Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

-ˏˋ⋆ ᴡ ᴇ ʟ ᴄ ᴏ ᴍ ᴇ ⋆ˊˎ-
to 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐍𝐞𝐫𝐝𝐲 — a story of ego, enemies, and everything in between. Inspired by academic rivalry, late-night tension, and the painfully slow realization that maybe, just maybe... hate wasn't the right word after all.

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This is the story of a girl who wanted to be the best, loud, sharp, and always three steps ahead.
And the boy she couldn't stand, quiet, awkward, too smart for his own good.

She has a habit of humiliating him.
He made a promise to change.

Now, summer break is over
And Armin Arlert isn't the shy little nerd anymore.

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𝐕𝐢𝐛𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲:

– college campus in the city
– libraries, coffee shops, and parties you weren't invited to
– tension so thick it could crack
– alcohol, weed and everything crazy
– enemies. rivals. lovers?

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𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 (𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝!):

– bullying/academic pressure
– verbal fights/mental stress
– jealousy and obsession
– trauma from past humiliation
– manipulation/ assault
– heavy emotional scenes
– sexual tension & content
– mentions of drugs, alcohol and heavy language

Everything will be written with nuance and care, but read at your own comfort.

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𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫:

All Attack on Titan characters belong to Hajime Isayama. The setting, plot, and original characters are entirely my own.

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𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞:

This is a messy, intense, enemies-to-lovers story soaked in ego, slow-burn ache, and that dangerous thing called attraction.
If you like sharp banter, bottled-up emotions, and a nerd with something to prove... Talk Nerdy is for you.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Enough talking. Let the rivalry begin.

Chapter Text

Second-year college students. A campus full of secrets, tension, and sharp tongues.

𓆩⟡ Armin Arlert — 21 ⟡𓆪

Brilliant. Manipulative. Genius.
❝Let's see how you like your own game.❞

𓆩⟡ Y/N Braun — 20 ⟡𓆪

Feral. Competitive. Untouchable.
❝I'm always first, no matter in what.❞

𓆩⟡ Hitch Dreyse — 20 ⟡𓆪

Petty. Pretty. Venomous.
❝You thought I was flirting? That's cute.❞

𓆩⟡ Annie Leonhart — 20 ⟡𓆪

Cold. Calculated. Deadly.
❝Smile at me again, and I'll break your jaw.❞

𓆩⟡ Eren Yeager — 22 ⟡𓆪

Dark. Loyal. Unhinged.
❝If I want it, I take it.❞

𓆩⟡ Mikasa Ackerman — 21 ⟡𓆪

Silent. Strong. Devoted.
❝I don't warn twice.❞

𓆩⟡ Sasha Braus — 20 ⟡𓆪

Hungry. Wild. Unpredictable.
❝Give me food and I'm all yours.❞

𓆩⟡ Connie Springer — 20 ⟡𓆪

Chaotic. Loyal. Down.
❝If we crash, we crash together.❞

𓆩⟡ Jean Kirstein — 22 ⟡𓆪

Cocky. Clever. Dangerous.
❝I don't listen, I dominate.❞

𓆩⟡ Reiner Braun — 23 ⟡𓆪

Guarded. Rough. Protective.
❝Be careful, I have muscles for a reason.❞

𓆩⟡ Bertholdt Hoover — 22 ⟡𓆪

Quiet. Watchful. Waiting.
❝You shouldn't judge a book by it's cover.❞

𓆩⟡ Pieck Finger — 21 ⟡𓆪

Lethal. Lazy. Brilliant.
❝Sleep, Coffee and Sleep.❞

𓆩⟡ Porco Galliard — 22 ⟡𓆪

Reckless. Loud. Hot-blooded.
❝Talk shit. I talk back harder.❞

𓆩⟡ Ymir — 21 ⟡𓆪

Defiant. Wild. Untamed.
❝Men? Ew.❞

𓆩⟡ Historia Reiss — 20 ⟡𓆪

Sweet. Stylish. Cute.
❝I adore fashion, and Ymir.❞

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✧･ﾟ: ✧ A quick note! ✧:･ﾟ✧

Everyone in this story is aged up, that means nerd Armin is not a minor, don't worry. This is a college AU, so all characters are in their second year of university.

Also, the image used for Y/N is just for vibes, her aesthetic, not her face. So as always, feel free to imagine yourself however you want!

All the other images, used here or further in the fanfic do not belong to me, they are all taken from Pinterest and creators who have posted them on different platforms.

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🎧 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 "𝑻𝒂𝒍𝒌 𝑵𝒆𝒓𝒅𝒚" 🎧
vibes: jealousy • revenge • obsession • late-night tension • dangerous flirtation

• Desert Rose – Lolo Zouaï
• OHMAMI – Chase Atlantic
• Candy – Doja Cat
• Coming Down – The Weeknd
• Me and Your Mama – Childish Gambino
• House of Cards – BTS
• Speed – Kali Uchis
• Wicked Games – The Weeknd
• High Fashion – Addison Rae
• Freak – Doja Cat
• Mmmh – Kai
• Doin' Time – Lana Del Rey
• Jealou$y – The Neighbourhood
• Needed Me- Rihanna
• Meddle About- Chase Atlantic
• Hotel- Montell Fish
• Fetish- Selena Gomez
• Renegade- Aaryan Shah
• Shameless- Camila Cabello
• Shut Up and Listen- Nicholas Bonnin
• In For It- Tony Lanez

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This fanfic will be launching very soon!
I've decided to finish my first ongoing book, Lovers Rock (an Eren fanfic), before diving into this one, but I promise it'll be worth the wait.

Thank you in advance for your patience and support ♡

Chapter Text

In this college, these halls, these floors, there's only one rule:

Bite first. Or get bitten.

I knew that long before I set foot on campus. And I didn't come here to be liked. I came here to win.

Top of the class. Face everyone knew. Name whispered in libraries and shouted at parties. That was the plan. That had always been the plan.

But then he showed up.

Armin Arlert.

The boy with gold spun from silk for hair and a mouth that never said the wrong thing. His ocean eyes hid behind wire-rimmed glasses that made him look harmless.

He wasn't.

He ruined everything.

I didn't hate him because he was smart. I hated him because he was smarter. I didn't hate him because he was quiet. I hated him because he was unshakeable. I didn't only hate him because he beat me.

I hated him because he also smiled while doing it.

From the first week of first year, it was clear: he was a threat. Not socially. Not physically. But academically, he was a nuclear weapon.

And I wasn't about to let him take my position.

So I hit first. Not with fists. With words. Glances. Laughter behind hands.

I didn't do it alone.

Annie and Hitch, sharp, cold, beautiful, stood beside me like shadows. They didn't care about grades the way I did, but they hated perfection just as much. They hated him as much as I did.

We made him a target. He made it easy.

He always wore those oversized sweaters like armor. Sat at the front of the class with his pen gliding like he was solving something bigger than all of us. Never late. Never loud. Always polite.

I remember the first time I made him flinch.

He'd gotten the top score again, full marks, while I sat at second with a goddamn 97. I walked past his desk and whispered just loud enough:

"Tell me, Arlert, do you jerk the professor off after class or just during office hours?"

He looked up. Blinked. Then smiled like I was the joke.

"Non, Y/N." he smiled "I study."

I wanted to kill him.

Not because he insulted me. But because he didn't flinch.

He never did.

Every insult, every public humiliation, every time we cornered him with smirks and sugar-coated venom, he never cracked. He just looked at me with those infuriatingly calm eyes, like he knew I couldn't reach whatever part of him I was trying to tear down.

But I didn't stop.

There was the time I poured a coffee "accidentally" on his notes before a midterm. The time Hitch "wondered out loud" in front of the whole class if Armin had ever touched a girl. The time Annie tripped him and I told him to "watch his step, nerds don't have health insurance."

Petty. Cruel. Strategic.

Still, he never fought back. Never snapped. Never ran.

And that made me hate him more.

Because deep down, I think he knew something I didn't. He knew that my insults came from something uglier than rivalry.

Obsession.

Armin Arlert lived in my mind like a locked room I couldn't break into.

And every day, I swore I'd find the key.

I'd beat him.

Crush him.

Break him.

Because if I didn't...

...I would be losing to a nerd.
To a nobody.
To him.

Armin Arlert, with his tucked-in shirts and endless notebooks. Always sitting in the front row like the professor might hand him the universe if he raised his hand fast enough. Always mumbling something insightful under his breath just loud enough for people to notice, and admire.

They called it genius.
I called it arrogance.

Because it didn't matter how many hours I studied, how many nights I stayed up burning through textbooks while my eyes bled exhaustion, he always beat me. Quietly. Cleanly. Effortlessly.

He didn't gloat. That's what pissed me off the most.

He never smirked. Never rubbed it in. Just accepted the praise like it didn't even matter.

But it did.
It mattered to me.

It wasn't just academics either. People liked him. They liked his gentle voice, his dumb awkwardness, his thoughtful responses in group projects. He wasn't even trying to be liked, and still, he was.

Every time I walked into a room, people already expected me to shine. Be sharp, be pretty, be brilliant. I owned every space I stepped into...
Until he walked in.

And suddenly, I was background noise.
Just another ambitious girl trying too hard.

I hated him. I hated the way he made me feel- less. Like all my effort still didn't make me enough. He didn't have to fight to be seen. I did. I always had. And I was still being overlooked... for him.

So I fought back the only way I knew how.

I cornered him with words. Sharpened my tongue like a weapon and sliced at him with snide remarks. Hitch and Annie followed, half-amused, half-loyal. We turned his quiet into weakness, his kindness into something to mock. I watched him flinch once, just once and I swore I'd live off that moment forever.

But it didn't last.

He got good at hiding it. At blinking past the comments. At taking whatever I threw at him and acting like it didn't scratch the surface.

And that made me furious.

Because I wanted a reaction. I wanted him to snap, to yell, to crack.

I wanted to be the reason the golden boy lost his shine.

Because deep down, I didn't just want to beat him.
I wanted to undo him.
To rip apart that calm, quiet strength until there was nothing left but someone who looked up at me and knew I had won.

But he never gave me that.

Not once.

He kept walking away with his calm blue eyes and his stupid, unreadable smile.

And I kept chasing the one thing I swore I'd get.

Winning.

365 days.
That's how long I spent trying to crush him. Humiliate him. Break him.

Every single day of our first year at university, I made it my mission to remind Armin Arlert he didn't belong. Not in my class, not in my league, not in this world.
It wasn't just me, Hitch and Annie were right there with me. The trio of terror, as some called us behind our backs. We didn't care.

Each time I saw his face, those too-perfect blue eyes, that stupid curtain of blonde hair, those pressed collars and worn paperbacks clutched to his chest like a shield, I felt the fire burn hotter in my chest.
And every time he smiled through the insults... every time he said "Thank you" or "Sorry" after we tore him down...
I hated him more.

He never yelled. Never cried. Never flinched.
He made me feel like a child throwing tantrums while he floated above it all like some holier-than-thou saint in pressed khakis.
It made me sick.
And it made me obsessed.

I spent the whole damn year trying to bury him. Humiliation in the halls. Mockery in class. Coffee "accidents" in the cafeteria.
And he took it all.

Or at least he acted like he did.
Which was worse.

Because deep down, I knew he was still winning. I was trying to destroy him, and he wasn't even playing the game.
He was smarter than me. Everyone said so. He had the grades to prove it. And no matter how loud I was, how sharp my words were, I couldn't shake him.

So when summer rolled around and he disappeared like a ghost, I told myself:
He's gone.
I won.

No more smug smiles. No more perfect scores. No more Armin Arlert.

I hadn't seen his face since the last lesson which was before summer break. No sign of him in town. No new posts on his social media. Nothing.
And for the first time in a year, I felt peace.

I slammed my diary shut and pushed away from my desk with a satisfying thud. The sound echoed in my chest like closure.
This year... this year was going to be mine.

I wandered out into the living room, where Hitch and Annie were curled up on the couch, legs tangled like it was second nature.
"Are we seriously wasting our last weekend of summer like this?" I groaned, crossing my arms.

"We could go shopping," Hitch offered, her voice suddenly chipper. "I need new clothes for fall. Like, now."

I rolled my eyes and collapsed onto the couch beside them. "Seriously? Eren hasn't thrown a party yet?"

That would be a first.
Eren Yeager was practically the king of college parties. Every Saturday, without fail, his place was the place to be. Booze. Music. People passed out on the lawn by midnight.
His parties were so legendary he had a VIP section in his own damn house, roped off, golden cups, the whole nine yards. Only the elite got in.

"I haven't gotten anything," Hitch replied, unlocking her phone with a frown.
Annie just shrugged and said nothing, which meant she hadn't either.

I groaned and buried my face in a throw pillow. "What a tragic life we lead."

As if summoned by my misery, my phone lit up.
Eren Yeager calling.

I picked up. "Yo, what's up, Eren?"

"Don't 'what's up' me," he shot back. "We're not friends."

"Yet you call me every time you throw a party." I smirked. "Admit it, you'd miss me if I didn't show."

"Whatever. You're invited. Try not to start any fires."
Then he hung up.

I stood abruptly, a spark of energy firing through my veins.
"Ladies," I declared, "the devil just called. There's a party tonight."

Their eyes lit up like Christmas.

"Can we please go into the city first?" Hitch begged, turning to Annie with pleading eyes. "Like... full-on transformation. New hair, new outfits. We need a glow-up."

Annie arched a brow. "Are you saying we looked like shit before?"

"No!" Hitch gasped. "I'm saying we should show up unrecognisable. Leave last semester's version of us behind."

Annie gave her the flattest look imaginable.

Hitch turned to me. "Y/N, please tell me you get it."

I couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah, I get you. I agree. Let's level up."

Hitch threw her arms in the air triumphantly. "Finally! My treat, girls. Today, we become icons- I mean- better icons-" she shivered at Annie's glare.

The three of us scattered to our rooms, ready to tear apart our closets and reassemble ourselves.
New nails. New heels. New hair.

This year wasn't going to be a repeat of the last.

Armin Arlert was gone.
And for the first time, I was free to take what was mine.

I was going to be the best.
No more second place.
No more losing to a nerd.
No more quiet blue eyes and polite smiles haunting my every win.

This year, I ruled.

Or so I hoped.
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Our little shopping day- spree, chaos, ritualistic glow-up- whatever you want to call it, turned out way crazier than we'd planned. And definitely more expensive than expected.

Hitch went feral in every store we stepped into. She got her hair cut to a sharp, shoulder-length bob, light brown with warm undertones that caught the light like it was professionally staged. It suited her, made her look grown, confident...dangerous. She strutted out of that salon like a movie star who just buried her ex. Then came the clothes, every store. As if her credit card was enchanted. Which, to be fair, it kind of was- her parents funded her lifestyle like she was a charity they couldn't say no to.

Annie, on the other hand, didn't even glance at the scissors. No dye, no dramatic cut, nothing. She was Annie. Unbothered. Cold. Effortlessly stunning. But even she didn't leave untouched. She returned from one of the jewelry booths with a brand-new nose piercing, clean, silver, perfect. It glinted subtly beneath the mall lights, and I swear, I caught Hitch staring like she'd just seen the sunrise.

"Oh my god," Hitch mumbled, blinking a little too fast as Annie sauntered over with her signature lazy smirk.

They won't admit it. Never do. Hitch calls her "best friend" with a little too much breath in her voice, and Annie just lets it hang there- unchallenged, unexplained.
Everyone knows they have something going on. Tension so thick you could slice it with a nail file. We all play along, pretend it's nothing, but please. Society has been calling lesbians "best friends" for centuries.

As for me, I kept it simple. Just added some subtle highlights to my hair, enough to shimmer, enough to change, but nothing over-the-top. New clothes, obviously. A couple of killer outfits and a dress for tonight that would shut anyone up who even thought I'd peaked last year.

By the time we made it home, the bags were littered across the floor like fallen soldiers. The vibe was electric, tonight was going to be something.

"Hitch, for the love of god, stop organizing the room and get ready!" Annie shouted from the hallway, voice sharp with that deadpan irritation only she could master.

Oh, right- forgot to mention. They share a room.

With one bed in it.

Make of that what you will.

I grabbed my towel and hairbrush and slipped into the bathroom before Hitch could beat me to it. She takes forever doing her makeup and hogs every mirror like her face is under contract.

I turned on the water, took a quick shower, just enough to feel clean, refreshed, new. When I stepped out, wrapped in my towel, I realized I'd forgotten my slippers. Typical. I tiptoed back to my room, avoiding slipping on the floorboards, and made a beeline for my vanity.

There, I sat on the edge of my bed and began the post-shower routine, lotions, perfumes, soft cotton against even softer skin. I wanted to feel fresh tonight, like a new version of myself. The version that didn't chase ghosts. The version who didn't have Armin Arlert clogging up her thoughts.

My phone lit up beside me.

Jean: Are you coming, pretty?

I smirked, a small laugh escaping my lips.
Of course he texted.

Jean was a flirt. A shameless, persistent flirt. He was friends with him, sure, but he also had a habit of circling me like a vulture with lip balm and cologne. I wasn't sure if he wanted me or just wanted to say he'd had me. Either way, I used it to my advantage. Why not? I mean he was hot.

I quickened the pace. Slipped into the dress, black, form-fitting, ruched in all the right places. Dried my hair, styled it with just enough volume. Did my makeup sharp, dewy, and glowing. A hint of gloss, a touch of smoke around the eyes. I topped it off with gold jewelry, just enough to whisper expensive.

By the time I packed my purse, the night was already humming beneath my skin.

"Y/N! Hurry up!" Hitch's voice rang down the hall, frantic as always. From the echo, I could tell she was in the bathroom. Again.

I slid on my new heels, strappy, sky-high, matching my dress and stepped out of my room.

"Bitch, you're not even ready," I said, one brow raised as I leaned against the doorframe. "And you're yelling at me?"

Hitch hopped down from the bathroom sink, waving a brush in the air. "I just need my heels! I'm done, I swear!"

Annie and I shared a look. No words needed. Just mutual understanding. Hitch and her last-minute scrambling was a universal constant.

"We'll be in the car," Annie said flatly, already turning to leave.

Of course, Hitch made us wait another forty-five minutes. But she made up for it by handing us each a crisp $100 bill as an apology.

"Gas money," she said sweetly, knowing damn well she didn't drive a single mile.

I slid the bill into my purse and turned the keys in the ignition.

It was time.

