinning. Does Emilia not want people to ever know that anything had happened between them? He thinks back to last night, when she had kissed him so tenderly. Has he misread the situation, just like he misread her feelings for 'Jean?'

He drifts toward the food line, trying to focus on the present. But the questions keep gnawing at him. Does she want to keep this hidden forever? Did I get it all wrong? His mind tugs back to the memory of her lips against his, the way she’d held him...

Armin scans the room, searching for an anchor. His gaze lands on Mikasa, sitting alone at their usual long table, and some of his tension eases…but not all of it. If anyone’s going to see through me, it’s Mikasa. Here goes nothing.

He slides into the seat across from her. “Where’s Eren?”

Mikasa’s expression is cloudy. “He’s not feeling well tonight. I’m going to take him some food after Hange’s announcement.” 

Armin catches the heaviness in her voice, and another wave of unease hits. Great. Another thing I’m apparently the last to know about.

Sasha and Connie plop down on either side of him, their plates piled high with meat loaf. forces himself to keep a straight face as Emilia takes the seat across from them. It’s agonizing, sitting here like nothing’s changed. At least for him. Emilia’s chatting with Sasha like it’s any other night, like last night—and this afternoon—never happened.

Armin bites the inside of his cheek. He doesn’t like feeling like someone that she’s just…messing around with.

He clears his throat. “So, what’s with this announcement?”

“I don’t know. Might be another big construction project,” Mikasa says, shifting her food around without much interest. “What do you think it could be?”

“Oh, uh, I don’t know.” He shrugs, barely listening, his attention snagged by Emilia’s easy laughter, the cadence of her voice as she talks with Sasha. How is she so calm?

Then Sasha’s voice cuts through his spiraling thoughts, half-muffled by a mouthful of food. “Emilia, why are you touching my leg?”

Armin blinks, head snapping up. His gaze darts to Emilia just in time to see the faintest flicker of embarrassment in her eyes before she glances away.

“Well, your leg was on my side of the table,” Emilia argues.

“That’s because I’m taller than you,” Sasha shoots back, grinning.

Armin watches them, and some of the tightness in his chest eases. Maybe that was her way of trying to reach out to him without the whole table seeing. Or maybe he’s just desperate to believe that. Either way, the softness in his heart lingers.

“Yeah, by five centimeters,” Emilia teases, recovering her composure.

“You guys are bickering without me?” Jean chimes in, sitting down next to Emilia.

“Has everyone seen Jean’s new haircut?” Connie announces to the group. Jean gives him a look, to which Connie adds, “Hey, I know you were gonna wanna show it off, don’t lie.”

Jean rolls his eyes, but he grins as Emilia humors him, checking out his hair. 

“And it’s a nice cut,” Connie continues. “Not as life-changing as Armin’s, but nice.”

Armin looks down at his food, guilt swirling at the notion that perhaps Jean had not gotten over whatever feelings he had for Emilia. That his friend might still like his…friend with benefits? Is that what I should call her? 

Then, a hush quiets over the room, and Hange appears with a clipboard in hand. “Attention, Scouts! I have an exciting announcement to make.” Their hair is messier than usual, like she’d been running back and forth through whatever logistical nightmare had arisen this week. Armin forces himself to pay attention, though all he wants to do is work through his thoughts about—

“Tomorrow at noon, a special cohort of Scouts gets the opportunity of a lifetime…to be the first Eldians from Paradis aboard an airship!” Hange throws their hands in the air for dramatic effect, but nobody cheers. “Well, not tomorrow, specifically. There’s a lot of planning involved, and the two landing platforms still need some finishing touches…and the volunteers sort of need our help with some railroad issues by the coast. So it’ll take a few weeks. But get excited!”

“Wait, wait, who’s going?” Connie asks, leaning forward on his elbows.

“I’m so glad you asked! The list includes…” Hange flips through some pages on the clipboard as the surrounding tables return to eating. Everyone knows only the most senior Scouts will be chosen for something so important. “Eren, Mikasa, Armin, Connie, and Sasha. As well as myself, Captain Levi, and two senior soldiers each from the MPs and the Garrison. For unity, and all that good stuff.”

Armin’s stomach flips. Tomorrow at noon? A few weeks? Right as he and Emilia were starting to get close…While everyone is still looking at Hange, Armin’s eyes dart to Emilia’s, watching her expression change from excitement to worry in real time. All he wants to do is hold her hand or, at the very least, brush her leg with his foot, to do anything to acknowledge that they were something to each other.

“Wait, Commander, what about me?” Jean asks, sitting up straighter.

“Ah, yes. Jean. You’ll be holding down the fort while the rest of us are gone. I trust you’ll be able to manage the junior Scouts’ training schedules and liaise with the other branches when necessary.”

Jean gives Hange a simple nod as they walk away, and Armin can’t tell if he’s disappointed at being left behind or happy that he’s been given a leadership role.

With that, Mikasa gets up and taps Armin’s shoulder. “I’m going to take this food to Eren. We should all talk later so we can prepare to leave tomorrow.” Armin can only give a shaky sigh in response.

“Wow, Jean’s in charge of the whole fortress while we’re gone. Hopefully, he doesn’t burn it down,” Connie says, kicking Jean playfully under the table.

“Aw, I’ll miss you guys while you’re away. Bring me back a souvenir, especially if you get to go to the beach,” Emilia says with a smile. She says it to everyone, but Armin hopes that last part is an indicator that she’ll miss him, in particular. He lets himself hope. Just a little.

“Well, looks like we’re going to be holding down the fort, eh, Emilia?” Jean says, giving her a slight nudge with his shoulder. “Literally.”

Jean’s comment makes Armin’s hope sputter. Logically, he knows that Jean is going to respect Emilia’s wishes about just being friends. This is all just banter; he’s not going to make a move on her. And if he does, and she reciprocates, who is Armin to protest? She’s allowed to do what she wants. Even if it would really, really hurt.

Before he can stop himself, Armin abruptly stands and says, “I’m going to go prepare the horses for tomorrow.” He needs a minute to breathe.

“I’ll go help you,” Emilia says, just as abruptly.

Connie sighs. “Can’t, got kitchen duty,” to which Sasha adds, “So do I,” in a way that indicates she’s going to have her way with the leftovers.

Armin breathes an internal sigh of relief at getting the chance to be alone with Emilia again, until —

“I’ll help you out, too, Armin. Least I can do before you all head out,” Jean says.

Armin feels a flicker of irritation, sharp and unfamiliar. It’s not like him to feel competitive, especially not with Jean, and certainly not over a girl. The guilt follows right on its heels. Get a grip. He forces a smile. “Thanks. That’d be great.”

Together they cross the courtyard, boots scuffing against the packed earth, and make their way to the stables near the back gate. Only eleven of them are slated for this trip, so there’s not much to do. The air between the three of them feels uncharacteristic of their usual camaraderie, filled with all the things none of them are saying.

“Hey, do you know how Eren’s doing?” Jean asks at last, his voice cutting through the tension, though there’s a trace of uncertainty in it. Armin feels Emilia’s gaze on him, her expression as relieved as he is to have the quiet broken

“I stopped by earlier to check on him, but he was sleeping. Mikasa’s with him now, though, so I’m sure he’s comfortable.” In truth, Armin is more worried about Eren than he’s letting on. He hasn’t been himself recently. Actually, he hasn’t been himself for a long while.

“Hopefully he’s well enough to set out tomorrow,” Emilia says. 

“Ah, Eren’s tough, he’ll be fine. You’d think titan powers would be enough to keep you from getting a stomach bug,” Jean says. The stables are within reach now, out of sight from anyone else in the fortress. If Jean weren’t with them, Armin thinks he’d be taking Emilia’s hand right about now. “Armin, have you been sick since you became the Colossal?”

“Uh, maybe once or twice.” He knows he’s being curt, but his mind keeps turning back to her , to the fact that they might not have time alone before he leaves tomorrow. That they’d be apart for who knows how long afterwards. Perhaps he would die out there, and his last time being with her was a failed leg touch under the table. Okay, maybe that’s dramatic. I just wish I could talk to her about…everything on my mind.

Emilia also doesn’t seem to be in a chatty mood, either. As they reach the stalls, she begins brushing one of the horses as Armin grabs a bucket and gets to work.

Jean stops in his tracks and sniffs his own shirt. “Do I smell or something? I feel like you guys are mad at me. Are you guys mad at me?”

The guilt in Armin’s chest bubbles up again. “No, you smell just as bad as usual, Jean. Which is to say, like horse dung,” he jokes half-heartedly.

Jean chuckles, posing next to one of the horses and grinning. “Well, we’re in the right environment for it.” After a moment, says, “Hey, why don’t you both get some rest? I can handle this. After all, I am the king of the horses.” 

He definitely still thinks we’re mad at him. Conscience-stricken, Armin clears his throat. “You sure? I don’t mind staying and helping out.”

“Nah, it’s all right. I’ll take it from here. Besides, if I’m in charge of the fort for the next month, I should get used to it,” Jean says, leaning against a stall door.

“Thanks, Jean. You’re the best,” Emilia says, offering him a quick, almost reflexive side hug before turning away. Armin watches as she heads off, not toward the dorms or the mess hall, but the long way around the stable yard. The route where no one else will be. Where we can talk.

Both relief and dread swirl together in his chest. Armin lingers just long enough not to seem obvious, then follows, his boots scuffing softly against the dirt beneath him. The night air is cool and still, the last vestiges of the season lingering. His eyes flick across the shadows as he rounds the corner, searching for anyone who might be watching. Spying no one, he hurries to fall into step beside her.

When she’s sure they’re out of range, Emilia grabs Armin’s hand, to his clear surprise, and beckons him behind a large stack of crates. She can feel his pulse quicken as he glances around to make sure they’re not being followed. But it’s quiet back here, save for a sparse array of late-winter crickets, with no one around as far as the eye can see.

She pulls him close, wrapping her arms around him and burying her head in his shoulder. She doesn’t say anything, just breathes in his scent, which is now mixed with the faint smell of hay from the stables. In the coolness of the season, he feels like summer brought to life. 

Armin buries his head into her shoulder in kind, tightening their embrace. But it doesn’t erase the guilt she feels.

She feels guilty that they left Jean alone at the stables, that she’d taken advantage of Jean’s residual feelings for her to be alone with his friend. She feels guilty for barging into Armin’s life and distracting him from his work. He should be focused on the negotiations with the Azumabito, on flying in the airship, on potentially leaving for Marley sometime soon, but here he is, concerned about me,  she thinks. She feels guilty that she made out with him in the library, and then for an hour in the storeroom, because despite her better instincts telling her it’s okay, she feels like she’s ruining his innocence, or that she would ruin his innocence as soon as he finds out about her…baggage. She feels guilty about asking him to keep this a secret. She doesn’t know what would be worse, asking him to keep this whole thing from the rest of their friends, or causing problems for both of them by making it public too early. And finally, she feels guilty for feeling guilty, because this time next week, she’ll be sitting around while her fellow Scouts do all the heavy lifting down at the railroad. What do my girlish feelings matter in the grand scheme of all of this?

Emilia wants to talk about their relationship, about whatever this “thing” between them is, but she knows there’s no time for that before tomorrow. She doesn’t even realize that she’s shaking until she feels his hand making gentle circles on her back. The softness of his touch makes her feelings of shame even stronger. He shouldn’t have to comfort me; this is all my fault for being greedy and wanting him, dragging him into my messes.  

Jean liking her wasn’t enough, so she had to go and want Armin, too. In this moment, she feels like…a really shitty person.

She pulls back and looks at him, her voice level. The subtle glow of the lamplight through his lashes casts dreamlike shadows over his features. 

“Hey, I don’t want you to be preoccupied over me, over…this,” she starts. He frowns, and she smiles, covering her layers of complex emotions in a thin coat of enthusiasm. “You’re going to be hanging around the ocean, you’re going to fly in an airship!” Selfishly, she wishes they had chosen her, too, that she’d be going with them. Though that wouldn’t solve most of her problems… why did it have to be so soon?

“You know I’m going to be thinking about you the whole time I’m gone, don’t you?”

“Armin, I…” Emilia tries to think of the right words to say. “...I don’t want you to.” She immediately winces. That was not, in fact, the right thing to say. 

But she wants him to know that she’s serious. And maybe — just maybe — she has a tendency to self-sabotage. “I want you to be able to be focused and have your moment. I don’t want you to be thinking about me or worrying about me. I’ll be just fine right here. You can come back and tell me all about it.”

His face falls, and her heart clenches. When Armin speaks, his voice is quiet. “You don’t want me to think about you?”

And now she’s hurt his feelings, which is yet another thing for her to feel guilty about. Perhaps most of all. Fix this, she tells herself. Say something that makes it right.

“Armin, I really like you. I do.” She tilts her head, searching his deep blue eyes, hoping he’ll see the sincerity in hers. “And this thing between us, I’m excited about it. I’ve admired you for months. I’m so happy we’re finally getting closer. But it’s because I admire you that I don’t want something that’s been going on for two days to overshadow a dream you’ve had your whole life.”

She means every word, but as Armin’s gaze lingers on her, scanning her face, she can’t shake the feeling that she’s only making things worse. I’m ruining it. He’s new to all of this. No experience. No defenses. What if he’s only caught up in the rush of it all? What if he comes back from the expedition and realizes he never truly liked her the way she hoped he did? But all the same, she can’t bear the idea of being the reason he loses focus, of taking away from something he’s worked so hard for. The only reason they’d made contact with the outside world at all…is because of him.

“You’re telling me that I’m not allowed to think about you for weeks? I’m just supposed to…forget about everything with you until I come back?” His voice stays level, but she can hear the quiet hurt threading through it.

She draws in a breath, steadying herself, and reaches for his hands, holding them in both of hers. His fingers feel warm and smooth against her calloused palms. Focus, she tells herself. Say what you mean. Don’t let fear speak for you.

“What I mean to say is, I want you to focus on you and on this expedition. And when you come back,” she says as she looks up at him, “if you still feel the same way about me, we can figure it out. Together.” She swallows. “Can you…can you do that for me?”

Armin looks at her so intently, with such vulnerability, that it sends a rush of jitters through her veins. He nods. “I can do that.”

Emilia gives a small sigh of relief and puts her head back down onto his shoulder. “Thank you,” she murmurs. She just wants to be sure— absolutely sure —that he understands what he’s getting into, that this isn’t just infatuation born from his first kiss. And then the guilt creeps in. I shouldn’t think that way. He’s smarter than that. More genuine than that. But hope feels dangerous. She’s been burned too many times before.

Armin’s arms tighten around her, his fingers bunching in the fabric of her jacket. “But I have a condition too,” he says, voice low and steady.

She lifts her head, heart stuttering in her chest.

Armin’s next words come out just above a whisper. “If you’re thinking that I only feel this way because you’re my first… because I’ve never…” Emilia sees the heat rush to his cheeks, even in the soft glow of the lamplight. Of course, he knows what I was thinking. She should’ve known. He’s too smart for his own good.  

“Promise me you’ll talk to me. I like you, Emilia. I like you a lot. I just want you to tell me what you’re feeling. I-if I do anything wrong, or if you’re unsure about something…”

The weight of his words settles into her bones. “Okay,” she says softly. “I promise.” I want to believe you, she thinks. And maybe, just maybe, she’s starting to. It’s so new. But his reassurance is enough to carry her through these next few weeks. “I will.”

Armin’s smile is small, but real. He brushes his fingers along her hairline and behind her ear, and she can’t help the sigh that escapes her lips.

“I’ll come to see you off, of course. But this is probably the last chance we have to…” Emilia trails off, her meaning clear. Her eyes flit to his mouth. She realizes as she’s holding him that they’re swaying a bit, back and forth. It’s calming, like being rocked to sleep. 

In the very short time that they’d been close, Armin had become such a relaxing presence to her. Emilia daydreams of endless afternoons of him kissing her slowly, lazing around in the sunshine, legs intertwined. No, I can’t let myself long for that. Not until he comes back and I know that he still feels the same.

But, against her best judgement, she just wants one more kiss…

He lowers his face, just a centimeter. Evidently, he doesn’t want to be the one to break her rules.

“I know I asked you to focus on yourself while you’re gone, but you’re not gone until tomorrow…” she says, slowly. “Right now, we still have a little bit of time.” Emilia lifts her mouth and stops, seeing if he’ll take the opportunity. 

He looks into her eyes once more, his breath coming in short little bursts. And then, he kisses her. 

Emilia’s hand rises to caress his cheek, the skin impossibly soft under her fingertips, his lips even softer. Her worries melt into the background, replaced by the swell of butterflies in her stomach reaching a height in her chest. 

Emilia knows that if this fragile, hopeful thing between them continues, she’s going to fall for him. Hard. The thought is so overwhelming, so raw, that part of her almost welcomes the distance the coming weeks will bring. Time apart might be just what she needs to steady herself, to untangle these feelings before they sweep her away entirely.

She leans in closer, fitting herself to him, and they stay like that—lips meeting, parting, finding each other again—for what feels like ten, fifteen, maybe twenty minutes. When she finally pulls back, it’s only just enough to let his head drop to her shoulder. She threads her fingers through his hair and whispers, “I want you to get some sleep. Tomorrow’s a big day.”

Armin nods, his cheek warm against her collarbone. When he finally lifts his head, there’s a soft, almost sulky look in his eyes that tugs a smile from her. Emilia can’t help but wonder what it would’ve been like if she’d confessed earlier. If they had more time, more moments like this before he had to go. But perhaps that would’ve made the parting even harder.

“We should get to our rooms before anyone notices we’re gone,” Emilia whispers as she reluctantly steps out of his embrace.

He nods, giving her a small smile. “Yeah, we should.”

They start back toward the main part of the fort. It’s still early enough that no one would think twice seeing them together. But as they near the edge of the shadows, Emilia stops short. Without giving herself time to second-guess, she turns and presses one last, fleeting kiss to his lips. She holds the warmth of it for just a breath, then moves away, grinning, before she can see his reaction. Armin falls into step beside her, and to any passing glance, they’re simply two friends out for a stroll.

Somehow, Emilia keeps herself from grabbing his hand as they walk. They reach the dorms far too soon. “Goodnight, Armin. Sleep well.” 

“Goodnight, Emilia. Sleep well.”

She takes one last glimpse of his beautiful face before slipping inside her room. Thankfully, Klara is already asleep, because she wouldn’t be able to hide her current state from her roommate if the other girl were awake. She gets ready for bed, practically bouncing on her heels with a mix of nerves and joy. It’s going to be a long few weeks.

Chapter Text

502 Days Before the Rumbling

Spring, it seemed, had conspired with Emilia, decking the streets in delicate petals and perfume-thick air, all to veil her anticipation behind something more palatable than longing. 

She stands at the edge of the festival, where the scent of sugar candies and fresh lilac curls around her, now tinged with the smell of the horse carts as the expedition arrives back in Stohess. Her eyes skim the crowd with a particular hunger, catching on every speck of blonde hair that turns out not to be him. The crowd is massive; along with the arrival of spring, everyone and their rich mother in the district wants to hear about the airship before it hits the presses. 

Somewhere in the buzz of laughter and children chasing soap bubbles, Armin is unpacking his things. Not yet visible, not yet hers, but near enough that her breath has started behaving differently, still in her throat, like it doesn’t want to spook the moment.

She sighs, knowing it will probably take a bit before she can find him, much less get him alone. But she’s waited five weeks already—a week longer than expected. Another hour will be nothing. She turns to Jean, his tall frame much more capable of peeking over the cascade of people than hers is. “Can you see them?”

“Connie waved at me earlier. He looked happy. Seems like a successful expedition to me. And I didn’t burn the fort down while they were gone,” Jean chuckles.

“Okay, I’m counting on you and your big head to navigate us through these people,” Emilia says, grabbing onto the back of Jean’s hood like a horse’s reins. She’s happy that they’d regained their friendly banter and that the awkwardness of their failed half-date had subsided over card games and training sessions with the others who had been left behind at the fort. It’s good to have my friend back.

“Haha, very—” Jean’s words are cut off as he’s hit in the face by a child’s rogue cupcake, leaving a spattering of frosting on his cheek. 

Emilia bursts into laughter as Jean tries the frosting, and she can’t help but stick her finger into it to taste it for herself. It’s citrusy. She misses having things like this; she’s always had a sweet tooth, and such indulgences are rare outside of the occasional fundraising gala.

And then, through a gap in the crowd no wider than a breath, she sees him. 

The memories come flooding back. His perfect, lithe hands, his sky blue eyes that sparkle the same in the moon and the sun, the way his lips tasted on her tongue. The way his chest had felt pressed against hers, the steady thrum of his heartbeat, the way he’d cupped her face, the blissful numbness in her jaw as she—

A few Garrison soldiers with bulky ODM gear clank by, obscuring her vision, and Emilia curses silently. She yanks Jean’s sleeve in Armin’s direction, beckoning him to help her clear a path towards the side archway where she’d spotted him moments before. “I think I saw Armin over there. And maybe Sasha, too,” she lies. I can’t seem too excited.

In the five weeks that had passed, Emilia had told no one of what had passed between herself and Armin. How could she? The beautiful complication was her way of passing the time: the memories and the daydreams of what could be were a secret, gratifying comfort that sang her to sleep at night.

The squad of Garrison soldiers filters by, and Armin’s golden hair peeks through the crowd like the sun on a cloudy day.

But she stops dead in her tracks when she sees his face across the crowded square—horrified, as if he’s just been struck in the face. He’s speaking to someone Emilia can’t quite see, a shadow tucked into the fray, but whatever’s been said has hollowed him out. She stops so abruptly that Jean slams right into her from behind.

Jean puts his hand on Emilia’s shoulder to steady himself. “Whoa, watch where you’re going,” he says, in a way that suggests his usual shit-eating grin is coloring his features. 

But she barely registers Jean’s words. Her eyes are fixed on Armin. His gaze has drifted to some space far beyond the square, far beyond her. She smiles, a bright, involuntary smile, naive in its hopefulness. Maybe he’s just overwhelmed. Maybe something happened on the way home. Maybe I can cheer him up. The crowd is still too loud for her to call out.

Armin turns.

Their eyes meet.

And Emilia’s smile dies pitifully on her lips.

Armin’s face is carved from some cold, unfamiliar stone. One might say it’s expressionless, but she knows better. It’s a mask with something more devastating simmering underneath. Emilia’s stomach drops, and a snake of dread makes its home in her throat. She has no idea if it's what was said in his unheard conversation, or some change that had occurred far away, at the shore, in the sky, as she slept peacefully in her bed at home—but something has shifted.

Jean drops his hand from her shoulder and brings it to his brow, peering through the cacophony of people in the sun’s harsh light. “Man, Armin looks like he has food poisoning or something.”

Emilia swallows hard and turns around, trying not to bump elbows with the soldiers and festivalgoers around her. “We should go see what’s up, maybe he could use our help…unpacking things.” Her voice is shaking a little.

“Yeah, sure,” Jean says, his amber eyes studying her. “I’ll try to clear a path.”

But by the time they make it to the archway, Armin is already gone.

501 Days Before the Rumbling

“Wow, you’re all dolled up today. Who for?” 

Emilia blushes, nudging Sasha in the ribs. The two girls’ faces are rosy in the morning light reflecting off the small, aged mirror on Emilia’s desk. Emilia runs the spoolie through her lashes again, darkening them. “What, a girl can’t look pretty for herself?” 

Klara gives Emilia a devilish glance from across the room as she lazily brushes her auburn locks, legs crisscrossed on the bedspread. If looks could kill, the one Emilia shoots back would have her roommate bleeding out on the ground, taking her secret with her to the grave. The last thing I need right now is for anyone else to know about my crush on Armin. Any wrong move could jeopardize everything.

Emilia’s nerves are stretched taut with uncertainty after Armin’s unreadable behavior yesterday. He hadn’t shown up for dinner. She hadn’t been invited to the mission debrief with the senior officers, nor had she had the courage to linger outside the audience room and wait for him there. She’d been left to spiral in silence, her only lifeline the note she slipped under his door in the sleepless hours of the night, asking him to meet her in the storeroom this morning. Whether he’ll come, she has no idea. He won’t leave me hanging. He’s not that type of person, she assures herself. But the snake of dread sits heavy in her throat, feeding on her fear and growing larger by the minute. For now, she needs a distraction.

“So…” she says, forcing lightness into her voice. “How was the trip?”

“We didn’t go out very far, but it was amazing,” Sasha replies, beaming. “The ocean looks even more incredible from up there. Everything smelled like salt and wind and sky,” Sasha says. Emilia’s eyes widen with wonder, but a twinge of sadness scratches her heart. She’d imagined hearing about it from Armin first.

“Were there birds up there?”

“Not that many. We were so high up. Kind of scary, but so, so fun. You’re going to love it when you get to go.”

“Wow, I…” Emilia starts, but she trails off as Mikasa peeks her head through the doorway.

“Have either of you seen Armin this morning? I’ve been looking for him, but can’t find him anywhere, and I’m getting worried.”

Emilia’s throat goes dry, her mouth still clinging to her unfinished sentence.

“No, I haven’t,” Sasha answers first. “But I saw him late last night. He didn’t look too hot, honestly. Maybe he’s got some…residual airship sickness, if that’s a thing.”

Klara shoots Emilia a look: Trouble in paradise?

Her jaw tightens as she glares back: I’ll fucking kill you if you say a word.

Klara purses her lips and raises her eyebrows, but she plops backwards on the bed, remaining silent. Thankfully, Mikasa and Sasha don’t appear to notice the silent exchange.

“Yeah, no, I haven’t seen him either,” Emilia says, aiming for casual but feeling anything but. She runs a finger over her lashes, rubbing off the excess mascara. “Sorry, Mikasa.”

“Alright, just…let me know if you do.” Mikasa gives Emilia and Sasha a half-hearted smile as she heads back out into the hall.

“Huh. I hope Armin’s okay,” Sasha says, propping an elbow on Emilia’s desk chair.

“Yeah,” Emilia says. A creature made of guilt joins the snake coiled within her. The saliva feels sharp and sour in her mouth, like she’s guilty of a crime and is just waiting for the sentence to fall against her. If Armin is upset because of her, if she’d done something she couldn’t remember, her friends would surely take his side, whether he wanted them to or not. Had I crossed an invisible line without realizing it? Or does he just not like me anymore?

She doesn’t know which would be worse: that she’d done something wrong, or that she hadn’t, and he’d grown repulsed by her anyway.

“Catch you guys later, I’ve got gear to clean,” Emilia says, plopping her mascara cake and spoolie back into their tin with a clink.

She’s grateful for the lack of a smartass remark from Klara as she leaves, her boots thumping audibly against the wooden floors as she heads to the store room. Maybe he’s already there waiting. But it’s wishful thinking. 

The room is dim, empty, and still when she arrives. This is okay, this is fine. Ideal, even, that I’m here first. She feels a flutter in her chest as she props herself up on the table, situating herself for the moment Armin walks through that door. She’d felt the heat of his breath on her neck in this very spot, five weeks prior. Had run her hands up and down his arms, gripped his hips between her strong thighs. It’s this memory that tides her over as she waits.

And waits.

And waits…

Until finally, she accepts the obvious truth. He isn’t coming.

Did he not get my note? Did he get held up in a meeting?

More wishful thinking. If he wanted to be here, nothing would hold him back. He'd have found a way out of whatever obligation was preventing him from being with her. Armin isn't here because he doesn't want to be. The tears sting in the back of her eyes, and the snake in her throat uncoils, threatening to release the day’s breakfast. Emilia pulls her feet up on the table, hugging her legs and resting her face in the gap between her knees.

Get it together, you’re an adult, says the rational part of her. Crying over a man who isn’t even your boyfriend.

She needs to shake out these feelings, or she’s going to come apart at the seams one way or another. If she stays here another second to watch the clock run down and time out her dignity any further… No. Out of every emotion swirling in her body, adrenaline is her best bet to take over. 

No one is scheduled to be in the ODM yard at this hour. Maybe she can burn off the energy and feel better somehow, or at least like the day isn’t a waste. Or, failing that, find a corner where she can cry without an audience.

Chapter Text

The Hierophant: the card of traditional conventions, authority, and institutions, or someone beholden to them.

501 Days Before the Rumbling

As he hops down from the carriage to the cobblestones, all Armin can think about is getting cleaned up, changing his clothes, and seeing Emilia. Unfortunately, it doesn’t look like the general public wants to let him do that. 

Emilia.

Seeing the ocean spread kilometers in every direction had been a dream come true. A dream his parents had died trying to achieve. It had been almost perfect.

Even when he’d been eighteen hundred meters up in the sky, his thoughts had been tinged with the memory of her face, her touch, the sound of her voice. His brain filled her into the spots where she was missing: standing adjacent to him beside the window, gazing at the blue expanse below, on the grass next to Sasha and Connie goofing around when the airship had settled against the earth to bring them home.

She’d love this, he’d thought. Or would she? Is she afraid of heights? I’ll have to ask her.

There are so many things he doesn’t know about her. So many things he could’ve talked to her about on the long ride back to Stohess, if she’d been invited on the mission.

What was it like growing up in Ehrmich? Do you have a favorite food? Can I try to make it for you? What did you think when you first heard that there were humans outside the Walls? Is there something you hope for more than anything else in the world? What was your first impression of me?

“Armin, you’ll be good to speak at the debrief later, right?”

Hange’s question snaps him back to reality. The Commander, still crouched in the back of the carriage, peers at him through their one good eye. “Hm? Oh, yes, Commander. Is…everyone invited?”

Hange squints out into the day’s light. “Just the higher-ups.” They hop out onto the cobblestones, nearly missing an errant baker with a boxful of loaves. “Now, let’s see about dispersing this crowd…”

Just the higher-ups. So, no Emilia. No matter, Armin will just have to find her and spend the next couple of hours describing every detail of the mission in brilliant color, just to see the sparkle in her eyes as he speaks. And maybe, if he’s lucky, do a little more than just talking.