Tonight wasn't just a party. It was a restart.
Armin Arlert was gone.
And I was about to remind everyone exactly who I actually was.

We drove into the city, toward the infamous Yeager estate.

Or as we called it...

The mansion.

Of course it wasn't. Eren strategically bought a mansion only a few blocks from campus. Said it was "for convenience," but we all knew what he really meant, maximum party exposure with minimum effort. No one had an excuse not to come. He made sure of that.

By the time I pulled up, the street was already lined with cars, hoods warm, windows fogged, music bleeding from half-cracked doors. The night pulsed with something chaotic, like the house itself was alive and vibrating.

As I turned off the engine, I took a deep breath.

Here we go.

"I can already smell the drugs," Annie muttered as she stepped out of the car, wrinkling her nose in quiet disgust. The breeze lifted her pale blonde hair just enough to frame the glint of her new nose piercing. She looked lethal in the moonlight.

Hitch practically bounced to her side, looping their arms together with practiced ease. Her laugh rang out, loud and warm, already drunk on the anticipation.

I stayed back for a second, pulling out my phone and snapping a picture of them. Just a quick one, Hitch leaning into Annie, Annie pretending not to smile, the two of them lit up by the neon porch light.

Yeah. I had a whole folder of photos like that. I liked to keep records of these little "best friend" moments. Just in case.

"Let's just go," I said, slipping the phone back into my purse and heading toward the house. The bass was so loud I could feel it in my teeth as I climbed the steps. I pushed open the front door- unlocked, of course. Eren's parties never had bouncers. Everyone was welcome. For better or worse.

The moment the door opened, it hit me like a tidal wave, warm, sweaty air thick with the stench of alcohol, weed, vape clouds, cologne, and sex. LED lights flashed erratically, casting green and red shadows across the overcrowded space. Someone screamed with laughter. A glass shattered. A couple was making out aggressively against the wall near the stairs. Another couple was clearly doing more than that in the hallway.

This place was a zoo.

A beautiful, violent, hedonistic zoo.

"Excuse us," Hitch called out with an eye roll as she shoved past a group of freshmen, dragging Annie behind her as we made our way toward the back, the so-called "VIP area." The second living room. Where Eren's actual friends gathered. The untouchables.

We were halfway there when I spotted him.

"Reiner!" I called out, beaming as I made my way over and threw my arms around him. My cool  brother. The only one in this entire house who could make me feel safe and still somehow cool.

"You dyed your hair?" he asked, pulling back slightly to ruffle the top of my head. "Again? Mom's gonna kill you."

I shrugged, giving him my best innocent smile. "Well, Mom's not here, is she?"

He laughed, one of those deep-chested laughs that made him seem older than the rest of us. "You heading to the back?"

"Obviously."

He nodded. "Let's go, then."

Reiner led the way through the crowd like some kind of golden-ticket bodyguard, his height and presence parting the masses for us. The closer we got, the more the noise shifted, less chaotic, more controlled. The second living room was lower-lit, decorated more like a lounge than a frat house. Only people with the right last names or tight connections made it in. But with Reiner at the front, nobody stopped us. They wouldn't dare.

And there they were.

The main circle.

Mikasa sat curled in Eren's lap, her fingers tangled in his hair, whispering something into his ear that made him grin with lazy satisfaction. Historia and Ymir were spinning in the middle of the room, their hands clasped like some kind of ritual. Ymir's laugh was wild and reckless. Pieck, goddess of not giving a single fuck, was somehow asleep on Porco's lap, even with the music blasting. Porco looked like he was guarding her from the world.

And then there was Jean. Of course. Lounging on the corner couch with two girls, one on each side, his arms stretched behind them like the human embodiment of a cliché. He spotted us and gave a cocky little nod.

"Missed us?" Hitch purred as we stepped into the room. Her smirk was sharp and teasing, her hand still hooked in Annie's.

A few heads turned. Some smiled politely. Others rolled their eyes. No one jumped up to greet us, but no one told us to leave either. That was the thing, we weren't exactly welcome, but we weren't unwelcome either. Everyone from the "main" circle likes us.

Except for Mikasa and Eren.

They didn't even try to hide it. Their cold stares were reserved for us the way you'd glare at an annoying neighbor who always parks in your spot. Because we weren't just girls who dressed well and threw shade.

We were the ones who spent a year making their friends life hell.

"I see your twink friend isn't here," Annie said casually, letting her eyes scan the room like she was looking for misplaced trash. "Has he perhaps left the town, moved away?"

Hitch bit her lip, clearly fighting a giggle. I didn't even try to hide my smirk.

The moment felt good, clean. Armin was gone. Finally. I could breathe.

Until I heard it.

That voice.

Cool. Calm. Familiar.

"I'm actually right here, Annie."

The room went silent.

My stomach dropped.

And when I turned-

There he was.
︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

A/N: here's the promised first chapter, I really hope you guys enjoy the story and don't mind Y/Ns annoying personality...character developments will be here soon!

Chapter Text

"I'm actually right here, Annie."

The voice, soft, low, familiar- sliced through the thump of bass-heavy music and buzzing conversation like a silk ribbon pulled taut.

Everything stilled.

And I turned.

He stepped forward through the open doorway like a scene unfolding in slow motion, bathed in the pulse of LED lights and cigarette haze, like he was walking straight out of a dream I never wanted to have.

Armin Arlert.

But it wasn't him. Not the way I remembered. Not the awkward boy with hunched shoulders and a tangled mop of blonde hair falling over glasses too wide for his face.

No.

This Armin was something else entirely.

His golden hair, longer than before, was pulled back into a loose, low ponytail at the nape of his neck, smooth and silky with a few strands curling purposefully around his temples. They glowed under the pink and blue lights, like literal sunlight had threaded itself into his hair.

His glasses were new- sleek, thin, silver-rimmed frames that sat perfectly on the bridge of his nose. They didn't swallow his face anymore. They framed it. His cheekbones looked sharper, jaw more defined. His eyes- those painfully clear, sea-blue eyes, were no longer hidden. They looked brighter. Bigger. Focused.

And he was tall.

So much taller.

I felt it instantly, that jarring shift in perspective. I used to be able to glare straight into his face. Now I had to tilt my chin just to meet his eyes. He must have hit some late growth spurt over the summer, or maybe he was just standing taller now, spine straight, shoulders squared.

He was stylish. Modern.

A fitted white button-up tucked into tailored slacks that hugged his waist and framed long legs with just the right amount of effortless style. The sleeves were rolled neatly at his forearms, exposing lean muscle and veins that disappeared under a delicate watch strap. Something that he didn't use to have.

Clean. Polished. Soft in the most infuriating, dangerous way.

He looked like someone from a cologne ad, only better, like a boy who read poetry under trees and also knew exactly how to ruin your life with a whisper.

I felt it deep in my chest. That heat.

The kind you hate yourself for.

"I'm actually right here, Annie," he'd said again, just as casual, just as polite.

He didn't even sound smug. He sounded pleasant.

Like he genuinely didn't see anything wrong with being here, looking like that.

Annie blinked. Her tongue pressed to the inside of her cheek.

But he was already smiling at her, small, easy, sincere. "Nice nose piercing. Really suits you."

Annie was stunned silent for a full second. Her brows lifted, but she gave a stiff nod, clearly thrown off by his compliment.

"And Hitch," he turned with that same impossibly kind expression, "your haircut's really flattering. It frames your face well."

Hitch, who could insult a stranger for blinking too loudly, actually blushed.

Blushed. Her lesbian heart, blushed.

She tucked a strand behind her ear and mumbled something like "thanks" that didn't sound like her at all.

And then...

His eyes found me.

Everything in my body went still, tight, pulled, tangled in knots.

His gaze swept over me, my heels, my dress, the highlights in my hair- with that same maddening calm. His smile didn't falter. Not even a twitch. No sarcasm. No edge.

"Y/N," he said softly, and it was too gentle. "You look really good tonight."

My heart skipped.

And not in the cute, romantic way.

In the why-the-hell-is-he-being-so-nice way.

Because this was wrong. He should've glared. Avoided me. Called me out. Done something to show he remembered what I'd done- how I'd humiliated him over and over and over for a full year straight.

But he just looked at me like I was anyone else.

Like I was someone he could forgive.

And I hated that.

I hated that he was taller.

I hated that his voice was deeper now, smoother, that it felt like silk slipping under my skin even when he wasn't saying anything special.

I hated how the people around us were suddenly looking at him, how the girls near the kitchen were whispering and pointing, how even Jean sat up straighter, watching him with something like respect.

He was still soft. Still gentle. Still said "thank you" when someone passed him a drink. Still complimented everyone with the same warmth in his tone like he genuinely meant it.

But he wasn't the same.

And I didn't like not knowing what changed.

He walked past me slowly, his shoulder almost brushing mine, his scent curling around me like a noose. Something subtle, expensive, woody and warm, like cedar and clean cotton, like late summer rain and vanilla.

I stood frozen, arms crossed tightly, nails digging into my skin. I felt rage build up in me.

Behind me, Hitch exhaled. "Holy shit."

"Guess the nerd hit puberty," Annie muttered, but even her voice didn't hold its usual bite.

But I was quiet.

Because I knew better.

This wasn't just puberty.

This was a transformation.

This was Armin Arlert stepping into the room like he owned it, without even trying.

This was me, who had made it my job to break him, watching him rise from the ashes.

And the worst part?

He was still being nice.

Nice to me. To everyone.

Kind. Thoughtful.

And it was driving me crazy.

Because the more polite he was, the more I felt like I was choking.

Because no matter how much I hated him... he didn't hate me back.

And that? That made me feel unhinged.

"Y/N, you're making yourself bleed-"

Hitch's voice snapped me back to reality, low and sharp, yanking me out of the spiral I didn't even realize I was in.

I blinked down.

She was right.

My nails had dug so deep into the flesh of my arm that half-moons of red had bloomed under my skin. The skin there was broken, raw, already beginning to darken into a bruise. I let my fingers relax slowly, letting the blood return to my hand as the pain bloomed dull and ugly.

"He's a joke," I muttered, jaw tight, barely able to unclench it. "He's a fucking joke."

I couldn't stop staring at the spot he'd been standing in.

Like the air still held his scent.

"The more you react," Annie said, barely audible over the music, leaning in so no one else could hear, "the more he gets to enjoy."

Her tone was even. Cold. But I saw it in her eyes. She was just as thrown off as me, only better at hiding it.

"Says you?" I shot back with a glare. "Especially you, Hitch." I turned to her like I'd just remembered a betrayal. "You blushed at Armin. At Armin."

She pulled her head back slightly, scandalized. "What?! I did not-!"

"You so did."

"Okay, even if I did," she hissed, cheeks flushing again, whether from embarrassment or irritation, I didn't care- "he was being nice. What do you want me to do, spit in his face?!"

Before I could snarl something back, a voice cut through the tension like a blade, loud and amused:

"Yo, when you're done crying about his looks, come here to play games."

Eren.

The fucking instigator.

He sat sprawled on one of the wide couches, one hand wrapped lazily around a red Solo cup, the other slung casually around Mikasa's waist. She sat sideways in his lap, legs over his, her face unreadable. Cool as always.

"Who said we're crying, Eren?" Annie raised a sharp eyebrow.

"My bad," he smirked, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Burning." Then he reached out and hooked an arm around Armin's shoulders, pulling him toward him like they'd done this a hundred times.

I hated how easy it looked.

I hated that Armin just smiled politely, hands around a cup, unbothered.

The smug, soft-spoken bastard.

I scoffed under my breath and stalked toward the group, dropping down onto the couch beside Jean like I belonged there, like nothing had just unraveled in me.

Jean immediately slipped an arm around my shoulders with that same shit-eating grin he always wore when he knew something I didn't want him to. His cologne wrapped around me, musky and sharp.

He leaned close to my ear, "I'm not gonna say anything."

"You're literally saying something right now."

"Okay, but internally," he chuckled, "I'm screaming."

I rolled my eyes, but didn't shove him away. His arm anchored me. Grounded me.

My eyes roamed the room.

And it hit me again, how different it all looked now.

The group that used to be a joke, a collection of nerds, misfits, and try-hards, was suddenly picture-perfect. Cinematic. The kind of people you hate in movies because they look too good to be real. Like they belong on some Netflix original drama with perfectly timed montages and slow burns.

Eren and Mikasa, beautiful and brooding, magnetic in that "I'll-die-for-you" way.

Jean, effortlessly charming, like he was always in on the joke.

Sasha and Connie, laughing together across from me, arms bumping, energy electric.

Reiner, my own brother, broad-shouldered and golden-haired, now half-lounging with a beer while Bertholdt and Marco murmured beside him, comfortable.

Ymir and Historia tangled together on a bean bag, limbs intertwined as if no one else was in the room.

Porco and Pieck were curled in a corner, her head in his lap, eyes barely open.

And then there was him.

Armin.

Sitting slightly off to the side, cup in hand, nodding along to something Eren was saying with a slight smile, posture relaxed, eyes glittering behind those new glasses. Not awkward. Not out of place.

Like he belonged.

Like he'd always belonged, and we'd been the ones late to the party.

"Alright folks!" Connie suddenly stood up on the low table in front of the couches, raising his drink high above his head like he was about to toast the end of the world. "Let's play some dangerous games~"

Sasha clapped and let out a whistle. "Oh, hell yeah. It's that time of night already?"

"Of course you'd say that," Jean laughed, shaking his head.

"And you're offering what game?" I asked, skeptical, leaning back against the couch cushions.

Connie beamed. "Truth or shot."

Groans. Cheers. A couple of giggles.

Classic.

Stupid.

Dangerous.

"Really?" Historia smirked. "We're doing that again?"

"C'mon," Connie grinned, hopping down off the table. "It's tradition. Besides, everyone's here. Perfect time."

One by one, everyone gave in. Red cups were refilled. People shifted into a circle, on couches, on the floor, legs crossed, knees bumping.

And somehow, somehow, Armin ended up seated directly across from me.

Of course he did.

His long legs folded comfortably, hands resting on his knees. Calm. Composed. That kind smile still playing on his lips like nothing in the world could touch him.

Like he hadn't been the same boy I'd shoved into a locker two semesters ago.

"Alright," Eren clapped his hands. "Rules are simple. Truth or shot. If you lie, we'll know. If you don't answer, you drink. If your answer sucks, you still drink."

"Love how you just make up rules as you go," Hitch muttered.

"I'm the host. That's the point." Eren grinned.

The bottle spun lazily in the center of the circle, its base scraping softly against the hardwood, bumping into empty Solo cups and the edge of Jean's boot.

Laughter and chatter dulled as everyone leaned in, the entire room suddenly hanging on the movement of glass like it was prophecy.

And as it began to slow, tick, tick, tick, my stomach twisted itself into a knot I couldn't untangle.

Because I knew.

Of course I knew.

It was going to land on me.

And it did.

The bottle's neck eased to a stop, crystal clear and cruel, pointing directly at me like the universe was flipping me off.

"Y/N," Eren said, grinning like he'd just won the lottery. He leaned back into the couch, arm slung lazily around Mikasa's shoulders. "Truth or shot?"

I didn't flinch. Didn't blink. I crossed my arms and stared straight across the circle.

Right at him.

Armin Arlert.

He looked like the ghost of a boy I once hated. Only now he was sharper. Taller. Cleaner. Better dressed. And worse, he knew it.

I tilted my head, let my smirk curl slow and sharp across my face.

"Truth."

Connie let out a low whistle as Sasha elbowed him, already grinning.

Eren didn't miss a beat. "Alright, Y/N. Tell us, how do you feel seeing Armin being even better than you now?"

The question exploded into the room like a match to gasoline. Even the background music felt like it paused.

I laughed. Short. Bitter. Too loud.

"Better than me?" I echoed, arching a brow. "Better than me?"

Silence.

Armin didn't speak.

He just watched me.

That calm, kind smile still stuck on his lips like it was natural. Like I wasn't one breath away from lunging across the circle and slapping it off his face.

"Let's get something straight," I hissed, leaning forward, my voice low and dangerous. "Armin isn't better than me. He's a pet project with good hair. He's a carefully wrapped little package, playing dress-up in confidence like it's not borrowed."

"Shut your-" Eren started, but I raised a hand.

"No. You all see him now, all tall and shiny and smiling like he's some fucking poster boy for glow-ups, but I knew him. When he couldn't meet my eyes. When he stuttered trying to ask the professor a question. When his hands would shake if someone bumped into him too hard in the hallway."

My words came out fast, clipped and sharp.

"And you know what pisses me off the most?" I snapped. "That he's still pretending to be nice. As if he's not sitting there enjoying every second of this. As if he didn't come back with a new wardrobe, new hair, and a new attitude just to shove it in my face."

Armin's smile didn't waver.

In fact, it softened.

He tilted his head, gaze still locked on mine like we were the only two people in the room. Then he spoke, voice low, warm, maddeningly kind:

"I never wanted to compete with you, Y/N."

That.

That made something snap in me.

I surged to my feet, chest rising and falling as heat raced down my spine, nails digging into my palms.

"I'm not playing anymore," I spat, turning on my heel.

"Wait- no, no," Connie jumped in quickly, trying to salvage the energy. "C'mon, it's just a game, don't be a buzzkill!"

"Yeah, and the night's young," Hitch added, pulling herself up from the floor and brushing off her dress. "We haven't even played the real shit yet."

She wiggled her brows and looked at the others.

Jean perked up. "You're thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Seven Minutes in Heaven," Pieck said, yawning from Porco's lap but still managing to smile like she was in on a secret.

There was a collective groan, a few laughs, and then Connie raised a new bottle.

"Alright, fine. Let's go again. Closet's just down the hall," he said, already spinning it.

And just like that, the game was on.

People settled back down, drunk and flushed, some giggling, others eyeing each other like predators in heat.

But I stayed standing.

Armin still sat across from me.

Still smiling.

Still unbothered.

And as the new bottle spun, faster than the first, I felt something clawing at my chest.

It wasn't just rage anymore.

It was fear.

Because if I didn't find a way to crush him soon...

...I might actually lose.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

Seven Minutes in Heaven was a whole different breed of chaos. Where Truth or Drink had been cutthroat and brutal, this felt... lighter. More tolerable. Less claws-out, more jokes and snickers. The kind of game where people laughed too loud to cover how scared they were of what might actually happen in the dark.

And for a while, I let myself breathe.