It’s slow progress making his way through the mass of people, bumping elbows with festivalgoers, soldiers, and reporters along the way, but Armin manages to make it to the gates of the fortress. He sighs with relief as he all but collapses against the brick archway.

Now, where is she?

“Hey, buddy! Long time no see!”

Armin looks up and is surprised to see Daz sauntering over to him.

“Did you guys, er, fly in the airship?” Daz asks. “Everyone is super excited to hear about it.”

Armin regards the other man, curious about what he wants that can’t wait until later. They’d barely said more than a passing ‘hello’ to each other in the past few years. Armin smiles wearily. “Yeah, we did. It was incredible.”

Daz nods, though his eyes drift past Armin’s face, settling somewhere on the archway. “Wow, that’s amazing. You’ll have to tell us every detail. Us Scouts who stayed behind, we’ve been holding down the fort, just waiting for you all to get back. Nothing much has been happening here…”

Armin manages a polite smile. He has no energy for small talk right now. Shower, clean clothes, food, Emilia. 

“Jean has done a great job keeping everyone organized. He’s super smart, second only to you, I’d say,” Daz continues, shifting his weight.

“I’m glad to hear that. Seems like things here are running smoothly.” Shower, clean clothes, food—

Daz laughs. Maybe Armin is imagining it, but it sounds a bit forced. “Jean’s a good leader. When he’s not getting cozy with Emilia, that is.” 

Armin blinks.

Before he can process what he’d heard, Daz adds, “Young love, am I right?”

The words hit Armin like a shot to the chest.

“What…what do you mean?” The words hang in the air like melting snowflakes in a cloud of hot smoke.

His mind races with all sorts of worst-case scenarios, of Emilia with Jean. He should’ve known that something like this would happen. That he would leave for a month, and she’d move on. Of course she would realize that Jean is the better option, in the end.

How could he have let himself believe that it would work out with someone like her? 

Stupid. You’re so stupid, Armin.

Daz’s eyes widen and his face twists into a frown, but the words keep coming. “Oh, uh, you know. He asked her out a while back, and she said no, but I guess they worked through things. We’ve been hanging out. Me, Jean, Emilia, and…a few other people. Not much else to do. But yeah, sometimes the two of them sneak off together and leave us with cleaning duty.”

Daz’s casual demeanor scoops the life out of Armin’s chest, and the mental image of Emilia with Jean settles something cold and ugly in the hollow left behind. 

He should’ve known this relationship —no, it isn’t even fair to call it that— wouldn’t have worked. Jean deserves her. He’ll treat her well. He can live a long life with her. Armin tries to keep the painful, crushing feeling in his chest from stopping his breathing entirely. But every breath feels like it’s catching onto something sharp in his ribs.

“Look, nice talking to you, but I gotta go,” Daz says abruptly, gesturing to some vague point off in the crowd and moving to step back into the fray. Armin barely registers it. He realizes he hadn’t said anything in response, but his face tells enough of the story.

Daz would probably scurry off to whisper about this to someone else. About how pathetic Armin looks right now. Oh, well. I deserve that.

And then, like some cruel joke, he sees her. Waving, smiling. Like nothing is wrong. As if Armin’s heart hadn’t just been ripped out, soaked in disappointment, and force-fed to him.

He can’t even fake a smile. His body is frozen, caught in the frigid space between devastation and acceptance.

Despite it all, his heart still skips a beat as she looks at him. She looks radiant with the spring air lighting up her features, the apples of her cheeks tinged reddish in the forgiving coolness of the day. And then his eyes travel downwards, to Jean’s hand on her shoulder. The sight sends something hot and sour coursing through him, and it takes him a second to recognize the unfamiliar emotion. 

Jealousy.

A worthless feeling, he decides, because there’s nothing he can do with it. There’s no action he can be spurred to take. I’m an idiot for imagining I was ever worthy of her thinking about me like that.

He doesn’t remember the minutes in between seeing Emilia’s face and stumbling away through the side gate and into the fortress proper. He finds a secluded hallway and leans against the wall, his forehead brushing cool stone as he shuts his eyes. Armin tries to center himself, but his mind falls further and further from his body as he feels something vital come loose inside of him, and no amount of reasoning can put it back.

Of course she wouldn’t wait for you. Why would she?

He doesn’t know how long he stood there, but when he opens his eyes again to the touch of a hand on his shoulder, the pattern of sunlight on the floorboards has shifted.

“Armin, what are you doing here?” It’s just Mikasa. Her hair is pulled back into a low bun, and her grey eyes study him. He moves to shield his face with his bicep but realizes the futility of the gesture. She’d be able to see through any mask of his.

“Eren and I have been looking all over for you. We have to debrief the expedition with Pixis and Nile in forty-five minutes.” Mikasa leans closer, a flash of concern sparking her features. “What’s wrong?”

How is he supposed to tell her that he let himself believe in something good and had it blow up in his face? That it hurts too much to speak about? “I’m fine. I just needed to mull some things over.”

Of course, Mikasa can tell that he’s lying; he expected that much. “Did someone say something to you?”

It’s what she used to ask him back when they were kids, when he’d get picked on for being small and weak. She’d always come to his rescue then, too. But they're adults now and have much bigger problems to worry about than courtyard bullies. “I just…it’s just some stuff I need to think about. Don’t worry about me, seriously.”

Mikasa looks skeptical. “Okay, but if you want to talk about it, I’m here. I can try and stall the debrief a bit, if you need.” She gives Armin a small smile, and he returns it, grateful.

“I’ll be there on time. I’m just going to go change into a clean uniform.”

He straightens up and squares his shoulders. The hallway feels quieter on the walk back than it did before, maybe because his thoughts have gone quiet, too. Emilia isn’t yours to think about anymore.

When Armin returns to his room, he finds a note slipped under his door. It’s written in a careful, flowing script, not a dot of ink out of place.

‘Meet me in the store room, tomorrow, after breakfast.’

His brief, tempered solace is shattered instantly. He crumples the note, tempted to throw it away, but can’t bring himself to do something so callous. He unfurls the note on his desk, placing a book over the page to smooth it out. It’s unsigned, and there are plenty of store rooms in the fortress, but he knows exactly who this is from and where he’s supposed to go. 

Why would Emilia even bother to send a note if she’s with Jean now? Is she hoping to explain herself? To let him down easy like she’d let Jean down at Mikasa’s party? 

To say, ‘I’m sorry, Armin, what happened between us was a mistake, and I’ve come to my senses, I hope you understand?’ And he would say, ‘Of course, it’s no problem, I hope we can be friends,’ but deep down his heart would clench every time he heard her laugh with Sasha in the mess hall, thinking about the two days when Emilia had looked at him like he mattered to her.

Or is she hoping to keep something going behind closed doors? Is that why she hadn’t wanted anyone to know about them when he left? Because this was her intention all along? The idea of it sits heavy in his chest. 

Would you even say no, if that’s what she wanted? Do you have the self-respect to say no?

He can’t face her tomorrow. He just can’t do it. Whatever she has to say, it’ll break him. 

But that’s not what you’re afraid of.

No, if anything, he deserves to let her see him at his lowest, broken by the reality that he’d had hope and lost it. But what makes his eyes water in this moment, staring at the edges of her note curling from underneath the encyclopedia he’d set upon it, is letting go of how he’d imagined her. Of how he’ll feel if she isn’t the person he thought she was.

501 Days Before the Rumbling

Armin doesn’t sleep much that night. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees her: smiling at Jean, writing him that note, peering at him from across the library over the top of a book she’d read a dozen times.

By morning, he’s resolute in his decision. He won’t go to the store room; he’s not ready to look her in the eye again. Eventually, sure, he’d come up with something to say that wouldn’t sound pathetic. But not today.

Instead, he throws himself into training, pushes through drill after solitary drill in the enclosed clay yard in the western corner of the fortress. His muscles scream for rest, but he keeps going, again and again, as if he could sweat the feelings out of his system. He runs through set after set until he’s dizzy from exertion and the sharp sting of self-disgust.

You should’ve known better.

“You’re sure working up a sweat out here.”

Armin knows who it is before he jumps down from the pull-up bar, reaching blindly for his canteen on the bench beside him. The last thing he wants to do is make idle chitchat. Especially with the likes of Floch Forster.

“I don’t get it.” Floch tilts his head, blocking out the sunlight. “Why do you have to work so hard trying to build muscle? Can’t you just turn Colossal when you want to?”

Floch’s ignorance cuts deeper in Armin’s current state. He exhales, sharper than he means to. “I don’t just 'turn Colossal' on a whim. I only transform when it’s absolutely necessary.”

“Whoa, calm down,” Floch says, lifting his hands with faux innocence. “I’m just trying to make conversation.” He turns as another set of footsteps echoes through the yard. “Oh, hey, Jean. You’re looking well today.” He gives one last amused glance towards the pair as he leaves, no doubt pleased with the damage he’d just inflicted, intentional or not.

Jean is looking quite well. His windswept hair is just slightly damp from his morning run, and he looks every inch the capable soldier Armin has always known him to be. “Hey. Didn’t expect to see you training so soon. Aren’t you wiped from the trip over?”

Armin’s irritation towards Floch lessens to a low simmer. Looking at Jean just makes him feel exhausted all over again. “Yeah, but I couldn’t really sleep last night, so…just making use of the time. Hopefully, tonight will be better.” He tries to plaster on a smile and act like things are normal when they’re anything but.

Jean’s just being himself: tactful, friendly. Who are you to want what he has? After all you’ve been through together, a girl is enough to make you feel such ugly things towards him? Pathetic.

Jean crosses his arms and furrows his brow. “Also—Emilia and I tried to find you yesterday in the crowd, but you totally vanished. Everything okay?” 

“I’m super tired. Really. That’s all,” Armin lies.

There’s a pause. Then Jean, ever blunt with his concern, says, “Look, I’d expect this sort of moping from Eren, but not from you. Mikasa told me yesterday that she was worried about you. And honestly, you were acting weird with me before you left, too.” Jean runs a hand through his hair. “If you’re mad at me about something, or if anything else is wrong, I’d hope that you’d just say it. Or at least tell Mikasa.”

Armin swallows hard. The guilt gnaws at him even worse than it did yesterday. It’s like he’s standing in a display case with the whole world lined up to see him, expressions of pity on their faces. Poor Armin, they’d say. 

“I’m not…I’m not mad at you. It’s complicated. It has nothing to do with you or Mikasa.” He looks straight at the ground as he says it, wishing he could disappear into it.

“Okay,” Jean says, humoring him. “Then who are you mad at? Because you look mad.”

Armin bites at the inside of his cheek. He can’t tell the whole truth, so he picks the next best thing. “I’m mad at myself. That’s all.” 

Jean’s expression softens, and he takes a step back. 

Armin straightens up. “I was acting weird before I left because I had some stuff on my mind. But it’s…not important anymore. I don’t really want to talk about it right now if that’s okay with you.”

“Alright, well, I’m going to go for another run,” Jean says, flexing his calves. “If you want to talk about whatever is eating at you, you’re welcome to vent to me.” And with that, he jogs away.

The sound of Jean’s retreating footfalls as he rounds the corner of the enclosed yard shakes Armin from his inertia. He jumps to grip the pull-up bar again, feeling the burn throughout his arms as he attempts another rep.

It’s not like you to shy away from your problems, Armin. Is this all it takes to shatter your resolve? Two days with a woman who doesn’t even like you?

The burn spreads down to his ribs, his core, mixing with the shame already swirling there. It would be different if Emilia had gotten with someone he didn’t like, or a stranger. But Jean is his friend. 

His friend, who hadn’t done anything wrong. What is there to confront, other than Armin’s own foolish expectations?

He dangles from the bar, closing his eyes and leaning his head back. He doesn’t know if he’s angry or just tired. Or if those two things have always been the same for him.

Emilia starts on the path down to the training yard, every footstep adding to the hollow restlessness inside her chest. She hugs her jacket more tightly around her, though the day is already warming.

Why hadn’t Armin shown up? What the hell did I do wrong?

As she steps down the last stone stair onto the grass, she spots someone off the main path, coming in from the street. It’s Daz. He’s holding a paper-wrapped bundle underneath one arm, half-torn to reveal what looks like a freshly pressed jacket. Probably new, probably expensive.

Emilia pauses for just a second before nodding. “Morning, Daz.” She’d hung out with him a bit over the past few weeks, but they don’t really have much in common.

He flinches, like he’d been caught stealing from the officer’s pantry. “Hey, Emilia,” he says, averting his gaze and continuing up the hill.

That was weird, Emilia thinks, but she shrugs it off and continues down the hill. She has bigger things to worry about than a cold shoulder from Daz. She glances around the field and can spy Jean running laps around the perimeter of the fort, too far away to wave to. It doesn’t seem like anyone else is around. Good.

She walks over to the tall wooden gate of the enclosed, clay yard where the newer recruits practice the military’s latest iteration of anti-personnel ODM gear. Emilia doesn’t have the energy to put on all of those straps, but maybe she can run through a few drills on the stationary equipment. 

And then, as she turns the corner, hand on the gate, her heart stops in her chest. She immediately darts backwards. But the image of Armin lying on the ground, face flushed, his clothes a dirt-stained mess, is burned into the backs of her eyes.

Her brain is telling her to walk away and leave him alone. If he doesn’t want to talk to you, that’s his business. No matter how much it hurts. Her heart is telling her to go up to him and plead for an explanation. And her body, stuck in the middle, refuses to move an inch.

She hears him stop panting, the sound of the clay shifting underneath him. He’d seen her. 

Ah, shit. Here goes nothing.

Emilia turns around the corner, her feet taking small steps towards him, almost against her will.  “Armin…?”

“Emilia.” His voice wavers between cold distance and fear. The chill sinks into her gut, adding another knot of dread to the growing rope of it in her stomach.

Armin looks like absolute shit, there’s no sugarcoating it. He’s covered in orange and brown stains from the earth beneath him, and his hair is drenched in sweat, plastering the strands to his forehead in odd directions. She wouldn’t be surprised if he hadn’t slept in days. He looks awful, and yet the urge to run across the yard and throw her arms around him is stronger than it’s ever been.

But the way he turns his head to look away from her, his jaw set in a hard line, stills her hand.

Well, clearly he isn’t sick if he’s been working this hard, Emilia thinks, remembering Sasha’s earlier conjecture. 

“I…did you get my note?”

He turns to look at her, not quite meeting her eyes as his fingernails dig into the hard clay beneath him. “I did.”

Emilia’s heart sinks. Armin had looked at her like that yesterday—the same frigid way he’s looking at her now—he had skipped breakfast, he had ignored her note…because he’s avoiding her. That’s the only explanation. It’s exactly what she had been afraid of, exactly what she’d told him she’d been afraid of. He went on that expedition, and in the time apart, he had decided he didn’t want to be with her. Even worse, it seems like he doesn’t even want to be my friend.

The mascara darkening her lashes and the blush coloring her lips feels like clown paint on her face. She had worn it just to look nice for him. And he doesn’t like her anymore. Maybe he never had. But she has to know the truth, needs to hear him confirm it, or she’ll always wonder.

“Why didn’t you come?” she asks, trying to keep her voice level.

“I was busy.”

That confirms it. I’m so fucking stupid.  She’s been daydreaming (and night-dreaming, for that matter) about Armin for a whole month while he wasn’t thinking of her. And with horror, she realizes that it might even be her fault, because she did ask him not to, didn’t she? 

And what did Armin ask of me?

Emilia looks at him, really looks at him, for the first time in five weeks. He’s covered in sweat and dirt, his hair and clothes are a mess, but he’s still the most beautiful sight she’s seen since he left.

She takes a shaky breath and summons all the courage she can muster. “Before you left, I made you a promise to be honest and tell you what I’m feeling. And I…I’m upset. And I’m confused.”

He makes direct eye contact with her for the first time since she entered the training yard. He blinks a few times, eyes cloudy. “I am, too.”

That’s not what she was expecting him to say. Her thoughts scramble to catch up, the gears turning as she tries to think of what she could have possibly done to make him this upset. They haven’t even spoken since he’s been back. She closes the distance until they’re about a meter apart, lowering herself to her knees beside him. The clay and stray grass are probably staining her freshly cleaned pants, but she doesn’t care. Somewhere outside the training yard, she can hear someone’s—presumably Jean’s—plodding footsteps getting closer as they jog. “What are you upset about, Armin?”

A bead of sweat rolls down Armin’s forehead, streaking across his temple, his cheek, and finally falling onto his shoulder to create a spot of darkness on his white shirt. “I’m upset…because I’m jealous,” Armin says finally. 

Huh?

“What…what do you mean?”

“It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out,” Armin says. She’s never heard his voice quite this harsh before, and it sends a needle of hurt through her heart.

“Armin, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Emilia says as tears threaten to surface. No, she thinks. I’m not going to cry.

“I know about you and Jean.”

Why is he bringing that up now? All of that is water under the bridge. He knows I turned Jean down for him. “Me and Jean? Why would you be jealous of Jean? W-We’ve talked about this.”

“Please don’t lie to me,” Armin says, his voice shaking. “You guys are…" He takes a deep breath. "...Hooking up. Why wouldn’t I be jealous?”

“No, we’re not,” Emilia says, instinctively leaning backwards in shock. She puts her head in her hands to think to herself, not wanting to give any of her emotional cards away before she knew what the fuck was going on here. First things first, if he's jealous, does that mean he still has feelings for her?

“Yeah, that’s right, we’re not.” 

Armin and Emilia both whip their heads around to see Jean, fresh from his jog, step into the training yard.

“You’re not?” Armin asks, propping himself up on the dirty ground.

Jean looks from Emilia to Armin, and back again, about four or five times, a glimmer of recognition in his eyes. Guess the cat’s out of the bag on this one. “No, and I have no clue what the hell gave you that idea. Emilia and I are just friends. That I can promise you.”

A wave of silent relief washes over Emilia, so sudden it nearly knocks the breath from her lungs. Her cheeks flush with the quiet embarrassment of being found out like this, but she looks to Jean with gratitude and apology. He meets her eyes, not with judgement but with understanding.

Armin’s expression changes, from sadness to trepidation, until finally landing on confusion. “Then…?”

“Armin, who told you that?” Jean asks, as if sensing that Emilia is unable to find the words.

Armin leans back on his hands and looks skyward, his brow furrowing. “Daz.”

Jean rubs his temples. “That makes absolutely zero sense. Why would Daz, of all people, make up such a stupid story? And why would he tell it to you?”

The pieces are clicking into place in Emilia’s mind. This is all a misunderstanding. He doesn’t hate me. Armin doesn’t hate me. The dread that had coiled in her gut the past few days begins to unravel as she sits up on her knees, filled with a new determination. “I saw Daz about thirty minutes ago with a brand new suit jacket. I said hi, but he wouldn’t look at me.” 

She’d shared some dull afternoons with him but never shared anything about her love life. Why Daz, of all people? Why now?

“I…I don’t know.” Armin’s face is buried in his hands, as if he could hide from this dreadful conversation until it was over. Emilia understands that urge all too well. But now it’s up to me to clear this up. She’d spent the morning convinced he hated her. But now, knowing this is all the result of some idiotic lie, the slow surge of resolve rises in her spine.

Riding the new wave of hope, she scoots closer to Armin and puts a hand on his knee, the first touch since she kissed him in the seclusion of the night five weeks ago. She doesn’t care that Jean can see. We’re way past that now.

“Looks like we should go have a chat with Daz about this little misunderstanding,” Jean says. Emilia looks at him: calm, collected, taking the reins. If he hadn’t come along when he did, she and Armin might still be frozen in place, sinking deeper into their wreckage of assumptions.

At last, Armin lowers his hands from his face, his gaze drifting to Emilia’s hand on his knee. His expression is unreadable. “That’s…a good idea.”

“Alright then, let’s go,” Jean says, turning towards the gate.

Emilia rises, brushing the clay residue from her pants, and extends a hand. After a beat, Armin accepts it, his fingers caked with grit, trembling slightly. As he pulls himself to his feet, she gets a better look at him. He really does look like total shit: sweaty, streaked with dirt, eyes ringed with exhaustion. And although she’d been plagued with the same sleeplessness, although she knows now that she hadn’t done anything wrong, her stomach twists. He did this to himself because he was upset about me.

When he lets go, she feels the cold absence of his hand in hers. She watches him carefully as they fall into step behind Jean. He needs a shower, and now that Emilia had sat in dirt, so does she, but she doesn’t care about that right now. He’s home, and he doesn’t hate me. And perhaps, when this is over, he might even want to kiss her again.

“So, uh…how long has this been going on?” Jean asks, not looking back at the two of them as if it would give them a semblance of emotional privacy.

Armin’s face turns redder, if that’s possible in his flushed state. As they gain distance from the desperation and relief of the training yard, Emilia considers just how fucking awkward this whole thing is. She’d put a lot of work into rebuilding her comfortable friendship with Jean since Mikasa’s party, and she hopes this won’t shift the balance, now that he knows it was Armin that she’d been talking about that night. But if his steady presence now is anything to go by, maybe it won’t.

“Right before they left for the coast. So…very new,” Emilia says, keeping her tone even. She silently pleads that Jean won’t pry any further. Armin has already had his feelings hung out to dry enough for one day.

“Ah, I see,” Jean says, not unkindly. Emilia breathes an internal sigh of relief at his willingness to let the subject drop. “Look, there he is.”

Emilia follows Jean’s gaze and spots Daz walking across a covered pathway near the main central courtyard of the fortress, this time with no tailored suit in hand.

“Hey there, Daz,” Jean says as the trio approaches. This is one of the rare situations where someone other than Armin should handle the talking, Emilia realizes.

Daz stops in his tracks, a sheepish expression coming over his features as he sees all three of them approaching. “Oh. Hey, guys. What’s up?”

“What I want to know is why you’re dragging mine and Emilia’s good names through the mud to hurt Armin’s feelings,” Jean says. “Because unless you mistook the wet dreams you obviously have about us for reality, you lied to him and told him that we were together.”

Daz caves immediately. “Look, it wasn’t my idea. And I thought it was a joke, I swear! I didn’t know it was that serious,” he says, glancing at Armin, who still looks like he’s been kicked in the chest. “I didn’t expect…” He waves his hand vaguely at Emilia and Armin, searching for a way to finish his sentence that doesn’t dig himself into a deeper hole.

Emilia stiffens, the pieces snapping into place. The insinuation is painfully familiar. Not from people like Daz, necessarily, but it’s the kind of low murmur that she’s used to from Interior folk as they gossip about pairings that go against the social grain. He didn't expect me and Armin. Emilia crosses her arms and frowns.

“No, you’re right,” Armin says, his voice quiet but tightening with each word. “You didn’t expect it, because you don’t think about anyone but yourself.”

The warmth rises in Emilia’s chest. Even now, wrung out and blindsided, Armin still sees things clearly. And as always, he says exactly what needs to be said.

Daz looks defeated. “You’re right, I admit it. I was offered a week’s stipend to play a dumb joke on Armin, and I didn’t know it would cause this much strife. Dammit, I wouldn’t have done it if I knew. I’m sorry.” 

“Who offered you their stipend?” Emilia asks, already cycling through a list of suspects. Who could possibly have it out for Armin?

Daz exhales sharply, the weight of the situation settling on his shoulders—Jean’s disappointment, Armin’s hollowed-out expression, and Emilia’s indignation. “It was Floch. There, I said it. I don’t know why he wanted me to do it; I didn’t ask. Just please, please don’t tell him I told you. Say that you figured it out on your own.”

“What the—” Jean starts. “Alright, get lost, Daz. You and I can talk more about this later.”

Daz raises his hands in surrender and slinks off as Jean turns to Emilia and Armin. “If I’m remembering correctly, Floch should be on guard duty in the western tower right about now.”

Why would Floch do something like this? They don’t speak much, but she knows he plays cards with Jean and Daz sometimes, whenever he isn’t hanging around in Eren’s shadow.

“Alright. Let’s see what he has to say for himself,” Emilia says. She casts a glance at Armin, but he’s looking straight ahead. She wants to reach for his hand, to ground them both, but she worries it’ll be too much.

The trio heads through a door in the courtyard to the lower level of the fort, the snaking hallway taking them towards the western tower. Emilia wishes, selfishly, that this confrontation will be over soon, so she can steal a moment alone with Armin and hold him in her arms before the day is over, to assure him that none of this has changed how she feels about him. But she also knows how fragile things are right now, how he might need space away from her. She’s never seen him as upset as he had been today in the training yard. At least, she thinks, glancing at Jean ahead of her, we’re not doing this alone.

As if on cue, a figure rounds the corner. “Ah, Kirstein. Just who I was looking for.” It’s Nile, the head of the MPs. He nods politely at Emilia, acknowledging her as a former member of the branch. “I have a few logistical questions about your month overseeing the Scouts’ operations in this fortress. Nothing bad, just protocol. So, if you’d come with me…”

“Oh, of course, sir,” Jean says, looking back at Armin and Emilia apologetically as he goes. 

“I guess it’s just the two of us now,” Armin says, his voice quiet. The door to the western tower is in sight down the long, dark hallway.

Emilia nods, trying her best to be the same stabilizing presence that Jean had been, that Armin usually is. He’s always been so talented at keeping other people from wavering, at keeping a group on task. Right now, she needs to do that for him. She takes the lead, heading up the creaky wooden stairs at the base of the tower. 

Emerging through the doorway, she finds Floch sitting in a guard’s chair, his rifle propped up against the painted brick wall. An assortment of crates is the only other presence in the room, casting a shadow over half of the space.

The squirrelly redhead turns around, his demeanor nonchalant, as if he’d been expecting them. “Oh, hi, Emilia. You look nice today,” he says, ignoring Armin entirely.

Armin’s fingers grab at the hemline of his shirt. “Why did you do it?” he asks, skipping the pleasantries.

“Do what, friend?” Floch gives Armin a self-satisfied grin. He expected to be found out,  Emilia realizes. This is about more than just simple trickery.

“You know what you did,” Emilia huffs. “You paid Daz to lie to Armin about me and Jean. Why did you do it? And how did you know about us?”

Floch feigns surprise. “Ohhh. That. I was just trying to be helpful.”

“‘Helpful?’ What part of that is helpful? It’s…it’s…” She wants to say that it’s bullying , but the sentence dies on her lips as she realizes how childish that sounds.

Floch looks at Emilia with what almost amounts to pity. “Come on, Emilia. I’ve gotten to know you better over the past few months. I know you’re a strong girl. Don’t let yourself be dragged down by this…weakness.”

“You have no business calling Emilia to account for her personal decisions. She’s not responsible for me at all.” Armin’s voice is carefully measured, betraying the slightest stammer. 

Floch rolls his eyes, like he’s talking to two dumb children who aren’t getting the point. “Armin, believe me, it’s nothing personal. I had no problem with you…before. You’re smart, and you must have some other merits if Eren cares about you so much. But none of that matters now.” He crosses his arms, stepping towards them in the small, circular space. “Erwin was humanity’s best hope. He should’ve survived Shiganshina, and you know that.”

“You’ve told me that already,” Armin says, taking a step, his back now pressed against the crates.

“What does all of that have to do with me?” Emilia says, planting her feet where she stands, though she’s starting to feel claustrophobic.

“Don’t you understand what I’m trying to tell you?” Floch waves his hands, becoming more impassioned by the minute. He stares daggers at Armin. “This woman is here trying to defend you, and you can’t even defend yourself from me. Does it even matter if Eldia has the Colossal when it’s someone like you?”

“You’re right, and I know that,” Armin says, looking down at his curled fist as he relaxes it. “But trying to undermine me by creating a rift among my friends is ridiculous. Don’t drag them into problems that you have with me.”

“Armin, don’t say that about yourself,” Emilia says, then bites her lip. That’s probably exactly what Floch wanted me to say. Caught between a rock and a hard place, she wants to defend Armin but can’t give Floch more ammo to make fun of him.

“It’s true, though,” he says, giving Emilia a shadowed look. “I know my limitations. I’m just being realistic.”

“See? Now you get it,” Floch says with a smug grin. He turns to Emilia. “But what about you? You could have anyone you want. And to my surprise, I saw you two coming out of the store room the day before the expedition left, looking all kinds of steamy.” He puts his hand to his heart in a poor imitation of kindness. “I just knew I had to intervene.”

So that’s how Floch knew. Emilia's lips part, ready to fire back, but no words come. Anything she says might just make things worse, giving Floch what he needs to cut even deeper. But if she says nothing, Armin might think she agrees with him. “Stop. Just stop it,” is all she can manage.

Floch ignores her and continues. “And just like Emilia’s poor judgement, the Scouts should’ve picked a stronger, more capable man. Capable of being the monster Eldia needs to destroy our enemies. Erwin Smith was that man, and now he’s dead, and you’re here instead,” Floch says, and it’s the first time his voice wavers. “Our next best hope for humanity is Eren. But he’s in your clutches, too. And if I don’t do something…”

Emilia steels herself, turning to Armin for permission to confront Floch head-on. She’s heard enough of his bullshit.

But Armin isn’t looking at her. His eyes are locked on Floch, studying him with an unsettling calm. “So that’s what this is all about. Years later, you’re still trying to find some way to rationalize Erwin’s death, make it mean something, even if that means attacking me, trying to create a divide between my friends…”

“Oh, please,” Floch says, but Armin has clearly struck a nerve. He waves his hands dismissively. “You’re the one who’s creating a divide. You really went after a girl that your friend has feelings for?”

Emilia’s mouth settles in a hard line. If she weren’t pissed off enough before, she is now. “Leave him alone. Leave us alone.”

Floch throws up his hands, using the last few arrows in his quiver. His voice is elevated, and he’s not backing down. “You don’t think you deserve better? You don’t think we deserve better? Just like with Erwin and the serum, you’re defending—”

“Can someone tell me exactly what’s going on here?”