I laughed when Marco and Bertholdt walked out of the closet with each other's shirts swapped like it was some kind of revolutionary comedy act.

I rolled my eyes when Hitch and Annie swore up and down they didn't do anything, even though Hitch was pulling at her collar the entire time like she wasn't desperately trying to hide the obvious.

"You two are blind," Ymir muttered, unimpressed, sipping her drink like it was holy water.

For once, I agreed.

Since when did best friends leave matching bite marks on each other's necks?

Jean went in with Pieck next, and I didn't even have to look at Porco to feel the firestorm brewing behind his eyes. They weren't official, but everyone and their mother knew he was a breath away from tearing Jean's limbs off.

"Take your horse away from Pieck," Porco snapped at me, his jaw tense.

I scoffed. "My horse? Jean and I aren't even a thing."

But we both knew that didn't matter. Jean flirted with everything that moved, and Pieck was no exception.

The night kept rolling forward, flushed and heated, full of laughter, teasing, bodies leaning a little too close, mouths whispering behind shot glasses. Eren was parading around with kiss marks all over his face like they were medals of honor, and Mikasa sat smug beside him like she'd personally branded her property.

And just when I thought the fire had cooled, when I thought maybe the earlier storm had passed, I heard it.

The gasp.

Connie's dramatic, unnecessary gasp.

I turned toward the circle, and my breath caught.

Armin had spun the bottle.

And it was pointing right at me.

The room broke into gasps and giggles and a chorus of "oooooh"s like we were in high school again. I didn't move. Didn't blink. My brows furrowed, and I just stared across the room at him.

At the boy whose smile was still maddeningly soft.

But there was something behind it now.

Something darker.

"Pussy if you don't go," Eren called out, his smirk cutting sharp.

I shot him a look of pure venom. "Whatever," I said, pushing up to my feet. "It's not like I fear this loser."

I stalked across the room, not waiting, not looking back, stepping into the closet like it was a battlefield. I shoved myself against the back wall, crossing my arms tight over my chest. The door creaked. Then shut. A soft click told me he locked it.

And now we were alone.

Me and him.

The space was cramped. Too small. Our shoulders almost touched. I could hear both our breaths.

"Alright folks!" Connie's muffled voice called from outside. "Seven minutes from... now!"

And then it was silent.

Utterly silent.

Except for my pulse hammering in my ears.

I didn't hesitate.

"Changing your appearance thinking I'll let go from mocking you?" I scoffed, arms folded, venom dripping from every syllable. "You're so pathetic-"

And then I saw it.

That smile.

That soft, sweet, innocent smile he always wore?

It curled.

Shifted.

His lips twisted slowly, sinfully, into a smirk. Not cocky. Not smug.

Wicked.

Teasing. Dangerous.

"And you're so fucking obsessed," he murmured, voice low and smooth like poisoned honey.

I blinked.

"What?"

"You're obsessed, Y/N." He laughed. Laughed. At me. "You think I don't see it? All that rage? All that hate? It's not hate. You're addicted to me. You always were. Are you sure you just don't wanna-"

His tongue pressed into the inside of his cheek as he eyed me up and down, slow, deliberate, like he was peeling the skin from my bones with his stare. Then he lifted a fist to his mouth, moving it in a disgusting way as if he was telling me that I wanted to get under his clothes.

He was mocking me.

I felt my eye twitch.

My hand rose before I even knew what I was doing, but before I could strike, his hand snapped up and caught my wrist mid-air.

Tightly.

My breath hitched.

He pulled.

Hard.

Suddenly I was inches from him, yanked forward like I weighed nothing. My chest brushed his. My heart slammed into my ribs.

He didn't even blink.

He reached up casually with his other hand and pushed his glasses back up his nose, bowing his head down so that his face was just above mine.

He towered over me now. He had all the power I once had.

I could feel the warmth of his breath ghosting over my face. My spine stiffened.

"Oh, you had so much fun last semester, didn't you?" he whispered.

His voice was soft. Too soft.

Deadly soft.

"You remember it all, right? How you used to humiliate me in front of the entire school. Every class. Every hallway. Every time you laughed, every time you called me names-"

He leaned closer.

My back hit the wall.

He didn't stop.

"Now it's my turn," he said, and his smirk grew into something terrifying. Something beautiful. "Let's see how you like a taste of your own game."

My lips parted.

Nothing came out.

I was frozen. Like ice had filled my lungs and locked my body in place.

This wasn't the same boy I bullied. This wasn't even the same species. I prayed for his downfall, for him to beg me for mercy, not for him to turn the table around.

"Oh, Y/N," he murmured, and finally let go of my wrist.

It throbbed in the absence of his grip.

He stepped back just enough to reach the doorknob.

His smile returned.

The soft one.

The innocent one.

But now I saw it for what it was.

Fake.

A mask. A beautiful, horrifying mask.

"I'm gonna have so much fun this year," he said gently. "Watching you fall apart and begging me for mercy."

He unlocked the door, pulled it open slowly, and stepped out into the party like nothing had happened.

Leaving me inside.

Alone.

Frozen.

Heart crashing against my ribs like it wanted to escape my body.

And that's when it hit me.

That's when the truth slammed into me so hard I almost choked on it.

My biggest victim... had turned into my worst nightmare.

My tormentor.

My bully.

And no one would believe me.

Because Armin Arlert?

He was still smiling.
︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Chapter Text

The laughter in the room still echoed, low, careless, blissfully unaware of the storm rising inside me. It rang in my ears like a taunt, a cruel contrast to the chaos splintering my chest.

I stood frozen. Shaking. Breath shallow.

Vision narrowing like a camera lens until all I could see was him.

Armin.

Sitting there on that couch like the devil dressed as a scholar, laughing with Eren, accepting a refill from Mikasa, pushing up those infuriatingly perfect glasses with that infuriatingly perfect hand. Like he hadn't just promised to ruin me behind a locked door. Like he hadn't vowed to dismantle me piece by piece, all while grinning.

And then he had the audacity to smile.

I snapped.

"Stop looking at me like that!"

Conversations died instantly.

The air grew still. All heads turned toward me, some with curiosity, others with disbelief.

"Y/N?" Hitch said slowly, as if approaching a wild animal.

But I couldn't stop. I pointed at him. At Armin.

"Don't look at me like I'm crazy!" My voice cracked with rage. "Tell them what you said in the closet! Go on, tell them! How you said I'm obsessed with you! How you said you'd break me! That this is your game now, your revenge!"

The words shot out like knives, dripping with venom and fury, loud enough to fill every corner of the room.

Armin stood up slowly.

Too slowly.

Like a predator in full control of his prey.

His expression was heartbreakingly soft. Eyes wide with innocence, lips parted as though wounded.

"Y/N," he said gently.

Too gently.

No- dangerously soft.

The kind of gentle that hides blades behind backs.

"I would never say that to you," he continued, stepping closer like I was fragile glass. "I haven't. Not these past months. Not these days... not even the seconds after what you... did to me."

The words were heavy without being said.

Not even when you humiliated me.

And now he was in front of me, inches away.

Too close.

His hand touched my shoulder, warm, tender to onlookers. But the moment his palm met my skin, I felt it.

The pain.

His fingers were digging into my shoulder. Sharp and bruising. A message carved into flesh.

I tried not to flinch. But he knew. He knew he had me.

"You're overwhelmed," he whispered, loud enough for everyone to hear. "It's a lot. Seeing everyone again... college stress... maybe something else. You've always carried more than you show."

Then he leaned in, voice lowering to a breath.

"You think they'll believe you?" he hissed. "You're unraveling. And I'm just here to help... poor Y/N."

I couldn't breathe.

He stepped back. Just like that. Mask back on. Smile soft.

Halo glowing.

And no one- no one- saw what he did.

"Y/N..." Jean stepped forward cautiously, hands half-raised. "You okay?"

"Maybe... maybe you should sit down," Pieck offered, concern etched across her face.

"Do you need water?" Sasha asked, glancing toward the kitchen.

They didn't believe me.

Not even Hitch or Annie.

Because of that goddamn smile.

He'd buried the devil under angelic charm, and I was the only one who could see the blood under his nails.

I clenched my fists at my sides, trembling as the group slowly returned to their conversations, awkward laughter bubbling up to cover the discomfort.

But I wasn't done.

I yanked Annie and Hitch by their wrists and dragged them out of the circle. Away from the blindfolded masses.

"He's fucking crazy," I hissed, breath shaky. "A psychopathic bastard."

Annie furrowed her brows, arms crossed. Hitch blinked, confused.

"Y/N... this is Armin we're talking about," Hitch said slowly. "He's a nerd. Not... that."

"No!" I snapped. "You didn't hear what he said to me! He threatened me, Hitch! He said he's going to make my life hell!"

Annie sighed and shook her head. "You're drunk. You're not thinking straight. Maybe go home."

I stared at them. My chest hollow.

Even they didn't believe me. My own friends- best friends were telling me that I was going crazy, that I was drunk.

Panic set in as I stormed toward Reiner, grabbing his arm and dragging him aside.

"Reiner, I need you to listen- please. You believe me, right? You believe your little sister!"

He looked me over, puzzled. Concerned. "Y/N... what's going on?"

"It's Armin!" I exploded. "He threatened me in the closet! He said he's going to ruin me-"

But then he laughed.

He fucking laughed.

"Okay, no more drinks for you tonight," he said, ruffling my hair like I was a kid with a tantrum. Then he walked off like nothing happened.

I was shaking.

I stared at his back, then back to the group, then to Armin.

Still smiling.

Still winning.

No one saw it. No one believed it.

And it was driving me insane.

I marched toward him, fury pounding in my skull. I grabbed his collar and yanked him off the couch.

"Get the fuck up, Arlert."

He blinked up at me, fake confusion plastered across his face. "Y/N...?"

But I wasn't giving him a chance to fake anything else.

I dragged him out of the room.

"Is she gonna fuck him or kill him?" Connie asked behind me.

I didn't answer.

Once we were far enough, surrounded by half-conscious partygoers who wouldn't care, I shoved him hard against the wall and grabbed his jaw in a death grip.

"You listen to me, you fucking nerd," I growled. "Whatever delusion you had in that closet, this little alpha moment? That stupid main character moment? Get that bullshit out of your head."

He just... looked at me.

Dead calm.

Not a single flinch. Not a blink.

And then- snap.

In one swift motion, he spun me and slammed me against the wall.

The air fled my lungs with the impact.

Now his hand was on my jaw. Unforgiving. Cruel.

"Main character moment?" he said, fake pouting. "Aww, is Miss little brat upset that she's not the center of attention anymore?"

His lips curled into a grin, but his eyes were fire.

"Let me make something crystal clear," he whispered. "You're my pet now. You picked on me for a year. But I've learned. I've grown. And now? You're in my game. And if you test me again, I will crush you so hard you'll pray to be invisible."

My chest heaved, heart pounding like it wanted out.

"You've forgotten who you are, Armin. You're a nobody," I spat, trying to wrest control back.

But he just laughed.

Straight up laughed in my face.

"Oh, Y/N... you're the nobody. Because I'm better than you in every way now. I'm smarter. Hotter. More liked. I'm what you wish you were."

His words sliced deep.

Because some parts of me knew that his words were mostly true.

Then he leaned in, lips barely grazing my ear.

"Does your brother know you made out with his best friend?"

My heart plummeted.

"You wouldn't dare," I whispered.

He stepped back and adjusted his glasses with a smile. "Try me."

I grabbed him again, snarling, "You wouldn't fucking dare!"

His eyes darkened. "Let go. Before I make you."

I did.

Barely.

"What do you want from me?" I yelled, desperate now.

He smiled.

Deadly.

"I want to destroy you. Tear your reputation apart. Humiliate you in front of the people you once ruled. And I won't stop until you fall on your knees and beg."

I released him like he was on fire.

"You'll never get that," I hissed.

He smiled wider.

"Then I guess Reiner's gonna find out just how freaky his little sister really is, especially with his closest friends."

And just like that, he walked off.

Back into the crowd.

Into the noise.

Like he hadn't just set my world on fire.

And for the first time in forever, I wasn't the one setting something on fire.

I was the one set on fire, and I didn't know how to put it out.

I  took a few shaky breaths before forcing myself to walk back into the so-called VIP room.

Not to party. Not to pretend everything was okay.

Just to grab my stuff and get the hell out of there.

My heart was still racing from the encounter, my skin still stung where Armin's fingers had dug into me like a promise. The air felt thick, like I was wading through smoke.

When I stepped back into the room, everything looked normal.

Too normal.

The laughter, the music, the careless way people lounged around in velvet chairs and sprawled on couches. Like nothing had happened. Like my entire world hadn't just tilted off its axis.

But then- I saw it.

Him.

Armin.

Sitting perfectly still, a half-empty glass of whatever in his hand, nodding as Connie said something beside him. But he wasn't listening. Not really.

Because his eyes- those cold, calculating, mocking eyes, were locked on me.

They didn't flicker when I met his gaze.

They burned.

A slow, cruel smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. Barely there. Just enough to let me know that he knew what he'd done.

Then, deliberately, his eyes slid to the side.

To someone else.

I followed the path- and my blood ran cold.

Reiner.

My brother sat on the opposite end of the room, hunched forward, phone gripped tight in one fist. His brows were furrowed, jaw clenched. The veins on his forearms were bulging from the force of how tightly he held his phone.

I didn't have to guess.

I knew.

I knew what he was looking at.

And the moment his head snapped up, eyes zeroing in on me like a target, I felt everything in my chest cave in.

Rage. Confusion. Betrayal.

His glare was lethal.

And then, he turned that same glare on Bertholdt.

My heart dropped to my stomach like a stone.

No. No no no.

My breath caught as I scrambled to grab my purse. I just needed to leave, now. I could explain later. Run now, explain later. I didn't even care about my pride anymore. I just needed to get away from that look on Reiner's face before it-

Too late.

A hand gripped my wrist, tight. Too tight.

I turned.

And looked up into the storm.

Reiner was towering over me, face red with fury, chest rising and falling in angry waves.

"You fucking made out with Bertholdt?"

His voice was a crack of thunder, sharp, raw, hurt.

The room went dead silent. At least for me.

I flinched.

My eyes stung.

I wanted to scream, to cry, to sink into the floor and disappear.

"It wasn't on purpose! I don't like him!" I snapped, voice shaking. "I was drunk! Who even told you that?!"

My voice cracked. I hated how broken I sounded. I hated being weak.

He shook his head, scoffing bitterly. "I don't even know. That's the worst part."

Then he let go of my wrist.

And started walking away.

Like I wasn't even worth yelling at anymore.

That hit harder than the accusation.

The disappointment on his face carved a hole straight through me.

No explanation. No second chance. Just...disgust.

And I knew exactly who had orchestrated this.

Armin Arlert.

He hadn't even needed to lift a finger.

He didn't scream. He didn't fight.

He just watched the world around me crumble like a goddamn puppet master. And I was his puppet.

I turned to him, one last time, desperate to find any humanity left in his expression.

But all I saw was that same infuriating smirk.

And then, with deliberate slowness, he mouthed the words:

"Welcome to my game, darling."

I stood there, frozen.

Everything inside me felt like it was tearing apart. My ears were ringing. My vision blurred. Everyone else was laughing, talking, pretending like nothing was happening, but my universe had just been shattered.

And he knew it.

He'd planned it.

He wanted me to break.

And maybe I was.

I turned on my heel and pushed through the crowd, out of Eren's mansion and into the cool night air.

My heels hit the pavement too hard. My lungs refused to fill. My throat burned from unshed tears.

Armin hadn't just humiliated me.

He had ruined me.

Anonymously. Silently. Perfectly.

And I was terrified.

Because this?

This was just the beginning of a dangerous game.

A revenge.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

I didn't even realize how hard I was gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles turned bone-white. The roads were nearly empty, but my mind was overcrowded, crashing, screaming, spiraling.

Reiner's face.
The look in everyone's eyes.
Armin's smirk.

It all blurred together like a fever dream that wouldn't let go.

I just wanted to get home.
Get the hell out.
Get him out of my head.

But of course, he wouldn't let me.

My phone lit up on the passenger seat, vibrating once. I didn't have to look. My stomach already knew.

I swallowed hard and glanced down.

1 new message
From: stupid nerd

I had changed his name ages ago, probably sometime between the third paper he outscored me on and the first time I called him a parasite to his face. I never changed it back.

And now it felt like a warning.

My thumb hovered for a second.
Then I tapped it open.

stupid nerd:

Made it home okay, I hope?
Would be a shame if something bad happened to you right after our little chat.

You were a bit emotional tonight. Understandable. Reunions can be intense, all those bottled-up feelings... spilling everywhere. So messy.

Everyone was so concerned about you, by the way.
The way you yelled? The things you said?
Yikes.

I know you're better than that. Or at least... you used to be.

Sleep well, sweetheart. :)

Oh, and next time? You should be more careful who you kiss at parties. Cameras love pretty little secrets.

My chest seized.

I stared at the message, the world going dead silent around me.

The first line? A threat disguised as concern.
The second? Mockery.
The third? A slap to the face in velvet gloves.
And that last part, the kiss?

He was dangling it over my head.
Tugging the strings.
Smiling while he did it.

The emoji at the end-  :)
That was the kill shot.

Because it wasn't just a smile. It was his voice whispering behind it:
"I own you now."

My foot pressed harder on the gas as I sped through the intersection. I didn't care anymore. My nails dug into the steering wheel, jaw locked, heart crawling up my throat.

I had created a monster.

And now he was hunting me with a halo on his head.

I drove without stopping.

I ran red lights like they were invitations.

Stop signs meant nothing, because nothing could stop me. Not the alcohol tracing heat through my veins. Not the fury crawling under my skin. Not the hum of the engine that sounded more like a war drum pounding in sync with my heartbeat.

Armin Arlert's words kept playing in my skull like some broken record on a loop.

"Welcome to my game, darling."

My grip on the steering wheel tightened until my knuckles turned white. Every streetlight that passed flickered against my windshield like a strobe, every flicker felt like him blinking at me with that smug expression.

The audacity. The nerve. Telling me who I could kiss, how to behave.

Watch who I kiss?
Who the hell does he think he is?

By the time I screeched into the campus parking lot, I was seconds away from launching my car into the nearest brick wall. Instead, I slammed the door shut behind me so hard the window trembled.

I didn't walk, I stormed across the lot like a woman possessed, heels pounding against the pavement. My vision was tunnelled, heart racing, blood howling.