The room goes deathly silent as Captain Levi creaks the door open, as if summoned by the sound of Erwin’s name. Only half of his face is visible in the shadows, but it’s enough to make Emilia’s blood run cold. Levi’s gaze settles squarely on Floch. “Slacking off, Forster?”

Floch snaps to attention and salutes. “Captain Levi, sir. I was just having a logistical discussion with Armin and Emilia here.”

A long, heavy pause.

“Is that so?” 

Levi shifts his attention briefly to Armin and Emilia, offering them a glance of acknowledgement. It isn’t warm, but from him, it’s as close to reassurance as they’re going to get. 

“You should all get back to what you’re supposed to be doing.”

“Yes, sir,” Armin and Emilia echo in unison, already halfway out the door, eager to leave Floch far behind. 

As they disappear down the corridor, Emilia doesn’t look back.

I hope he gets whatever’s coming to him.

Chapter Text

501 Days Before the Rumbling

On the mostly silent walk back upstairs to the dormitories, Armin realizes he hadn’t eaten lunch. He could get showered and changed, then head down to an early dinner…but the fear of facing anyone in the mess hall pains his stomach far more than hunger ever could.

He can’t believe he let his feelings interfere with his rationality. How could he have believed Daz’s obvious lie? Yes, he’d been tired, overwhelmed, and caught off guard, but it’s not an excuse. To have believed Daz over Emilia…maybe it had been confirmation bias, or fear, but whatever the reason, he’d been wrong. Just like he’d been wrong about her having feelings for Jean, he’d been wrong about this.

What is wrong with you? You should’ve known better.

When they finally reach his room, the pair slows to a stop. He stares chastely at a section of Emilia’s shirt sleeve and waits for her to give him a terse smile, leave, and then never speak to him again outside of necessity.

But she isn’t going anywhere.

“Are you okay?” he asks at last, breaking the silence.

“I’m alright,” she says, but he can hear the exhaustion in her voice. “Are you okay?”

He looks from Emilia to his door. “I’m alright,” he says, knowing it’s not true and knowing she knows it, too. 

Her eyes flick to the door as well. So we’re doing this, then.

“Uh, do you want to come in? We should probably…talk.”

Emilia nods once. 

There’s no rule against her coming into his room. Still, inviting her inside feels like crossing some unspoken barrier. The moment the door clicks shut behind them, all of Armin’s nerves fire at once.

The sudden intimacy of the situation is compounded by his lack of roommate. He watches as Emilia’s eyes explore his room, and he feels very…seen. Whether that’s in a good way or a bad way, he isn’t sure yet. Armin’s space is tidy, even with his half-unpacked gear scattered around. A few sets of folded uniforms rest on the bed. His books are neatly organized on his small wooden desk, and an assortment of small supply boxes rest in the corner by his wardrobe.

At last, her eyes settle back on him. Instantly, he remembers how utterly disheveled he must look: the clay under his fingernails, the way his hair is still sticking to his forehead, the green and tan stains discoloring his pants. A complete mess, standing in the middle of his carefully ordered life.

As she twiddles her thumbs, Armin wracks his brain for what to say. He could apologize. He could deflect. He could ask her to pretend none of this had ever happened. He could fall apart entirely.

But she beats him to the jump.

“Do you want to go on a date with me?”

Armin’s heart skips about five beats. There’s no hint of derision in her voice. She’s completely serious. “Really?” he asks, his pulse racing.

“Is that a ‘yes?’” Emilia says, her voice timid but hopeful. Aside from a few beads of sweat on her forehead and some flyaway strands from where the day’s wind had ruffled her hair, she looks practically perfect. For the first time today, he notices that her eyelashes are darkened and her lips are flushed with painted color. He gets the irrational urge to close the distance and touch her, just to make sure she’s really here.

What if she changes her mind? 

But the burst of joy he feels seeing her earnest eyes waiting for his answer eclipses the last wisps of doubt in his mind. He would be a fool —an absolute fool— to say no to this. “Yes. That’s a definite yes.”

Emilia beams, stepping forward and wrapping her arms around him without hesitation. She buries her face into the crook of his shoulder, seemingly unfazed by the grime clinging to his clothes and skin. 

“I’m really glad you’re back, Armin.”

The feeling of her in his arms is a balm against the shittiness of the day. He presses a light kiss to her hairline. “I’m really glad, too. And, I’m sorry if I…” He trails off. There are too many reasons he needs to apologize. For being the reason that Floch targeted her, for putting her in a difficult position, for doubting himself, for doubting her.

But she gets it. Of course she does. 

“I’m sorry, too,” she says, soft-spoken. “If I’ve done anything to make you doubt me.”

He bites the inside of his cheek, shame rising again like the tide. He’d believed Daz so readily, like he’d been looking for a reason to. And yet here she is, still here. 

“You haven’t. I just…it was a long five weeks.” His fingers brush against the back of her shoulder, pausing at the curve of muscle beneath her jacket.

“We don’t have to talk about it now,” she says, her voice muffled against the fabric of his shirt. 

He’s acutely aware, with a growing heat in his cheeks, that they’re alone in his bedroom. As his eyes travel the room in an attempt to look at anything but his bed, he remembers something, forgotten amid the grey tempest of the last two days.

“I brought you a gift. It’s not much, but...here, you’ll see.”

She lifts her head, eyes sparkling. “You did?”

He smiles softly; her excitement is contagious. “Yeah, I did. But you have to close your eyes and hold out your hands first.”

“Okay…” she says, grinning. She shuts her eyes tight. “I won’t peek, I promise.”

He rummages through one of his yet-to-be unpacked bags and finds the seashell he had picked up and hidden away. In his trips to the shore over the past two-and-a-half years, he’d picked up quite a few and organized them in a case under his bed. He had large ones, small ones, smooth ones, rough ones, plain ones, and multicolored ones. But this one—about as long as his thumb and half as wide as his palm—is unlike anything he’s seen before. The exterior of the shell shines with a nacreous blush, a dreamy rose-gold fading into a storm-cloud blue. Around its lip, fine ridges rise like the marble steps of the newly rebuilt Stohess Cathedral. The interior is pink and shimmery. If she lifts it to her ear, she’ll hear the sounds of the sea. 

He places it in her hand and looks back at her closed eyes, her lashes dusting the apples of her cheeks. “Alright, you can open your eyes.”

She looks at the shell with wonder, running her fingers over the grey-gold ridges and admiring its pearlescent sheen. She hasn’t yet seen the ocean, so he’s brought the ocean to her. “It’s so beautiful.”

Just like you , he thinks, but he doesn’t dare say something that cheesy out loud. 

“There are a lot of these? On the coast?” It’s dusk now, but she holds up the shell to get a better look at it in the window above his desk. The last vestiges of the sun glimmer in its colors, and the light forms a soft halo around Emilia’s hair.

“Yeah, I can show you my collection later, if you want. They come in all different shapes and sizes. But that one caught my eye.”

She sets the shell down on the desk. “Thank you. I love it. I’m happy you thought of me.” 

I’m happy you thought of me . So she is glad, after all, that he broke her rules.

Emilia doesn’t move from the desk as she peers at him over her shoulder. He takes what he hopes is a cue and slides his arms around her from behind. She sighs and leans her head back against his shoulder. Okay, that was the right thing to do. Check. Now what? He wants to say something witty and flirtatious, but his brain feels like it’s stuffed with cotton balls.

In that moment, he realizes just how big of a crush he’d developed on her. The distance had kept it to a low simmer, but now it’s boiling over. Never in his life had he held anyone close like this. Usually, having someone pressed against him involved running from titans on horseback or embracing an injured comrade who'd nearly lost their lives in a firefight. It's never this peaceful.

“So, our potential first date.” She turns around in his arms so that her body is flush against his, face-to-face. The muscles of her back are solid, but her chest is…so, so soft. His pulse speeds up, and he’s sure that she can feel his heart hammering away.

“I don’t know, what do you normally like to do on dates?” He’d only really thought of him and Emilia in a vague, potential way. He hadn’t let himself think about any specifics.

She raises her eyebrows, leaning back a bit. “Do you think I go on a lot of dates?” she chuckles.

Armin’s mouth falls open. “N-no, that’s not what I—”

Emilia gives him a playful nudge. “I know, I’m just teasing you.” She tilts her head, blocking out the dimming rays of afternoon sunlight from Armin’s vision. “Since we have tomorrow off, we can take our time. We could go to a cafe and take a walk in the park?”

“Yeah, that sounds nice.” He swallows, remembering Jean’s surprise at seeing them together, Daz’s classist suggestions, and Floch’s cruel words. “Are you sure you don’t want to, I don’t know, go out dancing or to a party or something like that?”

She brings her hand up to settle on his shoulder, giving him an indulgent smile. “Do you know of any parties? I don’t.”

“No,” he admits.

“I want to go somewhere where I can actually hear you talk. Besides, in stuffy old Stohess, the only parties that go on besides the spring festivals are probably the most boring salons you can imagine.”

“Okay. Cafe it is.”

A spark of electricity courses through Armin’s heart. “Sure. That’d be nice.” He runs his hand along her arm until he finds her hand, holding it gently in his. Being this close to her makes all of his doubts disappear. 

But is it just wishful thinking?

Armin wants nothing more than to kiss her right now. How will he sleep tonight if he doesn’t? Five weeks, and he’d almost lost her, and it had been a dreadful misunderstanding, and now she’s here—

As if Emilia can read his mind, she leans her forehead against his. He can feel her breath, smell her vanilla, powdery scent. He’s reminded once again of the spattering of dirt on his clothes, the lingering sweat on his skin beginning to make him feel cold. But the warmth of her increasing closeness is radiating off of her, threatening to overtake the shiver of his hands as he holds her waist. She angles her mouth upwards, waiting.

With a deep breath and a shaky exhale, he presses his mouth to her expectant lips. The sigh that she makes sends lightning straight to his brain. He’s waited five weeks for this kiss. And for the past twenty-four hours, he’s been sure he was never going to get it. But now she’s here, and her lips are parting, softly, slowly. She doesn’t care that he still has dirt clinging to his skin or that he’d acted like a total fool today. 

He grips her hand tight as he gently pushes her mouth open a bit further, wanting to explore it with his tongue. Somehow, it’s better than he remembered. More confident than in the library, slower than in the store room, happier than behind the fort the night before he’d left. Every touch is even better than the last. It’s too good to be true. But it is true.

He raises his hand to the base of her neck, where her shirt collar ends, and rubs his thumb against the skin just under her ear. With every move he makes, he makes a mental note of her reaction: her gentle sighs, her lips quirking up against his mouth, the swirls of her tongue against his. If he’s going to be with her, he wants to know just what she likes. 

So I can do this right. So I won’t let her down.

Part of him is still acutely aware of the intimacy of their surroundings. Soon it will be proper nightfall, and he doesn’t want to ruin this by going too fast.

Unless that’s what she expects of me?

Despite his lack of experience—his only kissing experience being from Emilia and the novellas he’d read when things got really slow around the fortress—he knows it’ll be hard to hold back. 

So, he’s half grateful when a knock sounds at the door.

“Who is it?” he asks, feeling the cold absence of Emilia’s lips instantly as he takes half a step backwards.

“It’s me.” 

Mikasa. She’s probably coming to check on me.

Emilia’s eyes snap to Armin, but she doesn’t make a sound. Armin blinks at her. 

Does she care if Mikasa knows? Jean already knows, but Armin has a feeling he wouldn’t go blabbering about what had happened today. But…the list of people who know about their relationship — Can I call it that? — now also includes Daz, Floch, and probably Levi, too. 

Emilia just shrugs, as if to say, It’s your room, your rules.

Armin takes another step back to give them some semblance of respectability. “Come in.”

Mikasa opens the door and enters as she’s done hundreds of times, her eyes coming to rest on the one thing out of place. “Oh, hey, Emilia.”

I'm going to have to explain this later, aren’t I? 

“Hey, Mikasa,” Emilia says, her voice smaller than usual, showing deference to the girl who’d been in Armin’s room far more times than she had been. Her shoulders tense and her arms hang by her sides.

“Uh, I’m sorry. Am I interrupting something?” Mikasa asks, not unkindly. Her cheeks are flushed almost as furiously as Emilia’s.

“No, it’s fine, we were just, uh…” Armin starts. Can she tell we were just making out? She can definitely tell.

“Armin was just showing me this shell that he brought back,” Emilia says, holding it up like a festival prize. Armin silently thanks her for the quick save.

Mikasa leans forward to inspect it, playing along. “Oh, I see,” she says with an amused glance at the pair of them.

“Anyway, I was just about to head out, so…I’ll see you tomorrow, Armin.” Emilia gives Mikasa a polite nod, and then she’s gone, shutting the door behind her. Armin catches the lingering implication: Y ou can tell her if you want.

After a pause, Mikasa turns to him. “So. Is this new?”

Armin runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah…I mean, I guess…” He sighs. “We aren’t official or anything.”

“That’s…wow. I’m happy for you.” Mikasa smiles, tight-lipped but sincere. 

For so long, romantic possibilities had lived in some distant, hypothetical future, which then vanished beyond the horizon the day they learned about the outside world—the day Armin learned that he had thirteen years to live. And regardless, he’d spent so much time trying not to get eaten or shot that he hadn’t found room to think about anyone seriously. Not that he hadn’t noticed other people in that way before, but it never felt like something he’d get to have. He’s always been sure he’d die before he got the chance.

“Thanks,” Armin says.

We really aren’t kids anymore, are we?

“Does this have anything to do with why you were upset yesterday?” Mikasa asks, leaning on the edge of Armin’s desk.

“Partly. There’s been a lot going on in the last day or two. I have so much to tell you.”

Mikasa listens intently as Armin recounts what had happened with Daz and Floch. She doesn’t let her anger show until he finishes his story. 

“I knew he was upset about Erwin, but I can’t believe he would do something like that. I thought he’d be over it by now.” Mikasa sighs, and her shoulders loosen up. “But it seems like Emilia really likes you. I’m happy for you, Armin.” Her eyes become distant, the silver in them turning foggy. “Have you gotten a chance to talk to Eren about this yet?”

“Not yet. I want to, though.” He had kept all of this Emilia stuff bottled up throughout the expedition, not wanting to risk a thing. But… “He’s been acting different. For a while now. You know that, right? It’s not just me?”

Mikasa’s expression turns mournful. “I think…I think he’s really trying.” 

Armin doesn’t press the subject. “We’ve been through hell, Eren more than any of us. And we’ve only made it this far because we’ve been working together.”

Mikasa smiles, her eyes pointed at the ground. “I should go get ready for bed, and you should get cleaned up. And sometime this week, I think you should talk to Eren about Emilia. It would be food for you two to talk about something…simple.”

“Yeah. You’re right. We’ve been so tied up in planning and negotiating, it’s like I…” He cuts himself off, realizing that he’s about to complain about not having time for himself.

Yet again, Mikasa can read him like a book. “Sleep well, Armin. And enjoy yourself tomorrow.”

500 Days Before the Rumbling

Armin smooths out his blue collared shirt and checks his reflection for what must be the tenth time. His hair is still slightly damp from the morning’s shower, and he runs a hand through it again, hoping it’ll dry into something passably tidy. Should he gel it? No. The last time he’d tried that, he’d passed by a mirror and scared himself with the split-second that Commander Erwin stared back at him.

A knock on the door makes him jump. For a second, his heart leaps. Emilia? But the rhythm of the knock is too casual. Besides, they’d agreed to meet down the street to avoid any more questions. Today is just about the two of them. He opens the door to find Jean leaning against the frame, a half-smile on his face.

“Hey, hey,” Jean says. “You’re looking dapper today, Armin.”

Armin chuckles. “You think so? I’m nervous. Even though we’ve known each other for months now, I’m not sure what I should say or do, if I’m being completely honest.

“Well, take it from your old buddy Jean: just be yourself. I know that’s cliche, but trust me. I think she likes you for you.”

The advice isn’t groundbreaking, since it’s the only thing Armin has had any idea of doing anyway, but Jean’s confidence reassures him. 

“Thanks. Yeah, I shouldn’t try too hard or be too fancy. I’m just going to talk to her like usual. If I get too far ahead of myself, I’ll just screw everything up.”

Jean nods, considering Armin’s words. He brings a hand to his chin, brow furrowing. “Wait. Have you guys, like, kissed? I mean, not to pry or anything…”

A rosy pink blush immediately fills Armin’s face. He’s suddenly very interested in rearranging the papers on his desk. “What? No. Why do you ask?”

“Aha, you don’t have to elaborate,” Jean grins, knowingly. “Seriously, if you’ve kissed her—or better yet, if she’s kissed you, then I think it’s alright to hold her hand across the table and stuff like that. You’ve broken the touch barrier, which is the most important thing.” He taps his finger on his chin. “But then again, don’t touch her TOO much. You gotta leave her wanting more.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Armin admits. “The first time was when she kissed me in the library. Then, the second time we really spent time together, before I left for the expedition. And once more, you know…” His voice drops to a sheepish whisper. “...yesterday.”

Jean raises his eyebrows, impressed. “You’re clearly doing something right if she keeps coming back for seconds. I mean, hey, maybe you should be the one giving me advice about girls.”

“I have no idea what I’m doing, to tell you the truth,” Armin says, unable to resist giving a small laugh of satisfaction.

“You’re doing great, from where I’m standing. And screw what Floch has to say about it,” Jean says. He gives Armin a teasing wave. “Have fun.”

As Jean leaves, Armin exhales and runs a hand through his hair one last time. The mirror reflects a face that's still nervous, but there’s something steadier in his eyes now.

He’s not the same Armin who sat on the other side of that door weeks ago, talking with Jean about what had happened with Emilia at Mikasa’s party. And today, whatever happens, he’s going to try to be brave enough to show her that.

Chapter Text

The Fool: the card of innocence, freedom, unexpected adventures, and new beginnings.

499 Days Before the Rumbling

Emilia sits at her desk, tugging on a blue blouse and smoothing out a white skirt, one of the only non-uniform outfits she has with her. For a moment, she misses the full rack of dresses and tops back home. Then she remembers her parents wouldn’t approve of this date anyway, and the nostalgia fades.

A knock. “It’s me,” Jean says from the other side of the door.

“Come in!”

He pushes the door open but stays near the threshold. After yesterday, Emilia doesn’t blame him.

“I just wanted to check in,” he says. “Didn’t see you after Nile stole me away.”

“Oh. Right.” She pauses, realizing he never heard how the mess with Floch ended. “Armin and I figured it out.”

“I see…so are you two actually together now?”

She motions for him to shut the door. Klara had already gone for guard duty, so they can talk in private. “I think so? Maybe. I don’t know. We haven’t really talked about it yet.” Her stomach flips at the thought. If and when we do, then I won’t care who knows. She dips a brush into her mascara cake, trying to focus.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Jean says. There’s no judgment in his voice, but Emilia still feels a twinge of embarrassment—not because of Armin, but because she’s discussing him with someone who used to want this same chance.

“Maybe you should bring it up,” Jean adds. “You know how he is.”

“I did ask him on a date,” she says, a bit shyly. “That’s what I’m getting ready for. Hopefully it’ll come up then.”

Even if Jean didn’t once have feelings for her, this would feel awkward. Talking about one of his closest friends like this makes her feel like a trespasser, like she’s taking advantage of stolen valor. She already feels like that enough in the Scouts, among her friends. Like she’d already missed everything important.

“Mhm,” Jean says, knowingly. “I already talked to him.” And before Emilia can question it, he adds, “I think he really likes you. I guess that’s why I’m a little worried.”

Emilia’s heart warms at the words, quickly followed by a chill. “Why are you worried?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, I’m saying this because I care about both of you.” Jean rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t want him to build his whole world around this and have it fall apart. That’s all.”

Emilia exhales, barely audible. Of course, that’s exactly what Armin would do; he’s not the type to half-feel anything. That’s one of the reasons she likes him so much.

“The last thing I would ever want to do is hurt him.” It’s true, but the words sound hollow as she says them. She knows the other ex-MP Scouts still whisper about her behind her back. She knows she’s risking a lot, putting the friendships she’s made in jeopardy, by pursuing this. She knows she and Armin don’t exactly make the most sense as a couple, and that her parents would freak if they knew. And she knows that she’ll have to face the reality of Armin’s lifespan eventually.

Jean looks away, as if trying to give her privacy in her own vulnerability. “That’s good to hear. I just want to make sure you know what you’re signing up for, with a guy who always overthinks, puts himself last, and gets in his head more than he should.”

“Thanks, Jean. For yesterday…and for this.”

“Anytime,” Jean says, turning to leave. But then, he stops in his tracks. He turns back to Emilia, his expression serious. “I don’t know if this has ever come up, like with Mikasa or Connie or someone, but did you know that Armin shot someone to save my life?”

Emilia blinks. She doesn’t know what she expected Jean to say, but it wasn’t that.

“He was one of the first of us to kill an actual person. You know, before we knew that titans used to be people…” Jean continues. “Some lady in Kenny Ackerman’s squad was about to blow my head off, and Armin didn’t hesitate to get her first.”

Emilia just stares, not quite sure what Jean’s point is.

“I don’t even know why I’m telling you this. I think I just want you to know that…he’s not naive, but never stops trying to make the best of things even in a shitty situation.”

“No, I get it, I think. And thank you again, for caring about both of us so much. I mean it,” she says, and smiles.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it. Have fun,” Jean says. “And don’t let him get away.”

“Hey,” Armin says as Emilia approaches the fountain where they’d agreed to meet. She twiddles her thumbs as his eyes pass over her. “You look…really nice.”

“So do you.” She tries to smile in the alluring way she’d practiced, but it breaks into something more earnest. “Looks like we matched,” she says, gesturing to their pair of sky-blue shirts.

Armin glances down, also seemingly fighting a wide grin as he fiddles with the cuffs of his shirt. He looks far more alert today, the dark circles under his eyes having faded to a cool shade of red. It’s the first time she’s seen him in anything besides uniform or sleepwear: a pressed button-down tucked into fitted khaki pants. He smells nice, too, like clean linens.

“Yeah, we did. You, um, ready to go?” He offers his hand, a small but deliberate gesture that sends her butterflies racing all over again. She takes it without hesitation as they begin walking.

It’s cute that he’s nervous, she thinks. That makes two of us. 

“Yep. The café’s about half a kilometer north. I went there with my sister once, a few years back.”

Armin looks at her, surprised. “You have a sister?” 

“Yeah, her name is Liesel. She’s fifteen.” Emilia feels a tug at her heartstrings as the name leaves her lips. Liesel is one of the only things from home she truly misses.

“I don’t think you’ve mentioned her. Is she also in the military?”

“No, she lives back in Ehrmich with my parents.” Emilia leaves it at that. There’s a reason she doesn’t tell the other Scouts much about her family. “It’s a nice day today.”

Armin looks up, squinting towards the clouds. “Yeah, it is. Not too cold.” 

They pass through the wide promenades, most of the destroyed buildings repaired since Eren and the Female Titan had fought here three years ago. Emilia watches the noon sunlight glint off fresh coats of white paint, soaking in the familiarity of it. Stohess reminds her of Ehrmich, so she feels at home. But not too at home, she thinks. Just enough to remember what she’d walked away from. And appreciate who she’s walking beside.

The café sits tucked between a stationary shop and a post office, its pale stone façade softening in the spring light. Inside, the space is warm and simple: clay tile floors, sun-washed walls, and an array of potted herbs resting on the windowsills. About a dozen tables are scattered across the room, half of them full. 

As they approach the counter, Emilia’s hand lingers over her pocketbook. Should she pay? She’d asked Armin on this date, and she certainly has more in savings. Then again, he strikes her as the kind of person who’d insist on paying even if he had three marks to his name. And if they split the bill, it might feel like just a friendly lunch. Not a date. She swats the spiral of thoughts away and steps up beside him.

The menu is mostly small, charming fare: seasonal cakes, fresh bread, and herbal teas. It’s the sort of place the MPs frequent, but that the Scouts would’ve saved for special occasions. Until very recently. For the three months they've been in Stohess, Sasha has spent practically all of her stipend on food.

“I can pay,” Armin says, already pulling out a small pouch of coins.

Emilia begins to protest but realizes it’s a moot point now. “Okay, at least let me pay for my drink.”

“Alright, deal.”

After they’ve made their selections, she carries her berry tart and cup of mint tea to a window-side table that overlooks the square, the breeze drifting in through the half-open pane. She takes her seat and glances at Armin across the table as he folds his napkin into his lap.

This is the part, the ordinary part, that makes her nervous. No covert glances across the library, no sneaking around in the wake of an emotionally-charged confession. Just two people having lunch. Here, she can almost imagine that Armin is someone normal, some local university student that her parents just might approve of, if she could find a way to spin it. 

What if we have nothing to talk about?

To come this far and have their chemistry fizzle over a café table would be a staggering blow to Emilia’s ego. Or worse, to realize their chemistry is only fit for make-out sessions in dark store rooms, and not for hand-holding in the daylight.

Armin’s gaze lands on her again, quiet and curious, like he can see every thought she’s weaving together. And maybe it’s a bit of a relief that he can, just so she doesn’t have to find a way to say it.

Finally, Emilia says, “Stohess reminds me a lot of where I'm from. Ehrmich.”

“Yeah, I remember.” Of course he does. “I guess all of the outer districts on Wall Sina share some common characteristics.” Armin pauses. “Though I’ve never been to Yarckel.”

Emilia chuckles. “Neither have I. Nothing interesting to do in Yarckel.”

“Did you enjoy growing up in Ehrmich?”

She hesitates, weighing how much to say. Life back home had been easy in some ways—comfortable, well-funded—but it had never really been her life. Her parents had charted every step for her. They’d sent her off to the cadets with an assurance that she’d make it to the MPs. They’d found a boyfriend for her, one whose parents wanted the same stuffy life hers did. They ensured she’d be posted in Orvud, where her cousins live. She resisted at every step of the way, and when her parents’ influence finally waned in the wake of their changing world, she put in that transfer request. And she’d started her life over in the Scouts, on her terms.

“It was nice. Comfortable. I’m grateful for the luxuries we had. But I don’t know, I always dreamed of something more, you know?”

Armin blinks a few times candidly. “Yeah, I can understand that. What do they think about the fact that you joined the Regiment?”

She considers chuckling and saying something clever, but she doesn’t need to do that, not with Armin. 

“They’re not the happiest about it. They weren’t happy about the MPs, either, but it was more respectable, in their eyes.” Emilia takes another bite of her tart and sets her hand down on the table, wondering if Armin will take the hint and hold it. 

“Obviously, I know you grew up in Shiganshina…you lived with your grandfather, right?” she asks, trying to remember details from past conversations and details she’d collected from others while she danced around his orbit.

“Yeah, I did.” Without looking down, Armin reaches out and brushes his thumb across her knuckles, then seems to realize what he’s doing and pulls his hand back. “He died when the government first tried to reclaim Wall Maria, and I don’t have any other relatives to speak of.”

She curls her fingers back and reaches to sip her tea. How stupid to prattle on about your shitty relationship with your parents when he has no one.

“But I’ve always had Eren and Mikasa. And the Scouts are my family now.”

“How did you, Eren, and Mikasa become friends? I’ve heard parts of it, but not from you.”

The noon sun casts a golden glow on his face, the shadow making his lashes seem even longer. Some men are a jagged, daring kind of hot, but Armin’s features are just lovely to look at, which makes him even more of a captivating puzzle when she remembers that he’d seen far more violence and death than any hot-shot MP.

“I grew up down the street from Eren…” he says, his expression wistful. “He was always a lot braver than I was. And then I met Mikasa after the…”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that story,” Emilia says, so he doesn’t have to continue. She knows that Mikasa’s family had been killed in front of her. “I didn’t have a whole lot of friends growing up,” she says, thinking that’s the best way to put it. She and Liesel had been privately tutored, victims of the horrors of organized playdates with the children of her parents’ friends and otherwise left to their own devices. 

Emilia takes another sip of her tea and spreads her fingers on the table once more. “But I’ve never had so many friends as I do now.”

Once again, he either misses the cue or doesn’t accept her hand, instead running fingers along the handle of his ceramic cup. “Is the atmosphere really as different as they say, between the MPs and the Scouts? Since you’ve experienced both?”

“You’d be surprised how rowdy the MPs can get,” she says. Her former division finds incredibly creative ways to slack off, playing pranks on each other and hooking up in places they weren’t supposed to.

Though…Armin and I did do that, didn’t we?

“But I have to admit, the Scouts feel a lot more like family. You all have been through so much together, I feel a bit late to the show, to be honest. But everyone’s been very welcoming,” she remarks, thinking about how Sasha had given her a bear hug on her fourth day on the job.

Emilia finishes her tart and, for the third time, places her hand on the table. And once again, Armin’s thumb caresses her fingers, and the tension in her shoulders fades. They lock eyes as they lace their fingers together, and her heart lifts. It wasn’t just a fluke, not just the heat of the moment that drove their feelings for one another.

The silence between them feels easy now. They sit together, hands intertwined, watching the square outside the window as people drift between shops and chatter with one another. Emilia takes a beat to admire the way the light accentuates the soft lines of his face, and how his shirt tightens over the lean muscles of his arms when he turns his head—and then a familiar figure catches her eye from the periphery.

“Emilia? Is that you?” 

She looks up.

It’s Hitch. “And…Armin. Hi.”

“Oh, hey. Good to see you,” Emilia says, masking her disappointment at the interruption. Armin’s hand retreats to the other side of the table, and she wonders if Hitch noticed. 

“Just chilling off duty,” Hitch says, one perfectly-plucked brow raised ever-so-slightly. “Have to get my shopping done before I get sent back to Trost this week.”

She definitely noticed, Emilia thinks. But instead of the usual tightness in her chest, she feels something else: satisfaction. And she wishes Armin had kept holding her hand.