No elevator.

I didn't have the patience to wait.

I took the stairs two at a time, gripping the handrail like I'd rip it out of the wall. Each step felt like a punch against the night, my lungs burning, my throat dry.

He was in my head.
In my nerves.
In my bones.

That stupid, perfect face.

That dangerous voice wrapped in fake innocence.

That mask.

I hated how he cracked me open with one whisper. Hated how he made me feel like I was the one unravelling.

I shoved open the door to my dorm floor and headed down the hallway, nearly tripping over my own feet when my phone buzzed.

I fumbled it out of my bag, still walking, still panting.

It wasn't him.

It was worse.

Reiner.

Reiner: You seriously didn't even plan to tell me?

Reiner: I had to find out from a picture.

Reiner: A picture, Y/N.

Reiner: I'm so fucking disappointed in you, who have you turned into?

My heart dropped to my stomach. My fingers tightened around the phone until the edges dug into my palm.

Photo?

Photo of what?

I opened the message thread and saw it.

A blurry image of me and Bertholdt, mouths locked, his hand around my waist.

And below it?

"Your sister's got taste lmao."
Sent by some random number that wasn't saved in Reiner's phone, and it definitely wasn't Armin's.

I stopped in the hallway, frozen, eyes wide as the world began spinning. My ears rang. The walls closed in. I could feel everything, and nothing.

Armin.

He did this.

He had done this so perfectly without getting caught.

He didn't just tell Reiner. He made proof. He waited until it hurt. He cut deep. He played nasty.

He lit the fire and watched me run into it.

And I did.

I fucking ran.

I slammed into my dorm room and locked the door behind me like I was being hunted, like I had seconds before the monster came knocking. My bag hit the floor. My phone clattered next to it.

And I just stood there.

Chest heaving. Heart imploding. Rage chewing through my ribs.

He ruined everything.

And he wouldn't stop until I begged for mercy.

The nerd who couldn't string a sentence together without stuttering like his own voice betrayed him. The one who would whisper out shaky apologies just for standing too close, like his very presence was some kind of offense. The one who sat soaked and shivering more times than I could count, after yet another bottle of water had been dumped over his head, by me, by my friends, by anyone who decided he was an easy target that day.

That same boy, the one who used to flinch when I so much as looked at him, is not the same anymore.

He's different now. Sharper. Colder. Smiling like he knows something I don't. Like he's already won a game I didn't know we were playing. That shy, silent little nerd is gone, and in his place stands someone I don't recognize. Someone dangerous. Unpredictable. A manipulative, blackmailing psycho with a stare that feels like it's undressing my soul, peeling it apart layer by layer until I forget who I even am.

And maybe that's the scariest part.
Because maybe he was always like this. Maybe the stutters, the apologies, the shrinking posture, maybe all of it was a mask. And maybe I was too stupid, too cruel, or too obsessed with winning to notice the monster hiding behind it.

Maybe I pushed him too far.
Maybe I created him.

And now I have no idea how to stop him.

And I can't get him out of my head.

It's been hours since the party ended. Hours since I walked through my front door, closed it behind me, and collapsed onto my bed like the world had shifted on its axis. I've been lying here in the dark, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling like it holds the answers, but it doesn't. Nothing does.

Because he's still in my mind.

Armin.

His voice. His threats. The smirk that played on his lips like he was savoring every ounce of power he now held over me. The way he stood there, composed and terrifyingly confident, like he was born for this, and he'd just been waiting for the right moment to let it all unravel.

He's not the same. He's not that stammering, trembling, pathetic nerd anymore. No. He's something else now. Something darker. Sharper. He's not prey anymore. He's the hunter, and I? I'm the one bleeding.

Annie and Hitch came back about half an hour ago. I heard them knocking, their voices muffled through the door as they asked if I was okay, if I wanted to talk. But I didn't answer. I couldn't.

Because I can't let them see me like this- unraveling. I can't let them see the way I'm gripping the sheets like they're the only thing keeping me grounded. I can't let them see the way my thoughts keep spinning out of control, how I'm spiralling- not because of a man, but because of him.

Because of that nerd.

That loser, that weakling, that background character I used to chew up and spit out without a second thought, he's gone. In his place is something much more dangerous. A psycho. A calculated, cold-blooded psychotic nerd who knows exactly how to break me. And the worst part?

I think he wants to enjoy it. No, I'm sure he wants to enjoy every single moment of it.

The same thoughts keep circling in my mind, taunting me on a loop I can't escape:

What's going to happen when classes start again?
What's waiting for me the moment I walk into that lecture hall?
How will he do it? how will he tear me apart?
Will he be subtle? Brutal? Slow?

Can I stop it? Can I win this war I started?

God, can I even survive it?

It used to be my game. I was the queen. I had control. It was always 3 vs 1- me, Hitch, Annie, circling him like vultures. And he just sat there, flinching, folding in on himself, taking it.

But now?

Now it's his game.
And he made the rules.
He told me himself: it's 1 vs 1. Just me and him.

But the terrifying truth is, he's not alone.

He fights like he's ten people. Ten steps ahead. Ten times stronger than he ever was before.

And me?

I'm still lying here, too scared to sleep.
Because when I close my eyes, he's there.
Smiling.
︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

A/N: how are we feeling about psycho and manipulative nerd Armin? Oh and don’t you worry, it’s just the start. He’s getting hotter and hotter. :))

Chapter Text

(Armin's POV, before the party):

They say people like me are harmless.

The quiet ones.
The ones who sit in the front row, always two steps ahead but never loud enough to be noticed.
The ones who carry spare pens, emergency notebooks, and avoid eye contact in hallways.
The ones who apologize when they're spoken over, who shrink away when the room grows too loud.

They look at me and see obedience.
A soft-spoken presence, a background character in their spotlight.
A harmless nerd with too many flashcards and not enough spine.

And I let them.

I let her.

Y/N L/N.

The center of her own universe, shining so bright it blinds everyone around her.
She wasn't content just being the best- no, she needed to be unquestioned. Unchallenged.
And I? I was the glitch in her system. The one anomaly she couldn't erase.
A constant in her equation that refused to be solved or erased.

So she tried to break me.

She did it with a smile, always a smile.
The kind of smile that said, "I don't see you as a threat,"
but the way her voice sharpened when she spoke to me, the venom in every syllable,
it gave her away.

The first time she knocked my books off the desk, I remember the exact sound they made hitting the floor. Not loud, but heavy, like something final. Her voice rang above it all, clear and mocking:
"Oops. Guess nerd-boy's gravity failed him."

And I smiled.
Not because it didn't sting, it did.
But because I saw her. I really saw her.

I saw the way her eyes flinched when I didn't react. When I didn't fluster or stutter or scramble to defend myself. That flicker of uncertainty, that moment of hesitation in her perfectly choreographed performance?

That was the first crack.

And the thing about cracks?
They spread.

She pushed harder after that.
Made it her routine, my humiliation, her spotlight. Hitch laughing in sync, Annie watching with her arms crossed, silent but complicit.

Every word, every shove, every cruel jab, I logged it.

Catalogued it.

Memorized the rhythm of her cruelty like it was a formula waiting to be deconstructed.

Her laugh when she won.
The smirk when I didn't fight back.
The way her jaw tensed when I scored higher, even if I never flaunted it.

She thought I wasn't paying attention. That I was too soft, too passive to retaliate.

But that's where she made her first mistake.

Because I've been studying her for far longer than she's known. Not academically, psychologically.

I know the way she walks when she's confident.
The way her voice gets quieter, colder when she's threatened. How her fingers twitch slightly when she's about to lose control. The way she becomes performative when she's nervous, louder, prettier, faker.

And summer?

Summer gave me time.

Three months of silence.
Three months of transformation.
Three months of becoming.

I didn't just grow.
I hardened.

Body- rebuilt. Stronger. Sharper.
Mind- disciplined. Focused. Cold.
Voice- trained. Clear. Deep. Commanding.
Presence- no longer ignorable.

The glasses? Upgraded.
The posture? Confident.
The silence? Weaponized.

And it's not vanity.
It's armor.

I'm not trying to impress anyone. I'm trying to haunt her. To crawl under her skin like she once did to me.

She made me the villain in her story.
Now, I'll become the author of hers.

My phone buzzes on the desk, a message from Eren.

Yeagerbomb: You coming or what? Everyone's already here.

I don't reply.

Instead, I look at my reflection in the dark window. The room's dim, moonlight catching on the sharp lines of my face, the faint sheen in my eyes.

And for a second, I almost don't recognize myself.

But that's the point.

Because this version of me?
This version doesn't stutter.
He doesn't flinch.
He doesn't wait for permission.

He takes.

I grab my jacket, smooth the collar. Every movement precise, rehearsed, cold.

Tonight isn't about revenge.
It's about balance.

Let her laugh now. Let her bask in her borrowed power.
She won't be laughing when I step through that door.

She'll freeze.
She'll stare.
She'll remember everything she ever said to me, and realize the weight of every word.

She'll see the cost of her games.

And I won't yell. I won't shove her. No. That's not how I win.

I'll get in her head.
Make her question everything.
Her worth. Her power. Her place.
I'll unravel her with the same silence she once feared, the silence she doesn't know how to read.

Because here's the thing:

I'm going to play with her.

Like she's the puppet, and I'm the master pulling the strings she didn't know existed.
Every look, every word, every calculated breath, all designed to push her closer to the edge.

And I won't do it in front of a crowd.
No. This isn't for their entertainment.

It's for her.

Only her.

Let Hitch and Annie wonder why she's not sleeping. Why her smiles feel tighter. Why she can't concentrate in class anymore.

Let them try to fix her while she slowly spirals,
while I peel her apart one layer at a time.

And when she breaks?
When she's on her knees, mascara running, voice shaking, begging for forgiveness?

I'll lean in close, look her dead in the eye and whisper:

"I told you I would break you into pieces."

She had every chance to stop.
Every opportunity to back down.

But she didn't.

So now?
Now, I'm going to repay the favor.

Because I've studied her.
Her laugh, her pride, her fear.
What ruins her. What breaks her. What keeps her up at night.

I've read her like a book.
Now, I'll rewrite her ending.

Not as the victor.

As the warning.

Because the boy she mocked? The boy she bullied?

He's not coming back.

And the man standing in his place?

He's not playing fair.

He's playing God.

I should feel something- guilt, maybe. Pity. But all I feel is this sick, electric anticipation crawling under my skin.

She has no idea what's coming for her.

I can already see her future, as clear and vivid as a painting etched in glass. She won't just change, she'll wither. Physically, emotionally, completely. The version of her that strutted through campus, all smug smiles and sharp words, will rot into something unrecognizable.

Her once-flawless skin? Pale, dull, pulled tight over hollowed cheeks. The sparkle in her eyes? Gone, replaced with the deep, bruised shadow of sleepless nights and silent breakdowns. She'll stop trying, stop caring. No more perfect eyeliner, no more polished outfits or venom-laced smirks. She'll be invisible. The girl who used to own the room will start shrinking from it.

And her grades? They'll plummet. I'll make sure of it.

She used to laugh at people like that, frazzled, hopeless, broken. Now she'll be one of them. A ghost in lecture halls. A punchline in whispered conversations.

I'm going to unravel her so slowly, so exquisitely, that she won't even realize she's falling apart until she's already in pieces. And the best part? She'll know it was me. She'll see my face in every crack in her armor. Every time she looks in the mirror and doesn't recognize herself, she'll remember exactly who shattered her.

This isn't revenge. This is poetry.

She had it coming.

And I'll be there, watching her break, bit by bit.

Smiling.

──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

(At the party, Armin's POV):

"I'm actually right here, Annie."

My voice cut through the bass and chatter like a breeze through curtains, soft, deliberate, calm.

And the moment froze.

I could feel it before I even stepped into full view. That shift in air pressure. Like the party, the noise, the lights, all of it paused just to see. To look.

At me.

I stepped inside, one breath at a time, calm on the outside. Inside? Not so much. My heart thundered behind my ribs, but I didn't let it show. Couldn't. Not when I'd spent months preparing for this exact moment.

And there she was.

Y/N.

Exactly where I thought she'd be, center of attention, flanked by her usual shadows, Annie and Hitch, their expressions frozen in some cocktail of confusion and disbelief.

Her eyes hit me last.

Not right away.

I almost smiled at that.

She saved me for the end.

Good.

She always did like a grand finale.

I could see the way her jaw twitched, just slightly, like she was trying to reconcile what she was seeing with what she remembered. Her arms crossed tighter. Defensive. Her posture all wrong for someone supposedly unbothered.

I didn't let my gaze linger.

Just enough for her to notice, just enough to rattle the cage.

I turned to Annie first.

"Nice nose piercing," I said with a small, easy smile. "Really suits you."

Her reaction was everything I'd imagined it might be, controlled surprise, a slight nod, suspicion flickering in her eyes.

Then Hitch.

"Your haircut's really flattering. It frames your face well."

She blinked like I'd insulted her in another language. The Hitch I remembered would've shot something sharp and snide back before the words even finished leaving my mouth.

But this Hitch?

She blushed.

And then...

Y/N.

God.

Y/N.

I let my eyes find her again.

Up close, her glow-up was obvious. New hair, new dress, the heels, the confidence in her stance, but all of it was layered over the same girl I remembered. The one who spat venom in my direction for an entire year like it was her second language. The one who tripped me in lecture halls and called it an accident. The one who mocked my answers in study group, laughed when I stumbled, barked when I didn't bark back.

And I should've hated her.

But I didn't.

I wasn't here to hate.

"Y/N," I said, soft as silk, just enough to draw her in. "You look really good tonight."

The way her face froze?

Worth every goddamn second of the summer.

Because I saw it.

The way her eyes widened, the flicker of confusion, the tightness in her throat.

I had unarmed her.

No snark. No jabs. No fight to throw back at me, because I hadn't given her a reason.

And that was the point.

Let her squirm in the silence between my kindness and her guilt.

Let her figure out how to swim in water she used to boil.

I moved past her slowly, almost close enough to brush her shoulder, just enough to leave my scent behind, a little luxury cologne I'd saved for this night. Cedar, cotton, vanilla. Warmth. Stability.

Everything I'd become.

I heard Hitch exhale behind me.

"Holy shit," she muttered.

"Guess the nerd hit puberty," Annie added, but even her voice lacked heat.

I didn't turn around.

I didn't need to.

Eren's voice called out, smug and amused. "Yo, when you're done crying about his looks, come here to play games."

I bit back a smile.

Of course he'd say something like that.

Mikasa was curled up in his lap, and he was grinning like a wolf.

I let him pull me toward him, one arm slung around my shoulder, like nothing had changed.

But everything had.

Jean's eyes were on me too.

And not like before. Not with annoyance or disdain or that pity I'd caught him trying to hide when Y/N had shoved me in the library that one time.

No, now it was like he was reassessing.

Recalculating.

The same way everyone else in that room was doing.

I had flipped the script.

And no one knew what to do with it.

Least of all her.

She sat next to Jean now, arms tight, expression stormy. Her smile too sharp, her eyes following me like she was tracking a threat she didn't understand. Her discomfort radiated like static in the air.

I sat, sipped from my cup, nodded along to Eren's jokes. Sasha laughed across the room. Connie cracked open another beer.

I existed, for the first time in a long time, without shrinking.

And it wasn't for them.

It was for me.

I earned this peace. This skin.

But I kept her in my periphery.

Y/N.

I didn't gloat. Didn't taunt.

That would've been too easy.

And worse?

Expected.

No, what would really get to her was kindness. Politeness. Control.

I knew her well enough to understand that the more nice I was, the more it would rot in her bones.

Connie stood up on the table, all dramatic and overexcited. "Let's play some dangerous games~"

"Truth or shot."

Classic. Predictable.

Perfect.

The bottle spun. Laughter rippled. Everyone leaned in.

I didn't need it to land on her to know it would.

And when it did?

God, I almost pitied her.

Almost.

"Truth or shot?" Eren asked, already grinning.

She stared right at me.

No flinch. No blink. A challenge in the way her lips curled, the slight tilt of her head.

"Truth."

Of course.

Always the hard road.

Eren didn't hesitate. "How do you feel seeing Armin being even better than you now?"

The air split.

And I saw it.

The flicker.

The panic.

She tried to laugh, sharp and biting. But it came out wrong. Bitter. Hollow.

She unraveled.

Like clockwork.

She called me a pet project. Claimed I was dressed in borrowed confidence. Ranted about who I used to be like she didn't realize she was confessing just how closely she'd watched me all this time.

She was spiraling.

And I didn't say a word.

Until I did.

"I never wanted to compete with you, Y/N."

That line wasn't for drama.

It was the truth.

I never had.

She made it a competition.

All I'd ever wanted was to be left alone to be good at something.

But now?

Now I wanted her to hear it. To feel it. The gap between us wasn't about power anymore. It was about peace.

Mine.

And her complete lack of it.

She bolted up, snarled, snapped, fled.

Not far. Not really. Just far enough to feel like she still had some control.

Connie tried to patch the energy. Hitch jumped in. Annie stayed cold and steady, as always. The group carried on.

Another game. Seven Minutes in Heaven.

And the bottle spun again.

Everyone laughed, leaned closer, acted drunker than they probably were.

But I stayed still.

My legs crossed comfortably.

My drink steady in my hand.

And my eyes?

They never left her.

Because no matter how hard she tried to play it cool, to pretend she wasn't affected-

I knew better.

Y/N was unraveling in real time.

And this time?

I wasn't the one at her mercy.

This time, I wasn't the punchline.

This time...

She was.

And I was just getting started.

The bottle spun in lazy, drunken circles, glinting under the dim light like it knew exactly what it was doing.

I already knew where it would land.

I didn't believe in fate, not really. But this? This felt orchestrated. Designed. Like some cosmic joke finally deciding to play in my favor.

It stopped.

And pointed.

At her.

At Y/N.

The room erupted, loud and ridiculous, gasping, laughing, hooting like we were all sixteen again. I barely heard them. My eyes were locked on hers.

And hers?

They were wide, unblinking. Furrowed in confusion.

She looked at me like I was a glitch in her simulation. Like she couldn't comprehend how I could possibly be the one across from her. Like she hadn't spent an entire year looking through me like I was beneath her shoes.

But now?

Now she was the one frozen.

Still pretending I wasn't in control.

Eren's voice cut through the chaos. "Pussy if you don't go!"

Typical. Crude. Perfect.