“Sent back to Trost? Why?” Armin asks.

“A bunch of the MPs are getting sent over for some new training regimen. Surprised you haven’t heard about it, Armin, since you know everything.” Hitch’s eyes linger on him a moment longer than necessary before turning back towards Emilia, and a subtle flare of possessiveness flares in Emilia’s chest. She realizes she's never seen the two of them interact before, but they're clearly familiar.

But Armin isn’t at all Hitch’s type, she reminds herself. Though now she supposes the other girl knows exactly who Klara had almost named that night at the Grunwald gala, and she'll get an earful about that later. Oh, well.

“Welllll, just stopping by to say hi,” Hitch says in that amused voice she always has. “I love how you did your makeup, by the way. You’ll have to show me how you did that.” Hitch winks at the pair and scurries off.

“Ah…sorry,” Armin says, turning back towards Emilia with sheepish eyes. “I think Hitch likes teasing me.”

“Whatever for?”

Armin shakes his head. “Nothing important.”

Emilia chuckles. “In her own weird way, I think she was trying to say she approves of my choice of date,” she says, taking Armin’s hand in her own. She isn’t going to wait for him this time.

“Does she think I’m ‘a catch,’ then?” he says, squeezing her hand.

He’s poking fun at himself, but she answers earnestly. “Who wouldn’t?” Her voice mirrors his light tone, but she means it. Somehow, he hasn’t quite realized how attractive he is. Short, quiet, and certainly unsure of himself, and yet also magnetic in a way that she knows he could command a room if only he had the courage to walk up to the podium. Another flicker of jealousy stirs at the thought of other people noticing him the way she does, but she buries the flame.

“Come on,” she says, tugging gently. “Let’s go for a walk.” 

Armin rises, still holding her hand. “Alright. You lead the way.”

They head across the plaza and toward the park, their excitement giving their steps a light bounce. The sky has now turned a pale gray, the air noticeably cooler than before, but the shifting weather only sharpens the quiet thrill of the afternoon. Emilia releases his hand just long enough to thread her arm through his, then laces their fingers back together.

Though they walk mostly in silence, she steals a glance at him every few dozen steps, and sometimes catches him looking at her, too. The cobblestones fade into gravel as they enter the park, the air smelling of moss and morning dew even in the growing lateness of the day.

“Uh…there’s something I’ve been wondering,” Armin says, slowing to a halt at a fork in the path. Tension rises in Emilia’s chest before she even knows why. 

“After everything that happened yesterday, with Floch…”

She gives his hand a gentle squeeze, urging him on.

“You saw how embarrassing that was. For me, I mean.” Armin shakes his head, digging the heel of his boot into the gravel. “If Levi hadn’t walked in, I don’t know how that would’ve ended. And, well…” He hesitates, then looks her dead-on. “I’m just wondering why you’re still interested in me after all of that. After I didn’t have faith in you.” Armin winces as the last words escape his lips.

“You had your reasons.”

She starts to walk again, heel to toe, like balancing on an invisible tightrope. She glances up every so often, hoping her eyes convey what her voice won’t: I want to be here. I want to be with you. The clouds continue to gather overhead, but neither of them seems eager to rush indoors, unlike most of the other Stohess citizens strolling past them towards their posh homes, no doubt.

He looks away, and she has to focus to hear him. “When you asked me on this date, did you mean for it to be a date, or was it…?”

She stills again, letting her boots sink into the gravel path below.

He takes a deep breath, and his grip on her hand falters. “Or a friend date, or a precursor to a…c-casual hookup?” The last words come out in a whisper.

Emilia leans back in surprise. Really? After everything? “What do you want it to be?”

The first drop of rain lands on her cheek. There isn’t anyone in earshot anymore.

Armin looks at her, eyes wide at first, like she’d just handed him a loaded gun. Then he recovers, taking a step to close the space she’d instinctively put between them. He takes her other hand, and when he speaks, his voice is steady. “I don’t want to be just friends. And I don’t want something casual.”

A smile plays at her lips, but she reins it in. Her voice is gentle, her eyes coy. “Is there a third option?”

Another drop hits his face. He glances up at the sky. “There might be.”

“Oh?” Her eyes urge him. Go on, ask me.

The rain picks up, dotting his shoulders and catching in her eyelashes, but she doesn’t dare let go of his hand to wipe the drops away. He takes another step forward, their chests nearly touching.

“Do you…” He swallows, his voice sincere. “Do you want to be my girlfriend?”

Emilia leans for a kiss, the rain on his lips mixed with the now-familiar taste of him. Here, standing in the rain…this is something that would happen in a storybook, not in real life. She smiles against his lips and he returns her joy, his arms wrapping tight around her waist.

When she pulls back, her forehead rests against his, both of their faces now damp. “That’s a yes, by the way,” she laughs.

“Good, I—”

A low roll of thunder overhead cuts him off.

She giggles, still breathless from the kiss, still floating on air. “We should probably head back.” She laces their fingers anew, swinging their joined hands as they start down the path. Rain darkens the gravel underfoot, and then the cobblestones as they tread the familiar path back towards the fortress. Her shirt collar sticks to her skin, her hair surely a mess, and her mascara smudged beyond repair, but she doesn’t care. Emilia can’t remember feeling this certain about anything in all her life.

“Armin is my boyfriend,” she says, only realizing afterwards that she’d said it aloud.

“Emilia is my girlfriend,” he echoes, giving her hand a gentle squeeze

A blissful warmth blossoms in her chest, enough to ward off the March coolness. She shifts his arm around her shoulders, leaning into him. His soaked shirt clings to his skin, outlining even more of his lean muscle beneath the fabric. She wonders what he looks like without the shirt, and the heat in her chest rises to her cheeks.

The clouds have swallowed the sun, casting a sheen of grey over the streets like night has come early. It makes the day feel surreal, magical, and she wonders if every merchant and socialite shuttering their curtains in the rowhouses above them has ever felt the same thrill.

They round the corner toward the fortress and reluctantly disentangle from one another as the gates come into view. 

We’re going to have to talk about how to tell the others, Emilia thinks, a pang of nerves replacing the earlier heat in her chest. It won’t be easy, not if the Floch fiasco was any indicator.

The sound of the rain fades inside the thick walls of the fortress. The halls smell like rubber and the faint scent of cleaning solution. She turns to Armin, still damp and pink-cheeked.

“I’m going to go get showered and dressed. I’ll meet you at dinner.” She hesitates, stealing one last glance at his deep blue eyes. The corners of his mouth twitch upwards as he leans against the door to his bedroom.

Emilia grabs a change of clothes from her own room and heads to the women’s showers, her mind replaying every moment of the past hour in vivid color. The way his fingers had curled around hers, the slight tremor in his voice when he’d asked her, the rain-soaked taste of his lips. Girlfriend. I’m his girlfriend now. What the fuck. She wishes she could tell the version of her from a week ago that everything is going to be okay.

Her mind is on fire, each of her movements sharpened with adrenaline, so much so that she opens the door to the showers and almost smacks right into Mikasa.

“Oh, hey Emilia,” Mikasa says, brushing her hair at one of the three available sinks opposite the showers. “Have you been walking outside? It’s pouring.”

Emilia face hurts from smiling, but she can’t bring herself to stop. “Yeah, just…out and about…”

Mikasa nods, raising her eyebrows as her eyes drift from Emilia back to her own reflection in the foggy mirror. “How was your date?”

Emilia’s mouth opens, then shuts again, and her smile reforms just as quickly. “I’m guessing Armin told you?”

“Last night. After you left.”

She wipes a patch of steam from the mirror in front of her and dabs at the mascara under her eyes, heart still fluttering. Of course Mikasa was going to find out eventually; all Emilia can do is hope for her approval.

“It was really, really great.” She nearly adds ‘ He asked me to be his girlfriend,’ but stops herself. That’s his news to share. “He’ll probably have more to say about it.”

Mikasa stifles a laugh. “I’m sure he will.”

Emilia catches sight of her reflection again and nearly grimaces. The tint on her lips is smeared into the corner of her mouth, completely unmistakable.

All she can do is smile, embarrassed—but far too happy to care.

Chapter Text

499 Days Before the Rumbling

Do you want to be my girlfriend?  

The question had taken root in Armin’s mind, afraid of being set free for the whole afternoon. But when the words left his lips, and she’d kissed him…what had he ever been so worried about?

Now, as he walks down the hallway, freshly showered and in clean clothes, reality is grabbing him by the shoulders, lifting him to new heights. He’s Emilia Karbrecht’s boyfriend. The title feels surreal, but he’d done it. He’d pushed past the fear, and he’d done it.

As he opens the door to his room, towels still in hand, he nearly jumps in surprise. Eren’s already sitting in his desk chair. They hadn’t talked much since they’d gotten back to Stohess, and Armin had been so preoccupied with Emilia—and Floch—that he’d barely given his best friend a moment. The guilt begins to gnaw at him.

“Hey, Armin,” Eren says, not looking up just yet. “Haven’t seen you around today.”

Armin tosses his old clothes and towels into his laundry bag. “Yeah, I’ve been kept busy.” 

Eren doesn’t say anything in return. This is how things go nowadays: the old Eren buried in a sullen, stoic exterior, only shining through in the most unexpected of moments.

“I…have something to talk to you about.”

The new Eren looks up, blinking. “What is it?”

Armin takes a seat on the edge of his bed, facing him. “There’s someone that I’ve been, ahem, spending more time with lately.”

For a few beats, Eren’s expression doesn’t change. And then his brow furrows, eyes refocusing. “Wha-?” He mimics two people kissing with his fingertips. “Like…?”

Armin’s face immediately heats up, and he has to fight the urge to bury his face in his pillow. He stills Eren’s hand-puppets. “Yeah, like that.”

Eren nudges Armin’s shoulder, excited. “Whoa, who is it?”

Armin realizes that amidst everything they’d experienced, he and Eren had never really gotten the chance to just…talk about girls before. Mikasa is the only girl Eren has truly paid that sort of attention to—even if Eren himself would never admit it—and it’s not like any girls had checked Armin out before. Well, that he knows of.

“You’ll never guess,” he replies, amused. “Guess.”

“You just said I’d never guess.”

“Oh, come on, Eren.”

“Is it…Nina? From down the hall?”

“No…I don’t even think she knows my name.”

“Everyone knows your name, Armin.” Eren rolls his eyes. “Is it Klara? The one who’s been staring at you recently?”

Armin raises his eyebrows. That’s Emilia’s roommate. She must’ve heard about us. “Nope, not her.”

“Hmm…it is a girl, right?”

“Yes, she’s a girl. And it’s someone you know.”

Eren leans back in his chair. “Wait, it’s not Sasha, is it?”

“Of course not,” Armin says, shaking his head. “But you’re getting close.”

“Okay, I didn’t think so. But I really can’t think of anyone else it would be.” He crosses his arms in defeat. “I give up.”

Armin can’t stop the grin from lighting up his face. “It’s Emilia.”

A baffled look crosses Eren’s face, surpassed by something Armin can’t recognize. “Ohhh, I see. Jean’s Emilia.”

Ouch.  

“...Yeah. But Jean is over her. And he…knows about us.”

“Have you guys been sneaking around, or what?”

“We’re…dating.” The words feel silly coming out of his mouth, too small for the enormity of what it means to him.

Eren’s jaw drops for the second time in this conversation. “She’s your girlfriend? When did that happen?”

“Today,” Armin says, sheepish. “The dating part, at least.” Armin averts his eyes, picking at a loose thread on his pants. He’d have to fix them later. “I always knew she was…pretty, and confident, I guess. And I knew she was smart, from all the logistical work she does. But it’s more than that. She’s kind and thoughtful. I think she really gets me and…wants to be with me.” He pauses, not sure how to wrap it up. “I don’t know, it’s weird. But nice.”

Eren stands and claps Armin on the back. “Of course she wants to be with you. As she should. She’s lucky to have you, and she’d better not hurt your feelings, or she’ll have to deal with me.”

Armin smiles. His best friend has always been good at encouraging him, and more than anything else, he wants this version of Eren to last. “I just hope I’m a good enough boyfriend for her. I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“I believe in you,” Eren says. “I’ll let you get back to your girl. See you at dinner.”

After Eren shuts the door, Armin falls back onto his bed, feet planted on the floor. “I’m a boyfriend now,” he mutters to himself, staring at the ceiling and listening to the pattering of rain on his window.

It could’ve been fifteen minutes, or maybe thirty, but Hange’s voice eventually rings out from the hall: “Attention Scouts! And whatever other hungry people might be listening!”

Armin sits up straight.

“Due to a leak in the roof, rainwater from today’s storm has flooded the kitchens! Dinner is CANCELED! Please eat your nonperishable rations—or whatever snacks you’ve spent too much money on—in your rooms!”

Armin crosses the room in three steps, peeking his head outside the door.

“Canceled? Because of rainwater?” Emilia asks, scrunching her wet hair with a towel in the hall. “Was this fortress built by—”

Armin looks at Emilia on the left. Eren, Jean, and Mikasa are on the right, in a huddle, their hushed conversation slowing to a halt.

“What?” Emilia asks, blinking.

“Nothing,” Eren, Jean, and Mikasa say in unison. They disperse in opposite directions.

And so word gets around. Armin feels the usual flicker of nerves at being evaluated, but there’s a glimmer of excitement underneath.

“How about we go to my room?” Emilia suggests once everyone is out of earshot, keeping her voice low. “Klara’s out for once, and we might not get another chance.”

“Sure,” he says, as if he were going to suggest it himself, and certainly not that he’d been planning to retreat back into his room and eat dried fruit alone. But he can’t say he isn’t curious about what Emilia’s space looks like. Or…what she’s going to want to do with him in her room.

He follows her, checking over his shoulder to see if anyone’s watching. No one is. Her space is about the same size as his, but made for two people. The narrow beds sit parallel across the room, separated by a desk topped with books, cosmetics, a mirror—and the shell he’d given her. Armin’s heart flutters.

He stands awkwardly, not knowing where to sit or where the line of demarcation is drawn between Emilia’s things and Klara’s things. A small, dark red couch sits pushed against the wall between one bed and the door. Clearly not standard issue.

“Don’t ask how Klara got this thing in here,” Emilia says, catching his glance as she sits, patting the space next to her.

And it’s a good thing her roommate doesn’t have respect for furniture regulations, because Armin doesn’t know how he could handle sitting on Emilia’s bed with her right now.

Her hair isn’t quite dry yet, and her face is bare, her eyes sparkling in the low light. He sits, keeping a respectful distance, making sure not to accidentally bump her leg. Somehow, every time they meet, it feels like their intimacy meter dials back by half, and Armin doesn’t know if that’s an issue with him, with both of them, or if it’s something everyone goes through.

“Looks like everyone’s been demoted to camping food for the night,” Emilia says, reaching for a small box of rations under her bed. 

“Yeah, I’ve never had a rainstorm disrupt dinner inside before.”