I watched her scowl, watched the venom drip from her words as she shoved herself to her feet.

"Whatever. It's not like I fear this loser."

Loser.

There it was again. The favorite word she used to keep me small.

I almost laughed.

She stomped across the room like she was charging into war, every movement dripping with the same misplaced rage she'd always carried. But this time, she had no idea the battlefield had shifted.

The closet door creaked shut behind me. I locked it without thinking.

Click.

And then... silence.

It was cramped. Too close. Her perfume hit me first. Sharp, sweet. Annoyingly familiar.

Our shoulders almost brushed. I could feel her tension vibrating off her like static.

"Alright folks! Seven minutes from... now!"

Connie's voice was muffled behind the door. Distant. Meaningless.

The silence returned.

And then- like clockwork- her voice.

"Changing your appearance thinking I'll let go from mocking you?" she scoffed. "You're so pathetic-"

I smiled.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Let it stretch across my lips like pulling back the curtain to reveal the show she never saw coming.

Her words faltered. Froze mid-air.

Good.

I let the smirk curl. Not cocky. Not arrogant.

Just honest.

She needed to see the truth.

I'm not the same boy anymore.

"And you're so fucking obsessed," I said, voice low, rich with all the things I'd never had the guts to say.

She blinked, stunned.

"What?"

"You're obsessed, Y/N." I let a soft laugh escape, just to twist the knife. "You think I don't see it? All that rage? All that hate? It's not hate. You're addicted to me. You always were."

I leaned in slightly, taking my time as my gaze slid down her figure and back up, slow enough to make her squirm.

"Are you sure you just don't wanna-"

I pressed my tongue into the inside of my cheek, holding her gaze as I made the gesture with my fist, vulgar and mocking, the way she and her friends used to do when they laughed at me.

I watched her snap.

Her hand flew up.

But I was faster.

I caught her wrist mid-air. Firm. Unshaking.

Her breath caught like a hiccup in her throat.

Then I pulled.

Hard.

She stumbled forward, slammed into my chest. I didn't flinch. She barely reached my chin now. She used to tower over me, used to look down like I was trash under her boot.

Not anymore.

I reached up and pushed my glasses higher, calm as ever, then bowed my head just enough so our faces nearly touched.

I could feel her pulse screaming.

"Oh, you had so much fun last semester, didn't you?" I murmured. My voice softened. Sweetened. Fake. "You remember it all, right? How you used to humiliate me in front of the entire school. Every class. Every hallway. Every time you laughed. Every name you called me-"

She backed up instinctively.

I followed.

Her back hit the wall.

I didn't stop.

"Now it's my turn," I whispered. My smirk widened. Controlled. Measured. "Let's see how you like a taste of your own game."

Her lips parted. She was trying to speak.

But nothing came.

Good.

I released her wrist. Slowly. Her skin was warm from the grip, the absence of it clearly stinging.

I reached for the doorknob.

Paused.

Smiled.

The soft one.

The one she thought was real.

The one I used to hide behind.

"I'm gonna have so much fun this year," I said, gently. Like I was offering her a gift.

"Watching you fall apart and beg me for mercy."

I opened the door and stepped out without looking back.

Let her sit there.

Let her feel what I felt for months- alone, frozen, powerless.

Because the truth was simple.

The bullied boy she remembered?

He's gone.

And in his place?

Her new worst nightmare.

And the best part?

No one would ever believe her.

Because Armin Arlert?

I was still smiling.

──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

The laughter didn't bother me. Not really.

It echoed off the walls, careless and shallow, but I let it wash over me like background noise, because I was focused. Controlled. Every breath I took was measured. Every glance calculated.

She was watching me.

I could feel it like heat on my skin.

And I knew- I knew- she was seconds from cracking.

Good.

I took a sip from the glass Mikasa had handed me and leaned back into the couch, pushing my glasses up the bridge of my nose. Her eyes followed that motion like prey tracking a predator. She didn't even realize the trap had already snapped shut.

She was trembling.

And then, right on cue, she snapped.

"Stop looking at me like that!"

The room froze. Even the music felt like it dulled for a second, like the universe paused just to listen.

I tilted my head.

All eyes turned to her, confused, alarmed. Her voice was sharp, wild, desperate. Every word dragged something broken out into the open.

"Don't look at me like I'm crazy! Tell them what you said in the closet! Go on, tell them! How you said I'm obsessed with you! How you said you'd break me! That this is your game now, your revenge!"

Oh, Y/N.

You said it for me.

I rose slowly from the couch, deliberately. Calm. Gentle. Like I was approaching something fragile, something frightened.

"Y/N," I said softly. My voice was silk over blades. "I would never say that to you."

Gasps, shocked glances, whispering in the corners. Good. Let them see her unravel.

"Not these past months. Not these days... not even the seconds after what you did to me."

I stepped closer, slipping through the silence like a knife through velvet.

My hand met her shoulder, tender to anyone watching.

But beneath the illusion, my fingers pressed hard. Digging in. Branding her with control.

She didn't flinch.

But I felt the tension ripple under my grip.

"You're overwhelmed," I murmured for the crowd. "College stress... seeing everyone again. Maybe more. You've always carried more than you show."

And then, just for her:

"You think they'll believe you?" I whispered. "You're unraveling. And I'm just here to help... poor Y/N."

I stepped back, smile soft, features carefully arranged into concern. The crowd breathed again. Jean asked if she was okay. Sasha offered water. Pieck moved like she might help.

But they didn't believe her.

No one did.

She was shaking, wild-eyed. Dragging Hitch and Annie away like maybe- just maybe- they'd see it.

But they didn't.

Because I'd buried the devil.

And left the halo shining.

I watched her storm off to Reiner, desperation dripping from every word.

I could already see the end of this scene, already taste the fallout. And when he laughed, when her own brother brushed her off like an overdramatic child, I didn't smile.

Not really.

But inside?

I thrived.

She came back for me after that. I knew she would.

She always does.

And when she yanked me off the couch, dragging me into a quieter corner, the only thing I felt was the slow, rising tide of victory.

I let her rage. Let her call me names. Let her push and shove.

Until I'd had enough.

One sharp movement, one fluid twist, and suddenly she was against the wall. Breathless. Small.

In my hands.

Right where she belonged.

"You're my pet now," I said calmly, deliberately. "You picked on me for a year. But I've learned. I've grown. And now? You're in my game."

Her face twisted, snarling back some weak insult. Calling me a nobody.

How cute.

I laughed. And it wasn't fake.

"Oh, Y/N... you're the nobody. Because I'm better than you in every way now. I'm smarter. Hotter. More liked. I'm what you wish you were."

The truth hurt.

I could see it.

And when I whispered about Reiner, her little secret with Bertholdt, the way her face dropped?

Delicious. She looked delicious.

"Try me," I said.

And I meant it.

She let go. Furious. Desperate.

Perfect.

"What do you want from me?" she asked finally.

I looked her straight in the eye, voice dipped in ice.

"I want to destroy you."

And I would.

One piece at a time.

I walked away. Didn't rush. I wanted her to see it, how calm I was. How composed. While she stood there, broken and breathless.

When I re-entered the room, it was almost funny how normal everything looked.

As if the storm hadn't already passed through.

As if they couldn't see the wreckage.

But she could.

And when she came back in, eyes wild, breath uneven, she found me instantly.

I watched her.

Watched her notice Reiner across the room.

Watched her face pale.

The moment his eyes locked on her and fury bloomed on his face, I knew it landed.

He'd seen it.

The pictures.

The receipts.

I didn't need to be in the room when it happened. But I stayed anyway. Because seeing her feel it? That was better than any imagination could conjure.

And then- boom.

Reiner thundered across the room, full big brother mode. Voice sharp, betrayal oozing.

"You fucking made out with Bertholdt?"

It echoed.

She tried to defend herself. Beg. Plead.

He didn't care.

He didn't even finish the fight.

He walked away.

Just like that.

The look on her face...

That was better than revenge.

That was art. My art.

She turned to me, one last desperate glance, and I knew what she wanted to see.

Mercy.

But there was none left.

I smirked. Just enough.

"Welcome to my game, darling."

She ran.

Of course she did.

And I let her.

Because this? This wasn't the finale.

It was only the opening act.

──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

Later that night, I sat alone, listening to others hold drunk talks, watching the blinking cursor on my screen.

But I wasn't working.

I was waiting.

To: my doll

Made it home okay, I hope?
Would be a shame if something bad happened to you right after our little chat.

You were a bit emotional tonight. Understandable. Reunions can be intense, all those bottled-up feelings... spilling everywhere. So messy.

Everyone was so concerned about you, by the way.
The way you yelled? The things you said?
Yikes.

I know you're better than that.
Or at least... you used to be.

Sleep well, sweetheart. :)

Oh, and next time?
You should be more careful who you kiss at parties.
Cameras love pretty little secrets.

I hit send.

Then leaned back in my chair, eyes flicking to the shadows dancing on the ceiling. I was enjoying every second of this.

I stared back at my phone, at the message, watching the little "Read" tag pop up under it.

I knew she saw it.
I knew it landed.
I could almost feel it ripple through her like a shockwave.

I leaned back against the leather couch, swirling the drink in my hand just for the theatrics. Around me, laughter reignited, safe, distant, and clueless. They had no idea what they were standing in the middle of. What I was turning this night into.

I didn't need to yell.
I didn't need to scream.
I just needed one match. One well-placed spark.

And I had so many left.

I adjusted my glasses, eyes flickering across the room. Reiner was pacing outside now, fists clenched, jaw tight. The storm I'd unleashed was still brewing, loud, messy, beautiful. All it took was one photo. One leak. One whisper in the right ear.

And now?

The walls around her were already crumbling. Her brother, her friends, her control.

All of it, mine. Even her.

I stood up slowly, brushing imaginary dust from my shirt. Eren caught my movement, raising a brow. "Where you headed?"

"Just some air," I said softly.

He nodded. Didn't press. He never did.

I stepped outside, phone already in hand, thumb hovering. Not to send anything. Not yet. I just liked looking at it. The screenshots. The photo. The text chain.

The leverage.

Every ounce of power she had over me last year, gone. Flipped. Burned.

And now I was the one pulling strings.

Not for revenge. Not just revenge.

This wasn't about payback anymore.

It was about reclaiming. Taking back every second she stole from me. Every snide comment. Every smug laugh. Every humiliation she delivered with that perfect smile and those cruel little friends who laughed right along with her.

I used to wonder if I'd ever feel in control around her. If I'd ever stop feeling like a bug under her boot.

Now?

She was the one crawling.

And I was only getting started.

She thought she broke me once.
She thought her words didn't leave scars.
She thought I'd stay quiet. Stay beneath her.

But now she gets to learn something new about me.

I don't stay broken.

I rebuild.

Sharper.
Stronger.
Smarter.

And when I rise again, I bring down empires with me.

Especially the ones built on arrogance.

Especially hers.

I walked back inside, the warmth of the house hitting me like a second skin.

I was Armin Arlert now. Not the old version. Not the whisper of a boy hiding behind books and silence.

I was the man they underestimated.

The one no one saw coming.

And now?

Now I had her exactly where I wanted her.

In check.

One move from checkmate.

And she knew it.

Because darling,

this is my game now.
︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

A/N: idk y'all...Armin said it herself, he doesn't hate her, but then what is it?

Chapter Text

(Back to present time, Y/Ns POV):

I listened to my alarm go off for the fifth time, and it felt like the sound had been stabbing my skull all night. I hadn't slept. Not even a second. Not last night. Not the night before.

Every time I closed my eyes, he was there.

Not the boy I used to laugh at, mock, humiliate. Not the soft-spoken, jittery little nerd who'd flinch when I walked past him. No, this version of him didn't flinch. He watched. He smiled. And somehow, that was worse.

I dragged myself up eventually, mechanical and slow, limbs heavy with exhaustion and something else I refused to name. I stood in front of the mirror like I was staring at a stranger. My hair was a mess. My skin pale. Shadows bloomed under my eyes like bruises. I looked haunted.

All because of him.
A boy who used to stutter in my presence.
A boy who used to beg at my feet.

I scoffed and turned away before the mirror could start laughing too. No. Not today. He wasn't going to win. I wouldn't give him that. I wouldn't let him live in my head rent-free, even if he already had the penthouse suite.

So I got to work. Hair, makeup, jewelry. Everything sharp and deliberate. I picked an outfit that screamed confidence, that told the world: she's back. The one who ruled these halls. The girl who couldn't be shaken.

And maybe if I said it enough, if I wore it well enough, I'd believe it too.

By the time I met up with Annie and Hitch, I had the armor on. The mask. The practiced smirk. They didn't question me too hard. I'd told them I needed space after the party, and they didn't press for more. Maybe they didn't want to believe what I said about Armin. Maybe they just didn't want to believe he could change.

Ten minutes later, we were standing in front of the lecture hall.

It looked the same. But something about it felt...off. Like walking into a room where something horrible had happened. And no one else knew but you.

"Hey," Hitch nudged me gently, kissing my cheek, "we're gonna own this place just like last year."

I didn't answer. Just nodded and pushed open the door.

And just like that, it began.

People turned. Their eyes widened, heads dipped. Same as always. The hallway parting for us like we were royalty. It was familiar. Comforting.

But then I saw him.

And everything dropped out of me.

There he was. In my seat. Front row, center. The throne I'd claimed from day one. And he sat in it like he'd been born there. Elbow draped lazily over the back. Legs spread with confidence that wasn't there before. A black watch hugged his wrist, subtle but sleek. His hair, pulled back into a loose bun, revealed more of his face. His cheekbones looked sharper. His jaw, more defined. And- wait.

Was that a piercing?

My eyes caught on the glint of silver in his eyebrow, and for a second, I forgot how to move.

He looked up. Smiled that soft, fake smile of his. The one he used to wear when I was inches from his face, calling him names. But his eyes? His eyes weren't fake.

They were daring me.

"You're in my seat, Arlert," I said, stepping up to him.

He didn't flinch. Just tilted his head slightly, eyes flicking over my face. Slowly. Lazily.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Y/N," he said, standing.

And now he towered over me.

That should've been nothing. It wasn't the first time he was towering over me. But this time, I felt it. His presence crawled over my skin like static. That quiet, slow-burning kind of danger.

Up close, he looked worse. And by worse, I mean better. Unfairly better. Like he'd gone away and been sculpted by someone with a grudge. A punishment. For me.

And even though he moved out of the way, even though his mouth said sorry, his eyes said, Are you sure you want to do this?

I hesitated.

Just for a second.

But he saw it.

I shoved past him and sat down. Annie and Hitch took their places beside me, unaware of the way my heartbeat was trying to crack my ribs open. He walked off. Good. Whatever. It didn't matter.

But then-

A heavy thud behind me.

My heart dropped.

He sat down. Right behind me. Same row. Exact seat behind mine.

I twisted in my seat to look at him, brows furrowed, ready to snap.

But he was already smiling. Calm. Pleasant. His eyes locked on mine like he'd been waiting for me to turn. Like he knew I would. Like he'd counted the seconds it would take.

That look?

It said, I'm not touching you. But I don't need to.

It said, I know you're spiraling. And I'm watching it happen.

My stomach twisted.

Class started. I tried to focus. I tried to listen. But I could feel him behind me. Breathing. Shifting. Writing. Quietly. So quietly.

But once, just once, I felt it.

A pen tapped against my chair. Just once. Soft. Subtle.

But deliberate.

I flinched. My fingers clenched around my pen.

Then it stopped.

Nothing.

Seconds passed. Minutes. He never touched the chair again. Didn't move. Didn't need to.

Because now I was bracing for it. Anticipating it. Wondering when it would happen again.
It was torture by silence.

I turned again. Slower this time. But he was already looking down at his notebook like nothing happened.

No smile now. No expression. Just calm focus.

Maybe I imagined it, I thought.

But then I saw his hand.

He was doodling something in the corner of his page.

A chessboard.

With one piece circled.

The queen.

My throat went dry.

I turned back around fast. My pulse was screaming. My nails dug into the desk.

He wasn't speaking.
He wasn't touching.
But he was in my head.

And the worst part?
He knew it.

He wasn't playing fair.
He was playing me.

I couldn't focus for the rest of class. Every second, I felt his eyes burn into my back, even when they weren't. My brain was rewiring itself to expect him. To flinch at silence. To scan every shadow for his shape.

And that goddamn chessboard in my mind kept flashing behind my eyes.

The queen. Circled. Mocked.

Me.

The second the professor Smith dismissed us, I practically jumped up. My hands were shaking as I shoved my laptop into my bag. Annie and Hitch were still mid-conversation, probably about someone's outfit or who gained weight over summer break, but their voices were muffled now. Everything felt far away.

I turned just in time to see Armin slipping his notebook into his satchel, and slipping something else beneath my notebook on the desk before he walked out.

No one noticed.

But I did.

My throat tightened. I waited until the girls were distracted, then quietly lifted my notebook.

There was a note.

Folded once, perfectly square. My fingers hovered over it like it might burn me.

I glanced around. No one was looking. I opened it.

"First move goes to you. Make it count."
Underneath was a tiny sketch.
Another chessboard.
But this time?
The queen was gone.

My chest constricted.

I crumpled the note instantly, shoving it deep into my bag like I could crush the message along with it. I didn't want to look at it. I didn't want to feel what it made me feel. My palms were sweating. My breathing was wrong.

It was just a stupid drawing.

Just a stupid message.

But it was from him.

And I knew exactly what it meant.

He was telling me I still had the power, if I dared to use it. If I was willing to play.

But there was no way to win this without losing pieces of myself.

"Y/N?" Hitch's voice snapped me back. "You good?"

I blinked. "Yeah," I said too fast, plastering on a tight smile. "Just...hungry."

She shrugged, linking arms with me. Annie fell into step beside us.

But behind me, down the hallway, I felt it again.

His presence.

Watching. Waiting. Letting me feel the absence of his words more than if he'd screamed.

And in that moment, I realized something that made my blood turn to ice.

He wasn't chasing me.

He was leading me.

And I was already following.

I really thought it would end there. That the note was a one-off, a message meant to rattle me, not wrap around my throat like a noose.

But Armin doesn't do warnings.

He does games.

And the next one started before I even got to my second class.

It was a shared lecture, one of the huge ones in the auditorium with five hundred students packed like sardines. The kind of place where someone could sit ten rows behind you and still feel like they're whispering in your ear.

I walked in with Annie and Hitch like nothing was wrong. Like I hadn't spent the last class dissecting the look in his eyes. Like the weight of that note wasn't still pressed against my spine.

And for a moment, I forgot.

Until I sat down.

And saw it.

A pen.

On the tiny pullout desk attached to my seat. Sleek, black, expensive. Definitely not mine.

I almost ignored it, until I noticed the initials engraved in silver on the side.

A.A.

My breath hitched.

I didn't touch it. Just stared. Like it might explode.

He was marking territory. Leaving things behind like a dog. On my seat. My space. My sanity.

But it didn't end there.

Halfway through the lecture, while the professor was talking about neural pathways and cognitive behavior, my phone buzzed. A message.

stupid nerd: Keep the pen. I like watching you write with things that belong to me.

I dropped the phone. Literally dropped it in my lap like it was on fire.

My fingers trembled as I locked it, like that would somehow undo the message. Undo the meaning.

I didn't turn around.

I knew he was watching. Somewhere in this sea of bodies, I knew he was leaned back in his seat, smiling like this was all some harmless joke.

But it wasn't.

It was personal. Private. Possessive.

And it was only just beginning.

By the time the lecture ended, I was already halfway out the door, desperate for air, for space, for anything that wasn't him pressing on every nerve like a piano key.

But I didn't get far.

Because as I pushed through the side exit, someone grabbed my wrist.

Not roughly.

Gently.

Intimately.

I didn't have to look to know who it was.

I still did.

He stood too close. Close enough for my lungs to forget their job. Close enough that I could smell his cologne, subtle, soft, expensive, like him.

He smiled like I was exactly where he wanted me.

"Hi," he said softly. Like we were friends. Like he hadn't just haunted every corner of my morning.

I yanked my wrist back, my voice low. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Armin didn't flinch. Didn't even blink.

Instead, he tilted his head, eyes sweeping over me with mock curiosity. "Still calling me names?" he murmured. "That's cute. But it doesn't suit you anymore."

He leaned in, breath brushing my ear.

"I think you prefer when I don't speak at all."

My heart stuttered.

Because he was right.

The silence was worse.

The silence echoed.

He straightened up, slipping his hands into the pockets of his long coat. Calm. Elegant. Deadly.

"Don't worry," he added with a light shrug. "I won't always make the first move."

He started to walk past me. Then paused, just behind my shoulder.

"Oh- and if you're going to keep the pen, don't bite the cap. I hate that."

And just like that, he was gone.

No one saw.

No one ever saw.

But me?

I stood there frozen, heart racing, stomach in knots, head spinning.

Because I wasn't scared of him.

I was scared of what he was turning me into.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

I needed to breathe. To regroup. To remind myself that he wasn't inside my head.

So I went where no one ever expects to find me.

The library.

The far wing. The dusty, silent corner where the lights flicker just enough to piss you off, but not enough to complain. Where no one goes unless they're hiding, or hunting.

I had a quiz coming up about last semester. I told myself that was the reason.

But deep down?

I wanted to disappear before he found another way to crawl under my skin.

The shelves were tall, like walls. It was cold. Quiet. Isolated. I picked a table in the back, dropped my bag, and sat down. For once, I felt like I had the upper hand.

And then, he walked in.

Like he owned the fucking building.

No sound, no announcement, no footsteps even. Just a soft creak of the floorboard and the feeling that my lungs were forgetting how to inflate.

He didn't look at me.

Didn't have to.

He walked right past. Paused at the end of the aisle. Then turned back.

Books in hand. Fake distraction. That soft, unreadable smile on his lips like he was bored.

Like this was routine.

I buried myself in my textbook. Pretended not to feel him approaching. Pretended not to care that he sat directly across from me.

One seat apart.

Just far enough to avoid suspicion.

Just close enough to murder me with his eyes.

No one else was here.

Not a single soul.

"Studying," he said, voice barely louder than the turning of a page. "That's new."

I didn't respond.

He leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table, hair falling over his brow in soft strands that didn't belong on someone so sharp.

He was quiet for a moment. Then:

"You're shaking."

I blinked.

I wasn't.

But suddenly, I was.

I crossed my arms. "I'm not scared of you."

"I know," he said, smiling faintly. "That's why it's fun."

I stared at him.

His eyes didn't blink. Didn't move.

Then, casually, like he was just passing notes in high school again, he slid something across the table.

A folded piece of paper.

Same handwriting as the last one.

I hesitated. Every bone in my body told me not to open it.

So I did.

Inside, just five words, and they hit harder than a scream:

"Check your bag. Right now."

My blood turned to ice.

I reached slowly into my bag, fingers grazing textbooks, pens, laptop... and then-

Something cold.

Smooth. Metal.

I pulled it out.

A bracelet.

My bracelet.

The one I lost last year. The one I thought I lost at a party. A delicate gold chain with a tiny heart charm.

I hadn't seen it in almost eight months.

My mouth went dry.

"You dropped it last fall," Armin murmured, still not touching me. Still not moving. "I kept it. Didn't know why at the time."

He tilted his head, eyes narrowing just slightly.

"But now I do."

I stood up, chair scraping violently against the floor. I didn't care about noise. Or looks. Or anything.

But just as I turned to walk away, he said one last thing.

Not loud.

Not soft.

Just enough to follow me down the aisle like a shadow:

"You're not trying to run, are you?"

I stopped.

Froze.

"Because that would be disappointing."
"The game only just started."
"And you're already my favorite player."

My fist clenched around the bracelet and I turned my head over my shoulder, looking at him disturbed.

"You're a freak." I snapped "a psychotic freak."

He smirked and leaned back, looking at me as if I was his food and he was dying of hunger. Without another word I left the library, on my way to the cafeteria to eat something and calm my nerves.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

The cafeteria was too loud. Too bright. Too normal.

Annie sat across from me, scrolling on her phone. Hitch was talking shit about some girl's outfit like nothing had happened, like he wasn't behind us.

He wasn't even supposed to be here. Not in this building. Not on this side of campus. His major didn't have classes here today. I checked.

But there he was.

At the next table. Head down. Textbook open. Laughing at something Jean said.

Not looking at me.

Not once.

That's what made it worse.

I tried to eat, I really did. Fork in hand. Bite halfway to my mouth.

But I couldn't stop watching him from the corner of my eye.

He looked so harmless. Casual. Like a goddamn picture in a brochure. Pretty glasses, clean button-up, sleeves rolled to his elbows like he didn't know how to not look put together.

But every time he laughed?

It felt directed. Like a spotlight.

I hadn't even realized I was squeezing my fork until Hitch gave me a look.

"You okay?"

I nodded.

Lie.

I wasn't okay.

Because suddenly, I saw it.

My name.

Scribbled onto his notebook.

Not once. Not as a note. Not in a sentence.

Over and over again.

Dozens of times.

Y/N. Y/N. Y/N. Y/N.

Written in tiny, obsessively neat handwriting. Some in cursive. Some in caps. One or two even mirrored.

I felt my stomach drop.

No one else noticed. Why would they? It just looked like he was studying. Taking notes.

But I knew.

And he knew I knew.

He flipped the page. Slowly. Deliberately. But not before dragging his pen one last time over my name, this time, with a heart.

A fucking heart.

I stood up. I needed air. I needed to scream.

But the moment I moved, so did he.

He turned his head and smiled at me. Just a flick of his eyes. A look that said:

Go on. Walk away again.
See what happens.

I stopped.

Sat back down like nothing happened.

And when I glanced at his notebook again, the page was blank.

He'd torn it out.

Vanished, like it was never there.

I didn't even see him move.

Annie and Hitch kept talking, I overheard them mentioning my name and that they were worried but I didn't care.

The cafeteria buzzed around us like a hive.

And I?

I couldn't feel my hands.

Because across the room, Armin Arlert had just looked at me like he owned me.

Like I belonged to him.

Like I had all along.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

After lunch, the rest of the day dragged like a corpse.

No Armin in my afternoon classes. No sly glances. No brain-melting smiles. Just silence, papers, and the sound of my pen trembling against the desk.

I should've felt relieved. I should've been grateful.

Instead, I felt like I was waiting for a gunshot.

I finished late in the library and was stuffing my notes into my bag when I saw it again, shining, familiar, cursed.

The bracelet.

The one someone had gave me last year. The one I lost. The one I thought I would never find because it had randomly vanished from this world.

Now it sat in my bag like it had never left.

Mocking me.

I slammed the zipper shut, eyes stinging.

I needed to leave.

I told Hitch and Annie I was tired- "Enjoy your little date, I need rest." They didn't ask questions. I think they were just happy I didn't sound feral anymore.

The second I stepped out of the main doors, I felt a hand clamp down around my wrist.

Before I could react, I was yanked backward, dragged through a door, the hallway tilting as my back slammed into the cold wall of an empty lecture hall. My bag hit the ground with a dull thud.

"Get the fuck off-" I started to scream, but stopped.

It was him.

Armin.

And he looked... concerned. Gentle. That same patronizing, fake softness he wore like a second skin.

"Y/N," he said, voice low, almost tender. "Hey. You okay?"

I yanked my wrist from his grip and shoved him. "What the fuck is wrong with you?! Are you stalking me now?!"

He didn't move. He just stared at me.

"I'm worried about you."

I laughed, sharp and bitter. "You're worried? You're the reason I'm like this, you psycho."

He looked hurt. Hurt. His lips parted just slightly as if I'd bruised him. "I didn't do anything. I'm not the one hearing footsteps behind me when no one's there. I'm not the one seeing things that aren't real."

I froze.

"What did you just say?"

"I mean..." He took a step closer, lowering his voice like we were in on a secret. "You've been acting paranoid. Avoiding your friends. Losing things. Panicking. Talking to yourself."

He tilted his head. "Y/N... when's the last time you got real sleep?"

My blood ran cold.

"You think you can fuck with me?" I hissed.

"I think something's wrong with you." His voice didn't change. It was terrifyingly calm. "I think you're breaking. Quietly. The kind of break that creeps in at night when you're alone."

He took another step, so close I could see the flecks in his irises.

"Do you remember misplacing your bracelet?" he whispered. "Or are you sure you randomly lost it? Are you sure, Y/N?"

My breath caught.

"You left it in the quad last semester. I saw it. I picked it up for you." He smiled, sweet like arsenic. "But you must've forgotten. Or maybe... you just made something up instead."

I felt dizzy. Like the floor had shifted under my feet.

"Stop fucking with me."

He leaned in, breath brushing my ear.

"Maybe it's all in your head."

My hands were shaking. My legs were barely holding me up. "You're doing this on purpose. You want me to lose it."

"I'm not doing anything," he said, stepping back like a gentleman. "You're the one falling apart. And it's not your fault. Maybe the pressure got to you. Maybe being the mean girl broke you more than it broke me."

I blinked. Everything felt sideways.

"But please," he said gently, "seek help. Before it's too late."

I couldn't breathe. I couldn't speak.

He walked to the door and paused, looking back with a soft, unreadable smile.

"You're going crazy Y/N. Save yourself before it's too late."

Then he left.

And I stood there, staring at the door like it might open again. Like this was some sick hallucination I could snap out of.

But the bracelet was still in my bag.

And his voice was still in my head.

Save yourself before it's too late.

Maybe he was right.

Maybe I was going crazy.

Maybe I had imagined him being a psycho.

Maybe I was the psycho.
︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

A/N: what's happening with Y/N...? Poor girl is going crazy- or is she already crazy? Whose fault is it?

Chapter Text

Seven days.

Seven days since he dragged me into that sterile, suffocating room. Seven days since Armin looked me in the eye, his voice cold and calculated, whispering the poison I refused to believe- "You're losing your mind." Seven days since I stopped sleeping. Since the simple act of eating became a chore I couldn't bear. Since the very concept of functioning felt like a cruel joke.

I used to be someone.

The kind of girl who owned the room the moment she stepped in.

The kind of girl whose name echoed in professors' offices, remembered for razor-sharp answers and grades that dazzled. A girl who didn't just participate, she commanded.

Now?

I was a ghost. A flicker. A shadow of myself.

My nails were chipped and ragged, the result of days spent digging into my palms. Dark smudges of yesterday's makeup caked beneath my eyes, masking the exhaustion and despair that had sunk deep into my bones. I felt hollowed out, as if the girl who used to turn heads had been swallowed by some merciless void.

I tried.

God, I tried.

I called Annie. I called Hitch. I dialed Reiner, my brother- the one solid rock in my life- sobbing like a child desperate to be saved. Telling them something was wrong. That Armin was manipulating me, breaking me apart piece by piece.

They didn't see it.

Or maybe they refused to.

"You're just overwhelmed, Y/N," Hitch said, forcing a soft smile as she handed me an iced matcha like that could soothe a bleeding wound.

"Maybe it's guilt catching up to you," Annie shrugged, distant and cold. "Karma's a bitch, huh?" Acting as if she hadn't bullied him as well.

I swallowed hard. The poison of their doubt sank deep, carving its own scars.

Even Reiner, my anchor, told me to "get some rest" and "stay off social media." Like I was a tired kid who'd have a tantrum and then wake up fine.

No one believed me.

Because Armin was perfect.

The boy who smiled like a saint.

Who held doors open for professors, shared notes, helped classmates.

Who looked so harmless it made you question your own senses.

But I knew.

I knew he was watching me.

Every day.

Every moment.

I caught him across the crowded halls, his eyes lingering just a fraction too long, too pointedly, before he masked his stare behind a veil of calm indifference.

The smallest things haunted me.

Like the time he passed by me in the library and dropped a pen near my feet.

I picked it up, and wrapped around it was a tiny note, no signature, no explanation, just four words that sliced through my brain like glass:

"You missed a spot."

What did it mean?

Was it my makeup? My cracked, trembling composure? Or something deeper, invisible, festering in the cracks of my mind?

I started failing tests.

My hands trembled so violently I could barely hold a pen.

My thoughts jumbled into sludge, and words that once came easy now dissolved into a fog.

Professors exchanged disappointed looks when I stumbled through lectures.

They didn't ask if I was okay.

Because girls like me, girls who ruled the room, don't break.

But I was breaking.

And Armin? He was waiting.

──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

It was a Tuesday afternoon, lecture hall packed, caffeine buzzing in the air, voices low murmurs drifting like static.

I sat alone at the back, hoodie pulled up, notebook pressed tightly against my lap like armor.

My fingers trembled.

I hadn't spoken a word in class for days. Hadn't turned in my last assignment.

Professor Smith swept into the room, laptop balanced in one arm, a stack of papers in the other.

"Before we begin," he said, voice firm, commanding attention, "I want to address something... unusual."

He held up a few printed pages.

A hush fell.

"I'm not naming names," he said carefully, adjusting his glasses, "but last week's optional extra credit essay, someone turned in a submission titled-" He squinted at the paper.

"'How to Dismantle a Human Being Without Touching Them.'"

The title hung in the air like a guillotine blade.

Some students snorted nervously. Others glanced around, curiosity sparking in their eyes.

My heart hammered in my chest like a drum of war.

"I won't read the whole thing here," Professor Smith said slowly. "But it was... disturbing. Vivid, clinical. Like a manifesto, or a cry for help."

I froze.

His gaze swept the room.

He passed out printed excerpts down the rows.

Under my seat, there it was.

The first line burned into my retina like acid:

Start with their mind. Isolate them. Break their confidence, warp their reflection. Leave them wondering if they ever existed the way they thought they did.

That was my voice.

My nightmare.

My terror, etched in cold, brutal words.

But I never wrote it.

My breath caught. Vision blurred.

And then.

Armin.

Two rows ahead, turning in his seat.

Eyes locking onto mine.

Blue, calm, almost bored.

Like he hadn't just weaponized my darkest secret in front of an entire lecture hall.

Like it was just another ordinary Tuesday.

I bolted up so fast my chair screeched on the floor.

Heads snapped toward me.

"Y/N?" Professor Smith's voice was cautious. Concerned.

My mouth opened, but no sound came out.

My hands shook uncontrollably.

Armin was already scribbling neat notes in the margins, acting as if none of it had happened.

I stumbled out of the room.

Didn't stop until I leaned against the cold brick wall outside, gasping like I'd run a marathon.

I dug into my bag, clutching the bracelet tight as if it held some kind of magic.

This wasn't in my head.

It couldn't be.

But no one else saw it.

And somewhere behind me...

Armin was still smiling.

No, I didn't go back to class.

Or the one after.

Or the next.

I stopped eating.

Stopped brushing my hair.

Stopped caring.

I sat curled in the dorm bathroom stall, knees hugged tight, rocking quietly, trying to find the girl I used to be, the smart girl who ruled this place with sharp words and sharper wit.

But she was gone.

When I finally left, the halls were a battlefield.

Whispers followed me like vultures circling carrion.

"She's lost it."

"She freaked out in Smith's class."

"She ran out crying like a baby."

"Someone said she wrote that psycho essay."

I froze.

At the café, Hitch and Annie sat at our usual table.

But when they saw me, their smiles vanished.

Annie's was tight, forced.

Hitch's eyes darted to her phone.

They looked at me like I was radioactive.

I forced myself forward, gripping the table like it could hold my collapsing world.

"You believe me, right?" My voice cracked like dry wood. "You know I didn't write that, right?"

Annie looked away.

Hitch bit her lip, avoiding my gaze. "Y/N, no one says you did. But... you haven't been yourself lately."

"I have been myself!" I hissed, louder than I meant. Heads turned, eyes narrowed. "I'm telling you- Armin's doing this. He's trying to break me."

"You're doing this again," Annie said flat, cutting me off.

"What?"

"This obsession," she said, eyes cold. "You talk about him all the time. You've been stalking his social media. Saying he's following you, messing with your head."

"He is!" My voice cracked, panicked. "He wrote that essay! You think it's a coincidence it showed up under my chair? That it matches my nightmares?"

"Y/N," Hitch said carefully, "it was anonymous. Nobody said it was you."

"But it's written like my diary! Like someone crawled into my brain-"

"You need to stop," Annie said harshly. "Before you ruin yourself completely."

I stared at them.

My so-called friends.

They didn't see.

They didn't want to.

A tear slid down my cheek. I wiped it away fiercely.

"You think I'm crazy, don't you?"

They didn't answer.

That was the answer.

I turned, stumbling away.

Lost.

Alone.

Then.

"Y/N."

His voice, soft and calm, sliced through the air.

I froze.

He leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

Like he'd been waiting.

Like he knew I'd break.