He accepts the pouch of granola she offers. With the snack food, the dim light, and the rain, it really does feel like they’re camping. Except this time with no titans or bears. Just a very beautiful girl. They eat their modest dinner, the sound of the storm outside filling the silence that, for once, Armin doesn’t feel a need to break. Eventually, he finds the will to lean back, allowing their shoulders to touch. 

We’ve done a lot more than touch shoulders, but still…  

There’s something different about being in her space, like he’s intruding even with an invitation. Even with the title of "boyfriend."

“You look tense,” Emilia says. Her face glimmers in the amber tones of her desk lamp, the occasional lightning strike sending a shock of cool through the warmth. 

“I’m not tense,” Armin protests. 

Emilia raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Turn to the side, face away from me.”

He hesitates, then obeys. “What are you doing?”

“You’ll see,” she says.

Armin hears her shift behind him, and he jolts as her hands land on his shoulders. He instinctively straightens, but forces himself to relax as her thumbs press into the stiff muscles of his back. He exhales, surprised at how good it feels.

“Oh,” he murmurs. “I didn’t realize I was holding all of that.”

“I did,” Emilia says, her voice low and close to his ear.

It feels nice, more than nice. The pleasure almost outweighs the guilt he feels in having someone take care of him for a change. 

He clears his throat, trying to keep his voice from going soft, but he’s melting. “How did you get so good at this?” 

“Guess I’ve got a gift,” Emilia says, and he can hear the smile in her voice. She works her way down his back, massaging with just enough pressure. After a moment, she adds, “I had a really good time today.”

It takes him longer than he should to respond, trying to focus on forming words under the spell of her touch. “Yeah…me too…really, really good time…”

“I’m very glad to hear it,” she says, her breath tickling the back of his neck. A shiver goes down Armin’s spine, and he leans back, thoughts scattering. All he can register is her closeness, the soft press of her hands, and how much he wants her to lean in and…

“Don’t fall asleep,” she giggles, pressing her palms on his upper arms to steady him. “I still want to talk to you.”

“I won’t, I promise.” Thank the heavens she can’t see his face. What’s gotten into me?

Her hands leave a lingering warmth through the fabric of his shirt, and he wishes he’d just gotten changed into his nightclothes so he could’ve felt her touch through something thinner. 

Emilia runs a hand down his arm. “All relaxed now?”

Armin turns to face her and nods, still embarrassed but markedly less stiff. Her eyes are sincere. They’re alone now. No audience, no expectations. Just him and her.

“I’m kind of glad dinner was canceled, so I can get to talk to you before—” She waves her hand in the air. “—we see everyone tomorrow.”

“Yeah, me, too. And it’s kind of nice just having you to myself,” Armin says, and immediately wants to crawl under the couch. Shit, that sounded clingy. Too much. He doesn’t know how to navigate any of this, how honest he’s allowed to be.

But Emilia giggles again, and it’s a lovely sound. “Speaking of…”

He braces himself, pulse speeding up.

“...One of the things I wanted to talk about was—how do I put this?” She fidgets, twiddling her thumbs in her lab. 

Wait, is she nervous, too?

“I just wanted to be totally sure we’re on the same page about…exclusivity?”

Armin takes a second too long to respond, wrapping his head around the weighted meaning of the word. “Yeah. Yes. Of course. I think you know…that I don’t want to be with anyone but you. I thought that came with…you know. Dating. Us.” 

“Oh, good,” Emilia exhales, stretching out her legs so they rest perpendicular across his. “I mean, that’s what I thought. I just wanted to make sure.”

Armin nods, trying not to stare at her legs, clad in modest, loose, cloth pants. He’s struck once again by how new this is, how much he wants to get it right, and by the comforting realization that she might be just as anxious as he is.

“So, you and me. In a relationship. Loyal to each other.” Emilia settles back against the couch.

“That’s…good for me, too. I wouldn’t, uh, do anything with anyone else.” 

Not that I would have the opportunity, anyway.

She rests her hand just above his knee, warm and grounding, but the comfort only lasts a moment before his next question slips out. “Are there—I mean, have there been, a lot of people that you’ve dated?” 

Her eyes widen, and once again, Armin regrets opening his stupid, insecure mouth. “I’m not judging,” he adds quickly. “You don’t have to answer, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

She interrupts, her voice cautious. “Why do you ask? I’ll tell you, if you really want to know.” She retracts her arm from his leg and fiddles with her shirt sleeve.

Armin looks down, jaw tightening. Nice one, you’ve hit a nerve on day one.

“I just…haven’t been with anyone. Ever. I know you know that already, but…” He exhales, clasping his hands together. 

Armin thinks again of locking eyes with Hitch this afternoon. She had given him that knowing smile of hers, finding yet another thing to tease him about. He’s grateful she hadn’t said anything about the hours he’d spent venting to Annie’s crystal in Trost about whatever was going on in his life at the moment. If Annie could have spoken back, would it have gone anything like this?

“I was just wondering how…experienced you are, compared to me. I know I don’t have the right to ask…” He tenses again. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. I just don’t—” She draws in a sharp breath and shakes off whatever she was going to say. “I’ve told you how overbearing my parents are.”

“Right,” Armin replies, cautiously. He doesn’t know a lot about the Karbrechts aside from what she’d told him, and that they didn’t lose as much as most other nobles after Historia was crowned Queen, though they didn’t make it out completely unscathed, either.

Emilia nods and pulls her legs back, holding them close to her body. “They never even wanted me to leave home in the first place. But I was a little difficult about it. I wanted to see the world.” She tilts her head, the lamplight casting a shadow over her features. “Or what we knew of the world at the time, at least. Like I told you earlier, the Military Police was something of a compromise between my parents and me.”

Armin nods, trying to find a place to focus his eyes; looking at her face seems like an intrusion, but looking down at his hands isn’t enough.

“They found this other MP, a year older than me. His name was Eirik, and they knew his parents. And they…strongly encouraged us to date. He was my first boyfriend. My only boyfriend, before you.”

“Wait, wait,” Armin starts, trying to wrap his head around what he’s hearing. “Your parents put you into an…arrangement?” 

It sounds absurd coming out of his mouth. It’s archaic, even for the nobility. The idea of Emilia being handed off like a political asset makes his skin crawl.

“But I got out of it,” she says, eyes fixed on the window on the far wall.

“I’m glad you did,” he says, wanting to reach for her, but her arms are still held close to her chest.

“I got out of it,” she repeats, almost monotonously. “Eirik and I had a very tame, boring relationship. So I broke it off, against both of our parents’ wishes. And…” Her voice drops. “I was sixteen, angry, stupid. I started acting out, just to prove that I could.”

“You don’t have to keep going.”

“No, no. I need to say this. So you know what you’re getting into.” She picks at a hangnail, her eyes still fixed on the window. “The MPs have quite the hook-up culture, you know that? And Eirik kept trying to win me back. Sweet talk, guilt-tripping. So I almost wanted to…tarnish myself, so that he wouldn’t want me anymore, and so my parents would stop bothering me.”

The way she says tarnish is harsher than if she’d shouted it, and Armin’s heart aches. He sees her shoulders tense, her teeth grinding between pauses. More than anything, he wants to close the space between them and reach for her hand, to remind her that she’s here with him now. But all he can do is listen.

“I understand if you think less of me because of it,” she says.

Armin’s already shaking his head. No. Never.  

“I just couldn’t handle the pressure anymore. And honestly…” Emilia closes her eyes, resting her head on her knees. “It was really just trading one kind of pressure for another.”

Armin sits up straighter, something in her voice snapping everything into sharper focus. She means more than she’s saying, and the implication makes his chest tighten.

“Once you have a reputation, it’s hard to shake off. So, yeah,” she says, trying and failing to sound casual. “My only boyfriend was selected by my parents. And also, I’ve never been intimate with someone who actually respected me as a person.” She laughs, but it’s humorless. “And that’s why I transferred to a different division of the MPs, and then to the Scouts, because I couldn’t bear to see those people every day. And that’s my story.” 

When she finally looks up, her eyes are glassy, her cheeks wet with tears.

For a terrible moment, he’s frozen. Armin searches frantically for the right words, the right gesture. If only there were an instruction manual for what to do, how to communicate everything he wishes she could hear. All he sees on her tearstained face is shame—an emotion he knows far too intimately—and exhausted eyes that see rejection as inevitable.

But all he feels is a wave of fierce affection and anger at the people who made her feel like this. At her parents, for caging her. At everyone who had taken advantage of her rebellion for their own satisfaction. At himself, for not having known sooner.

He doesn’t know what to do, but he can’t just sit here and stare at her like this. He wills his hands to move and clasp hers. “Please come here,” he says, more like a question than a request.

She meets his eyes, like she’s searching for any indication of judgement in them. At last, she takes his hands, her head finding its way to his shoulder.

He wraps one arm around her, pulling her close, cradling her against his chest. She lets out a shaky breath. A few tears fall silently onto the fabric of his shirt.

He shifts, holding her a little tighter, their limbs overlapping, anchoring them to the stillness of the room as the storm thrashes outside. He’s not sure how to put any of this into words, but he needs her to know she hasn’t scared him away. He can’t lose her right after he’s found her.

“I’m not angry at you, not even a little,” Armin says, soft but firm. “I’m angry at what happened to you.”

“I’ve never told any of the others about this before. Not even Sasha. Though I’m sure they’ve heard the rumors about me.”

Armin rubs her shoulder, slow and steady. His hand trails up to her hair, trying to give her the same soothing care she’d shown him earlier. “I know they wouldn’t think less of you, either, if they knew.” A beat. “I went through something kind of…similar.”

This gets her attention. Emilia sits up, first wiping half-heartedly at the tear-stains on his shirt, and then meeting his eyes with growing concern.

He recounts what had happened when he’d been disguised as Historia more than three years ago, watching Emilia’s eyes widen and her brow furrow. “All of this to say, I unfortunately know what it’s like to feel…violated,” he finishes.

“I’m…I’m really sorry that happened to you.”

“I’m sorry for you, too.”

They sit in silence for a moment, and he can’t help but think it’s strange to apologize to one another for the pain other people caused. But someone has to say sorry, he thinks. Even if it’s just an acknowledgement.

“It’s just hard,” Emilia finally says, gesturing vaguely between them, “because it makes good things more difficult sometimes.”

He nods, the truth of it all settling deep in his bones. He still wishes he’d held his tongue about her dating history—he knows he’ll be kept up tonight by the fact that he’d made her cry—but maybe it’s a blessing in itself to know that they understand each other.

“We can talk about something else now, if you’d like,” Emilia says.

He nods, giving her hand a gentle squeeze, once again searching for the right words. Something easy, something simple. He blurts the first question he thinks of. “What’s your favorite book?”

As soon as the question is out of his mouth, he feels stupid, but Emilia gives him a smile.

“When I was younger, there was this storybook I liked about a princess who lived in a tower. The King and Queen never let her leave the tower, but she had a window where she would watch all the people pass by below. And they’d just look at her, but would never stop to really talk. Until one day, this boy came along and started getting to know her and telling her all about the world outside of the castle. So—and it’s really silly, but it’s a kid’s book—over the years, she grew her hair really, really long, so he could climb up to meet her for the first time. And one day, they decided to risk their lives to escape from the castle and run far, far away. It sounds dumb, but I really liked it when I was little.” She blinks a few times. “Despite my parents’ faults, they did their best at teaching me to read quite young.”

“That sounds like a nice story,” he says, not expecting an answer like that from her. The work she does always seems so…technical.

Her earlier tears had already dried up, leaving salty patches on her cheeks that shine in the lamplight. “I always imagined that the boy and the princess traveled the world together afterwards and saved other princesses from their towers.” She tilts her head, eyes drifting towards the ceiling. “Very different from the books about titans and financial accounting that I read now, but those are plenty interesting, too.”

He smiles at that, imagining his own childhood self next to her, reading those kids’ stories, if he had known her then. 

The rain has slowed to a dull patter, and the room is darker now. He should be nervous about being in her room so late…but he doesn’t want to leave.

“There’s one more thing I wanted to talk to you about,” Emilia says, giving his arm a gentle squeeze. “It’s nothing bad, I promise. Just…how do you want to tell the others? About us. I know Mikasa already knows—I ran into her in the bathroom after our date and, well…it was pretty hard to hide how happy I was.”

Armin’s stomach does a joyful flip trying to imagine the scene. “I also told Eren earlier today. That you’re my girlfriend now.” It still feels so surreal to say it.

Emilia’s smile widens. “Really? What did he say?”

“He was surprised. In a good way.”

“And Jean already knows, obviously.”

“You’re not worried about them knowing?” 

Emilia looks at him, unbothered. “Why would I be? Now that we’re official, I don’t see a reason to keep it a secret.”

“You don’t care what other people will think? At all?” 

“Of course I care,” she says. “But nothing anyone says is going to change the fact that I want to be your girlfriend.”

Girlfriend. The word still doesn’t feel real. “I don’t want you to have to put up with all the annoying questions.” He knows the others will give him quite the ribbing, but he’s far more concerned about how they’ll treat her. Especially after yesterday.

“This—” She leans in and presses a kiss to his cheek. “—is well worth any annoying questions they could ask me.”

Something shifts in him. A new confidence, or maybe just the thrill of being wanted. “Then we’ll tell them tomorrow.”

“Okay. Tomorrow.”

The rain has stopped. Lightning no longer served as a substitute sun amidst the clouds of night, and the lamp is losing strength. Armin doesn’t want to overstay his welcome. Not after the night they’ve had.

“I should go soon.” 

“Yeah, it’s getting late.” He can barely make out Emilia’s eyes in this light, but he can feel them on him. She leans forward and wraps him in a hug, soft and sweet. 

“Thank you, Armin,” she murmurs. The vibrations of her voice mix just right with the rhythm of his heart. “For talking about all that stuff with me. It really means a lot.”

“I appreciate you, too. It did us both good, I think, getting all of that out. I…feel closer to you now.” 

“I’m glad.”

It’s strange, being known like this. He’s always had close friends, and Mikasa and Eren know him better than anyone in the world, but…the romantic layer is new. Not better or worse, just new.

Emilia stands, clasping his hands all the way to the door, neither of them wanting to break the contact. 

He studies her face one last time, trying to memorize it, so he’ll have something to imagine as he’s falling asleep. He wants to pull her in, feel her on his lips, but he resists. 

Another night.  

“Goodnight. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Armin turns towards the door.

“Wait,” she says, grabbing his wrist. 

He looks back at her frame, illuminated by the final glow of the dying lamplight.

“Just one kiss before you go?”

For once, Armin doesn’t have to be asked twice. 

“Just one,” he whispers, his hand settling gently on her waist. 

And he leans in to kiss her, parting her lips with immeasurable slowness—no longer because he’s shy, but because he’s savoring it. It’s soft and sure, and somehow it’s the carefulness of it that leaves him dizzier than something hurried and desperate ever could. 

Armin misses her as soon as they part. 

“Goodnight. Sleep well, Armin.”

“Goodnight, Emilia. You sleep well, too.” 

He gives her one last look before stepping into the hall, a full, unguarded smile on his face as the door clicks shut behind him.