"What do you want?" I spat.

He tilted his head, amused.

"I heard about the meltdown."

"You planned it."

He didn't deny it.

Stepped closer.

"You're spiraling," he said quietly, eyes cold and sharp. "You're unraveling so fast, it's almost painful to watch."

"Fuck you-"

"But it's not your fault."

I blinked.

"I think you've always been... fragile," he said gently, "but you wore arrogance like armor. Now that it's cracked, all that's left is the mess underneath."

"You're insane," I whispered.

"Maybe," he smiled. "But I'm not the one everyone's whispering about."

My stomach twisted.

He leaned closer.

"Why do you talk to me like I'm the villain, when I've been nothing but polite?"

I was breathless.

"Y/N, you need help," he said softly, voice dropping to a whisper. "Lock yourself away before you do something really stupid."

He stepped back, smiling like a saint.

And walked away.

I stood there, trembling, the center of a cruel spotlight.

Maybe.

Maybe I was the psycho.

His words.

My voice.

My fading truth.

And suddenly, I didn't know anymore-

Was I the victim?

Or the villain of my own mind?

──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

I didn't go to class the next day.

Or the day after that.

Or the day after that.

I stayed buried beneath layers of blankets, the blinds drawn tight so no sunlight could sneak in. Darkness was my only friend. The same oversized hoodie clung to me like a second skin-threadbare, soft, and comforting in its familiarity. Every breath I took felt shallow, as if the air itself was too heavy to bear.

I couldn't bring myself to look in the mirror. Every time I caught my reflection, I heard his voice. That cold, quiet whisper slicing through my thoughts like a blade.

"You're losing your mind."

I couldn't open my messages without the crushing silence staring back at me. No replies. No "Are you okay?" No lifelines thrown my way. Just emptiness.

I tried telling Reiner.

I wanted him to see what I was becoming. To understand that this wasn't just stress, or exams, or some fleeting mood.

But all I got was a shrug and a tired, dismissive sigh.

"Y/N, you're stressed. Studying, expectations... you've always been dramatic. You'll bounce back."

Bounce back?

From what?

He didn't ask.

He didn't care.

And Hitch and Annie?

They'd slipped away like sand through my fingers.

The warmth I used to find in their smiles was gone, replaced by cold distance.

"They said I was acting weird," I told myself over and over.

Hard to be around.

They didn't want to hear about the bracelet, the empty classrooms where I felt eyes watching, the whispers I knew weren't just in my head. They didn't want to talk to me anymore.

Annie's eyes narrowed, suspicious.

Hitch just stared at her phone, like I was some embarrassing secret she wanted to forget.

They didn't believe me.

Maybe they were right.

Maybe I was obsessed.

Maybe Armin was nothing but a ghost I chased, a shadow I couldn't escape.

I stopped eating.

Stopped brushing my hair.

The mirror became an enemy.

I couldn't study.

Couldn't focus.

The girl who once raised her hand for every question, the girl who ran this campus with a sharp tongue and a sharper mind... she was gone.

Now, I sat in the back row, trembling beneath the flickering fluorescent lights, the walls closing in with every passing second.

I bombed a quiz.

Then another.

Then a test.

The disappointment in my professors' eyes burned hotter than any lecture.

Everyone saw it.

Whispers followed me like vultures circling their prey.

I caught a glimpse of a first-year girl on the quad one day, pulling her friend aside as I passed.

"That's her," she whispered.

"The one who snapped."

And Armin?

He didn't have to touch me.

He didn't have to say a word.

He just watched.

From across the lecture hall.

From the end of the corridor.

From the cafeteria.

Always watching.

Always smiling.

Always just... there.

Like a ghost haunting every corner of my life.

And I couldn't prove a single thing.

I was unraveling.

I was lost.

Then, one afternoon, I walked into politics class- and there he was.

Sitting in the seat I always used to claim.

Calm.

Innocent.

Like he hadn't ripped my world apart.

I turned on my heel, my breath catching in my throat.

I didn't go outside.

I didn't go back to my dorm.

I ran.

Straight to Professor Ackerman's office.

The door was cracked open, the harsh fluorescent light spilling out into the dim hallway.

I pushed it open.

He barely looked up.

"If it's about your latest exam," he said without looking at me, "I already know-"

"I need help," I blurted, voice raw, too loud for the quiet room.

He finally looked up.

And then-

I broke.

Tears spilled like broken glass, sharp and unstoppable.

My voice cracked under the weight of everything I'd been swallowing for days, months maybe.

"He's playing with me," I whispered, the words barely a breath. "I don't know what's real anymore. I can't sleep. I can't think. He's everywhere, and no one believes me-"

Levi Ackerman stared.

Cold. Unblinking.

I tried to find something in his eyes- compassion, understanding, even a flicker of anger.

Nothing.

"I'm not crazy," I said, louder this time. Mostly to myself.

But the truth tasted bitter.

Even I wasn't sure anymore.

Silence filled the room, stretching until it became unbearable.

Then-

"I'll contact the counseling office," Levi said, voice flat.

My heart dropped into a pit.

"No- wait, I just need-"

"You need more than what I can give you, Y/N."

He didn't ask me anything else.

He didn't dig deeper.

He didn't see the strings pulling at me, the invisible cage closing tighter with every breath.

He just saw a broken girl.

Maybe that's all I was now.

A broken girl.

Shattered into a million pieces.

Pieces I'd never find again.

And somewhere, in the deepest shadow of my mind, I swear I heard it-

A laugh.

Soft.

Mocking.

Triumphant.

A laugh that wasn't his.

But his doing.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

I stopped going to class altogether, not because I wanted to, but because I wasn't allowed. After Professor Levi called the counseling office, it became official. Every single day, for hours on end, I was dragged to therapy sessions that felt endless and pointless.

It wasn't just the therapy. One day, I was summoned to a meeting with all my professors: Professor Ackerman, Zoe, Smith, and others whose faces blurred together now. They sat around a cold table, their eyes filled with a mix of concern and something that felt like pity. They told me they were worried, worried about me, about my future.

It was almost laughable. These people, who barely knew me beyond my attendance and grades, cared more about me than my so-called friends ever did. Hitch, Annie- both distant, both pretending I'd become a ghost.

Therapy was supposed to help. But it didn't. Not even close. They filled thousands of hours with talking, crying, venting. I shared everything, or tried to, but the dark weight in my mind only grew heavier. Instead of feeling lighter, I felt cracked, fragmented, more broken than I ever thought possible.

Weeks slipped by like icy knives down my spine. Days bled into nights. Hell wasn't a place; it was a mind that refused to rest. Then Mrs. Nanaba, my therapist, said something I never wanted to hear: I needed more than talk. I needed a hospital. A mental hospital.

Me. Locked inside a mental hospital.

I begged her to reconsider. To find another way. I reached out to professors I thought might help me fight this, anyone who might offer a path back to some normalcy. But no doors opened.

Mrs. Nanaba had my mom sign the papers, the official permission, allowing me to be committed. School was off-limits until I was "fully healed," whatever that even meant anymore.

Then, the day came when they showed up at my dorm.

I was sitting on my bed when the knock came, not a polite one, but sharp, urgent. Two hospital employees stood in the doorway, clipboard in hand. They didn't say much.

"Pack what you need," one said, voice calm but firm.

I felt like I was shrinking inside myself. What did I even need? My books? My laptop? My hoodie that smelled like safety?

They moved quickly, efficient, taking the small pile of belongings I gathered, a few changes of clothes, my childhood plushie, a worn-out notebook full of scribbled thoughts I'd never dared to show anyone.

Outside, I saw them, Hitch, Annie, and even Reiner, standing by the dorm entrance. Their eyes were hollow, like they were watching someone else's nightmare unfold.

"You okay, Y/N?" Annie's voice was low, almost a whisper.

I didn't answer. What could I say? That I felt betrayed, abandoned, broken beyond repair? That I was terrified?

Reiner just looked away, his jaw tight, refusing to meet my gaze.

The hospital workers guided me out the door, their hands gentle but firm. I glanced back once, at the friends who no longer were, at the brother who didn't fight for me, and then they led me away.

Into a place where I wasn't sure I would find myself again.

Or if I even wanted to.

As I was being led outside, the crisp air hitting my skin like a cold reminder of everything slipping away, I caught sight of them, my so-called friend group. The people I spent time with at every single party I attended, my tribe, the ones I belonged to.

Mikasa and Eren stood side by side, silent, their faces unreadable at first. But then, I swear, just for a fleeting moment, Mikasa's eyes softened, a flicker of something almost like concern. It was the tiniest crack in her usual stoic mask, but it burned bright enough for me to see.

Jean looked different. Not distant or indifferent like the others, but visibly torn, annoyance mixing with hurt that seemed to twist inside his chest. His jaw clenched tight, like he was fighting words he refused to say aloud.

Pieck and Sasha shared a glance, sadness pooling in their eyes. Maybe it was genuine care, or maybe just the pure kindness of souls untouched by cruelty. Historia stood apart, tears glistening on her lashes, sliding silently down her cheeks. She looked shattered, like my fall was breaking something in her too.

And then there was Ymir. She caught my gaze and gave me a slow, respectful nod. Not pity. Not judgment. Just a quiet acknowledgment of the storm I was caught in, and maybe the strength it took to endure it.

My vision blurred, the sting of humiliation tightening around my throat like a noose. I fought back the flood of tears, but they came anyway, hot and fierce, burning down my cheeks as I took a step toward the waiting car.

And then, just before I turned away for good, my eyes locked with his. Armin.

In that impossible moment, I saw something I hadn't dared to hope for.

Regret.

A deep, aching regret that cracked through the soft look of his ocean eyes.

It was as if, beneath all the games and the silence, he was just as broken as I was.

But it was too late.

I was leaving. And nothing would ever be the same again.
︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

A/N: Okay, I know this chapter got pretty heavy with Y/N ending up in the mental hospital, big shoutout to my favourite series Pretty Little Liars for the inspiration there.

If you're thinking, "Wow, this is intense" or "Is this getting too much?", hang tight. The real action is just about to start. You'll see Y/N begin to heal, her character development, Armin's regrets will come crashing in, and true friendships start to build.

And yes, the love story is coming. because enemies-to-lovers doesn't happen overnight. Trust me, it's gonna be worth the wait.

Thanks for sticking around. Things are about to get wild.

Chapter Text

(Armin's POV):

I stood there, frozen, as they led her down the steps. Two hospital staff flanked her like guards, their arms firm but not unkind. She wasn't fighting. No, Y/N walked like a ghost, head down, hoodie swallowed around her face, eyes dull with something that didn't belong to the girl I once knew.

And then- she looked up.

Our eyes met.

Just for a second.

But it was enough to knock the air out of my lungs.

Her eyes were glassy, swollen from crying, and full of something I hadn't seen in them before. Not hate. Not rage. Not even fear.

It was something softer. Sadder.

It was... loss.

And for a reason I couldn't explain, it twisted in my chest like a knife.

Did I... did I take it too far?

"Armin."

Mikasa's voice cut through my thoughts. I turned to find her beside me, her expression unreadable.

"Can I talk to you for a second?" she asked.

I nodded silently, stepping away from the others. She didn't waste time.

"I think you went too far."

I blinked. "What?"

"You heard me," she said, her tone even. "You went too far."

I stared at her, stunned. Mikasa, of all people? She hated Y/N. She was the first to tell me not to take her seriously, to ignore the jabs, to rise above it. She knew exactly what Y/N had put me through. She saw it.

"You're saying this now?" I scoffed. "After everything she did to me?"

Mikasa's eyes narrowed slightly, but her voice remained calm. "Yes. Because now, you've done worse."

I didn't respond. Couldn't. The words hit harder than they should have.

"She ruined your pride," Mikasa added quietly, "but you... broke her."

Then she turned and walked back to Eren, who was watching silently.

Her words echoed in my head, louder than anything else.

You ruined her more than she ruined you.

The car door shut. The engine started.

I didn't look away until it turned the corner and disappeared.

And even then, I couldn't stop seeing her face.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──
(Y/Ns POV):

The drive felt like a dream I couldn't wake up from. Not the kind you long to fall back into.
No, this was the kind that claws at your throat and sits on your chest until you forget what breathing feels like.

I sat in the backseat with my knees curled into my chest, my cheek pressed against the freezing window. The glass vibrated with the hum of the car, but the world outside passed too fast to feel real. Buildings I used to recognize turned into streaks of color, like watercolor bleeding through paper. The campus, the kingdom I once ruled with sharpened eyeliner and iron confidence, vanished behind me like smoke. Like it never existed at all.

No one spoke. Not me. Not the staff member beside me, who cradled my bag in their lap like it was made of glass. Like I was.

It wasn't pity in their silence. It was something worse. Careful detachment. Like I was something to be handled. Managed.

The car slowed.

Up ahead, tall black gates stood like iron jaws opening to swallow me whole. Beyond them: the facility. Stark white buildings, leafless trees, and windows that didn't reflect the sky. Just blankness, as if the place existed in a world separate from color, warmth, or noise.

It didn't look like a hospital.

It looked like the afterlife.

My breath hitched.

This was happening.

I was really here.

The car rolled to a stop. The staff member got out and opened my door, bending slightly like they were handling something fragile. Something cracked.

"Y/N?"

My name. So soft. Too soft. Like they were afraid it would break me more than I already was.

I stepped out slowly, feet heavy, hoodie sleeves pulled over my hands like armor. The wind cut through the fabric and sliced across my skin, but I didn't flinch. I just stared.

Up.

At the tall, quiet building that would now become my entire world.

The gates creaked shut behind me with a final, metallic sigh.

Trapped.

The entrance smelled like antiseptic and old paper. A nurse behind the counter looked up and smiled at me with the kind of expression people reserve for children or broken animals.

"Welcome, Y/N. We're going to take good care of you here."

I stared at her blankly. My throat was dry. Words curled on my tongue like spoiled fruit.

She didn't seem to expect a response.

Another nurse came to take my bag. She unzipped it, pulling out my few allowed belongings and logging them into a system. One by one, like evidence.
My childhood plushie.
My toothbrush.
My journal.
My favorite hoodie.
Everything else, confiscated.

"For your safety," they said.

Safety.
From what?

From myself?

I followed quietly down a long, sterile hallway. Soft murmurs and squeaking shoes echoed off the polished floors. The walls were off-white, somewhere between nothing and numb. I passed a common room where a girl sat cross-legged in a chair, eyes shut, swaying gently with headphones on. Another girl stared out the barred window like she was waiting for someone who'd never come back.

I wondered who they were before this.
Before they were reduced to... this.

Who had they been?

Who was I?

My room was small. Smaller than I thought it would be. A twin bed with white sheets. A desk.
A tiny window with steel bars threaded across the glass like veins.

It felt less like a place for healing and more like a mausoleum.

I sat down on the edge of the bed. It creaked beneath me like it didn't want me there.

My hands sat limp in my lap.

My hoodie, my peace, had been replaced with bland, hospital-issue clothing. White. Stiff. Colorless.

It matched the room.

It matched me.

I didn't recognize the girl in the plastic mirror across from the bed. Puffy eyes. Tear-streaked cheeks. Uneven hair.
And eyes that looked like someone else's entirely.
Gone was the sharpness. The fire. The cruelty that once crowned me queen of campus.

She looked like a ghost wearing my face.

I don't know when I started crying.
It happened slowly, like a faucet that couldn't quite shut off. First a trickle, then a stream.

And suddenly I was shaking.

The sobs came out in broken, dry hiccups.
Not the loud kind. The kind you hide. The kind that slips through your teeth like a secret.
The kind that makes your chest cave in.

I wasn't crazy.
I knew I wasn't.
I shouldn't be here.

But no one believed me.

Not Hitch. Not Annie.
Not Reiner, the boy who used to protect me from monsters under the bed.
He didn't even blink when they told him I was being sent here.

I told them.
Over and over, I told them.

I told them something was wrong.
That he was messing with me.
That he was watching me.
That I was being pushed to the edge by someone who smiled while doing it.

But no one believed me.

Because it was Armin.

The golden boy. The genius. The quiet one. The victim.

Armin Arlert, with his long lashes and longer silences. With his books and his glasses and his hands folded so neatly in his lap, like he never broke a single thing in his life.

He was better than me.
He always had been.
I hated him for that.

But now?

Now, I hated him for something else entirely.

I hated him for ruining me.

And the worst part?

He didn't even have to touch me to do it.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

The morning light in the hospital didn't feel like sunlight. It didn't warm anything. It just... existed. Pale and cold and sterile, leaking through the barred window like a reminder that time was still moving, even if I wasn't.

Breakfast came on a tray I didn't touch.

I stared at the oatmeal until it formed a skin, then watched a nurse quietly take it away without a word. I didn't know her name. She didn't ask mine. Just gave me a look that said she'd seen a hundred girls just like me.

They told me I had a session that day.

"First step," the nurse said.
Her voice was polite. Polished. Like she'd practiced making madness sound manageable.

I followed her down the hallway in silence. Past the common room. Past the clock with no ticking sound. Past the girl who still rocked in her chair like she was trying to soothe a ghost.

The therapy room wasn't what I expected.
It wasn't soft. Or warm. Or full of candles like in movies. It was simple. Two chairs. A box of tissues. A plant in the corner, dying just slowly enough to be tragic.

And her.

Nanaba.

She stood when I entered, offering a small smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. Blonde hair that was in a short cut. Warm beige sweater. The kind of person who always smelled like chamomile.

"Y/N," she said. "It's good to see you."

I sat down across from her, arms folded tightly, shoulders hunched. I didn't respond. I didn't even blink.

"Do you know why you're here?" she asked gently.

I looked at her.

Laughed. Quietly.

"Because I told you the truth."

Her brow furrowed, but just slightly. She didn't write anything down. Yet.

"Can you remind me what truth that was?"

I looked away. My fingers dug into the sleeves of my hospital shirt. The fabric itched. Everything here itched.

"That I'm being messed with. That someone is playing with my head. That I'm not crazy, but everyone thinks I am."

"Who do you think is doing this to you?"

I flinched.
Not because I didn't know the answer.
Because I knew it too well.

"Armin."

Just saying his name made my throat burn. Like I'd swallowed something toxic.

Nanaba didn't look surprised. She didn't argue. She didn't push.

"Tell me about Armin."

So I did.

I told her about the competition. The rivalry. The way he'd outshone me from day one. The way I used to hate him for always being ahead, until suddenly, he wasn't. He disappeared over the summer and came back... different. Taller. Sharper. Colder.
Smarter.

And suddenly I was the one being watched. Stalked. Haunted.

"He's smiling when no one else is looking," I said. "He's always there. The whispers, the bracelet, the empty rooms, my grades tanking. I swear he's behind it all- he wants me to break, and he's winning."

Nanaba nodded slowly, still not writing anything.

"Why do you think no one believed you?"

That one stung.

I blinked.
My voice dropped to a whisper.

"Because he's Armin. Sweet, shy, helpless Armin. He plays the victim like a fucking violin. No one questions him. No one sees it but me. And I'm rude, confident, the one who bullies."

I met her eyes, my throat tightening.

"He made me look insane. He made me question if I was insane."

Finally, Nanaba picked up her pen.

"That sounds terrifying," she said quietly.

I wanted to scream.
But I didn't.
Because if I screamed, maybe I would look crazy. And I couldn't afford that. Not anymore.

She sat back, folding her hands in her lap.

"I believe that you believe it, Y/N."

That made something snap inside me.

"I'm not making this up," I said, louder now. "He's ruining me and everyone's letting him."

A silence settled over the room. Not awkward. Not tense. Just... heavy. Like grief.

Nanaba scribbled something into her notebook. The scratching sound was deafening.

"Let's talk again tomorrow," she said eventually. "You're safe here."

Safe.

God, I hated that word.

I stood. My legs felt like jelly.

"He'll win, you know," I muttered. "If no one stops him... he'll win."

Nanaba looked up at me with something that almost looked like pity.

"And what does winning mean, to Armin?"

I didn't answer.

Because I didn't know anymore. I didn't know if he had already won by me being here.

or if he would win by me getting worse than this.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──
(Time skip of 2-3 weeks)

The past few weeks didn't feel like real life.
They felt like punishment sculpted into routine, one therapy session bleeding into the next, dull food with the texture of cardboard served on beige trays, the smell of sterile floors and watered-down soap hanging like fog in the air.

No color.
No laughter.
No freedom.

Just silence, repetition, and isolation.

Hell wasn't fire and brimstone, it was four white walls and a smiling nurse telling you you're making progress.

No one visited me.
Not because they couldn't.
But because they didn't want to.

Not voluntarily, anyway.

My mother came once. Striding in with her designer coat like the hallway was her personal runway. She didn't sit. She didn't ask if I was okay. She just stood by the doorway and looked down at me like I was a mess she forgot to clean up.

"You're an embarrassment," she'd said with that cold smile I grew up fearing. "You're not going back to that college. I'll have you homeschooled. Quiet. Controlled. At least then you won't humiliate me again."

And just like that, she turned and left.
Like I was a meeting she had to squeeze in between brunch and her next lie.

But the visit that broke me wasn't hers.

It was Hitch.
And Annie.

They came together. Two ghosts dressed in remorse.

Their eyes were puffy. They brought flowers.
As if daisies could make up for betrayal.

"It was us," Hitch whispered. "We told Nanaba you weren't okay. That... maybe you needed help."

"It was our fault," Annie added quietly. "We didn't think it would go this far. We didn't know they'd put you here."

I didn't say anything. I didn't yell or cry or ask why.

I just stood.

Walked past them.

And never looked back.

Because those were the girls I once trusted with every secret. The ones I called family. Sisters.

Turns out, that was only true for me.

They were just playing parts. And I was the fool who believed in sisterhood.

But even here, in this whitewashed nightmare, something began to shift.

The nurses said I looked better. That I was gaining weight again. That I was sleeping through the night. That I smiled sometimes, even if I didn't notice.

Nanaba, the only one here who treated me like I was still human, told me I'd softened. Said the anger had drained from my eyes. That the sharp edges were dulling.

"You're becoming yourself again," she told me last Tuesday, placing a warm hand over mine.
"No," I'd said quietly. "I'm becoming someone else."

Because the girl who walked into this hospital?

She was already dead.

Ripped apart by guilt and grief and revenge. Set on fire by someone who smiled while she burned.

But lately...
I stopped hearing him.

I stopped seeing him in the corners of my room or in the cracks of my mirror. The whispers that once followed me had faded into silence. His voice, once embedded in every thought, was now a faint memory behind thick glass.

I barely thought of him.

Unless I had to.

And that scared me.

Not because I missed him. But because maybe they were right. Maybe I really was recovering. Not healed, not whole, but crawling out of the grave I'd been thrown into.
One slow breath at a time.

Nanaba said I might be ready to leave in two, maybe three weeks. She smiled when she said it, like it was good news. Like this was a success story in the making.

So for the first time since I got here, I started trying.

I brushed my hair.
I made my bed.
I wrote in the diary, journal whatever you want to call it, even if it was just one word a day.

And I made a plan.

A real one.

I was going to leave.
Not just the hospital.
But everything.

I'd drop out of college.
Move out of town.
Maybe to some sleepy city an hour away, where nobody whispered about me in lecture halls or stared at me like I was unhinged.

Somewhere I could start over.

Where I wasn't the bully.
Wasn't the psycho.
Wasn't his victim.

Just a girl.
Rebuilding herself from the ashes.

Piece by painful piece.

I wanted to become someone new.
No-
I was someone new.

Not perfect.
Not healed.
But different.
Softer around the edges, quieter in the mind.

For the first time in what felt like years, my reflection didn't make me flinch.

The talks I had with Nanaba, the group sessions with strangers who carried their pain like cracked porcelain masks, the quiet confessions whispered under fluorescent lights... they all chipped away at something in me.

Not in a bad way. In the way that makes a statue from stone. Painful, slow, but necessary.

I started listening. To others. To myself. To the voice I buried under layers of sarcasm and perfectionism and fear.

And what I heard was this:
I was hurting people.
I had hurt people.
Even if I didn't mean to. Even if I thought I had a right to.

Bringing people down to feel taller?
That wasn't strength.
That was survival gone sour.

And I didn't want to be that girl anymore.
The one who laughed at someone else's expense.
The one who thought control was the same as power.

I wanted to leave her behind.
To bury her in the memory of this place.

But that doesn't mean I forgive the world.

Because none of this, none of this, was really my fault.

It started long before I met Armin.
Long before I became the girl everyone loved to hate.

I was nine years old. Just nine.

Still small. Still soft. Still someone who believed the world was kind if you smiled enough.

That belief didn't last long.

They bullied me like it was a game.
Mocked me for things I couldn't control.
My hair, my teeth, my clothes, the way I walked, the way I talked.

They called me ugly like it was my name.

I remember the first time a boy told me I had a "face only a mother could love."
The laughter that followed.
How it echoed in my skull for years.

I remember how they'd dump juice on my head during lunch and laugh as I cried in the bathroom, using rough paper towels to scrub away the shame.

You don't forget things like that.

That kind of cruelty seeps into your skin.
It reshapes you.

Twists you.

My grades dropped. I stopped trying in class.
What was the point? No matter how hard I worked, no one saw me. Not as a student. Not as a person.

But my mother noticed.
And she didn't like it.

Bad grades were a crime in her eyes.
And her punishments were... creative.

Every time I disappointed her, she took scissors to my hair. Lopped off inches of it without care or warning.

She believed ugliness was a lesson.
That if I looked worse, I'd try harder.
She made me look in the mirror afterward and say, "I deserved this."

I said it.
Over and over.

So yeah, appearance matters to me.
Being the best? It's not a hobby. It's survival.
Getting good grades? That's how I avoid punishment.

How I stay safe.

Because somewhere in my brain, that little girl still thinks that if she slips-
If she lets go, just for a second-
They'll all come back.
The bullies.
The scissors.
The juice pouring down her head.

That's the mindset I live with.
One I didn't choose.
One I can't erase.

But here's the thing: I'm trying.

I'm not healed.
And maybe I'll never be.
Maybe I'll always carry this scar, this fear, this need to be perfect.

But I'm done using it as an excuse to hurt people.

I can't control what happened to me.
But I can control what kind of person I become because of it.

That's what this place taught me.

Not how to be sane.
Not how to forget.

But how to survive without turning into the very monster that once chased me.

I'm learning how to rebuild.
And maybe, just maybe-
That's enough.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──
(Armin's POV):

Two weeks.

Fifteen days since she was taken away from me, pulled from my life like a sudden storm tearing through everything familiar.

I told myself it was justice. That this was payback, finally getting even for every cruel word, every sneer, every cutting joke she threw at me.
For the long years she made me feel small, weak, invisible. For all the pain I swallowed quietly, alone.

I told myself I was reclaiming control.
That I was winning.

But there is no winner in this game.

Only ruins.

Because the moment she disappeared, something inside me cracked too, something I don't quite understand yet.

Her face haunts me still.
Not with the fire and defiance I remember, but something colder now.

It's empty.
Silent.
A flicker of a broken soul buried deep behind tear-stained eyes.

I see it every time I close my own.

The girl who used to torment me is gone.
Replaced by someone fragile, lost, slipping away.

And somehow, I'm the one who burned her.

I told myself I was right.
That she deserved this.
That I was just collecting what I lost.

But when the night falls and the noise dies down, the unbearable truth claws through the silence.

I didn't just hurt her.
I shattered her.

I built walls around her mind and threw away the key. And now that key is nowhere to be found in my conscience.

I wonder... did I push her beyond repair?
Did I cross a line that can never be crossed back?

The silence between us screams louder than any words ever did. It's suffocating, thick, like poison spreading slowly in my chest.

I hate her for what she did.
But I hate myself even more.

Because in breaking her, I lost something too.

I'm restless, adrift in a storm I can't calm.
There's a shadow creeping in, cold and slow, wrapping tighter every day.
A gnawing ache beneath my ribs.

I don't know what this means yet.
This heavy weight.
This bitter mix of rage and regret.
This nameless darkness that steals my sleep.

All I know is I can't forget her.

Her absence screams in every quiet corner of my world. And here I stand, staring at the wreckage of everything we were-

And everything I destroyed.

I wanted revenge.
But I never wanted this.

I didn't want to be the villain in her story.

But now... here I am-
Haunted by my own victory.
Trapped in a war with myself I don't know how to win.
︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

A/N: Whoa... Y/N's finally starting to heal and grow into someone better. Meanwhile, Armin can't seem to get her out of his head.

But let's not forget, Hitch and Annie pushed her into that mental hospital.

What happens when Y/N comes back?

Will she reclaim her old life... or vanish for good, leaving everything behind?

Stay tuned.

Chapter Text

It took longer than I expected. Longer than I hoped.

Five weeks.

Five weeks of sterile hallways, plastic smiles, overcooked or undercooked meals, and soft voices that asked the same questions over and over again. Five weeks of talking, crying, hurting, healing. Five weeks of forgetting.

But today was different. Today, I was leaving.

The sun bled in through the barred window as I zipped up my duffel bag, one that felt heavier than when I arrived, even though it held the same things. Maybe because I wasn't the same. My fingers paused on the zipper, eyes scanning the small, sterile room for the last time. The bed. White sheets. Desk. No glass mirrors. It had all been a cage, and somehow, a cocoon.

The wound is sealed, but the scar will always remain.

I pulled my hoodie over my head, feeling the familiar weight of it anchor me. This one wasn't regulation. It was mine, one of the few pieces of myself I still recognized. Nanaba had said I was ready. That I had made incredible progress. That my face glowed again, that my eyes didn't look as haunted. That I was softer. Kinder. Quieter. Stronger.

I didn't know what I believed.

Maybe I had changed. Maybe I just got better at hiding what still hurt.

My mother was waiting in the lobby. She didn't hug me. Didn't even smile. Just looked me over like a soldier inspecting a weapon after it's been repaired.

"You look normal again," she said. "Let's go."

I nodded, dragging my bag behind me. I didn't feel normal. I felt like a stranger in my own body.

We walked to the car in silence, my sneakers crunching over gravel. The sky was cloudy, heavy, like it could burst open any second. I didn't look back at the facility. I had spent too long there already.

On the ride back, my mother lectured me about discipline, about image, about what would happen now that I'd be homeschooled. About how I was lucky this happened early enough to still save face. About second chances. She didn't ask me how I was feeling.

I stared out the window the entire time.

I wasn't going back to college. I wouldn't even visit the dorms. Those rooms weren't mine anymore. That version of me, the perfect, polished, poisoned girl, she was dead. I buried her in the hospital.

Annie and Hitch had asked to see me before I left. I said no. I didn't need their apologies, not when they were the ones who set me up to put me there. Not when they had watched me burn and handed over the gasoline.

The only ones I allowed to visit were Sasha, Pieck, and Jean. They didn't ask for forgiveness. They just sat beside me. They didn't talk much. They didn't need to. Somehow, that made it easier.

I wasn't sure who I'd keep in touch with.

I wasn't sure about anything, really.

But I knew this: I was leaving my old life behind. That city, that campus, those parties, those rivalries,it was all over. I needed something quieter. A reset. A place where no one knew my name, at least not the old girl. Somewhere I could breathe again.

I planned to move. Not far. Just far enough to start over. A city one hour away from my old life.

Maybe, one day, I'll come back. When I'm stronger. When the scar doesn't sting so much.

But not today.

Today, I'm going home. Not because I want to. But because I have to.

And even if I never say it out loud...

I'm terrified that when I wake up tomorrow, I'll still be her. The broken girl with too much history, not enough hope.

But I guess healing isn't about who you were.

It's about who you fight to become.

The car slowed, the tires crunching against the smooth stone driveway, and that sound alone snapped me out of the trance I'd been locked in for the past hour.

We were here.

My new beginning.

My new life.

My new future... whatever that meant.

I stepped out of the car, the cool air kissing my skin as I looked up at the house. My mother's house. It was as flawless as I remembered-modern, glassy, sculpted to perfection like it had been pulled from the pages of a magazine. The kind of place that never looked lived-in, just posed.

Everything about it screamed control. Her control.

Mom and Dad divorced when I was eight. Reiner and I had been passed around like polite obligations. Dad never really fought for custody, and when he did call, it was all surface-level. Weather, school, "be good for your mom." He talked to us like we were neighbors, not his kids. I used to wonder if I'd done something wrong to make him stop loving me. Eventually, I just stopped wondering.

"Let's go," my mom said sharply, heels clicking against the pavement as she strode to the front door.

No welcome home. No hug. No "I'm glad you're better." Just business as usual.

She pushed the door open, and the smell hit me first, clean linen, polished wood, lemon-scented cleaner. Everything was immaculate, like she'd vacuumed even the memories out of the carpet. The walls were white, the furniture angular and sleek. Cold. Curated. Not a single family photo in sight. Just abstract art and empty vases.

"Go upstairs and unpack," she said, already slipping her designer coat off and hanging it with mechanical precision by the entrance. "We're going shopping in an hour. You need clothes that don't make you look homeless. And we're getting rid of those ridiculous highlights in your hair."

The way she looked at me, like she was surveying damage to be corrected, it made my stomach twist. I said nothing. Just exhaled slowly and climbed the stairs without a word.

Could she be any colder?

The house was a maze of polished hallways and echoing silence. My footsteps were the only sound as I searched for the room that used to be mine. It took longer than it should have. When I finally found it, it felt like walking into a stranger's memory. Everything was the same, but nothing belonged to me.

The bed was perfectly made with high-thread-count sheets that had never felt like comfort. The curtains were a sterile gray. My desk was dusted, untouched. It was like a room made for a doll.

I dropped my bag on the floor, the dull thud echoing like a gunshot in the quiet.

This was home now.

And yet, it didn't feel like it.

I sat down on the edge of the bed and looked around, suddenly overwhelmed. I was free from the hospital. But this place? It wasn't freedom. It was just another kind of prison, just prettier.

The walls didn't close in, but they stared back.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand. A text.

Sasha: You made it okay?

I stared at it for a long time, fingers hovering. I didn't reply. Not because I didn't care. But because I wasn't ready to be that girl again. The one who replied, who smiled, who kept people close. I had to choose carefully this time. Who to let in. Who to become.

I walked over to the window and pulled the curtain aside. Outside, the sky was cracked open, storm clouds gathering like bruises across the horizon. The wind bent the trees, wild and untamed, everything the house wasn't.

I pressed my palm to the glass and whispered to no one, "I'm not ready."

Because I wasn't.

This wasn't just about recovery anymore.

This was about resurrection.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

An hour passed in silence, the kind that sat heavy in my chest. I didn't unpack. I just lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling like it might give me answers. It didn't.

My mom's voice pierced through the quiet.

"Let's go."

I didn't respond. Just stood, pulled on a jacket, and followed her down the stairs. The same way I used to when I was a child, silent and obedient.

The car ride was quiet, except for the occasional sound of her nails tapping against the steering wheel. Her sunglasses reflected the road, cold and detached. Like she wasn't driving her daughter, just another project to polish.

We pulled into the upscale plaza downtown. Everything here looked expensive, glass storefronts, mannequins styled in neutrals, floors so clean they reflected the clouds above.

"This store first," she said, stepping out without waiting for me.

I followed.

Inside, it smelled like perfume and money. A sales associate greeted us, all plastic smile and clipped tones, but my mom waved her off.

"She's recovering from a... situation," she said, not even lowering her voice. "She needs to look presentable again."

My face flushed. I was embarrassed. She spoke like I wasn't even there. Like I was an object being refurbished. My stomach twisted.

We moved from rack to rack. She handed me tailored pants, soft cashmere tops, muted colors, things I would've never chosen for myself. She was choosing a new identity for me. One that fit her image.

I went into the changing room, locked the door, and just stood there for a moment. My reflection stared back, ghostlike. The hoodie I wore hung off my shoulders. My skin looked pale under the artificial lighting. The highlights in my hair were dull and tangled.

I changed into what she picked. It fit well, of course it did. But it didn't feel like me.

Who even was me anymore?

The door cracked open. "Let me see," she said.

I stepped out. She nodded once, clinically.

"Better."

Better than what? The girl who had cried herself to sleep in a locked ward for five weeks? The girl who used to skip class to torment a boy she didn't understand? The girl who got thrown away like garbage by her own friends?

I didn't say anything.

She kept going, grabbing more and more clothes. At some point, she picked up a pair of heels and said, "You'll need these if you're ever going to look put together again."

And that's when the memory hit me.

(Flashback)
Laughter. Uncontrollable. Loud and obnoxious.

Hitch had dragged me into the tiny thrift store near campus after class. Annie was there too, arms folded, rolling her eyes as Hitch tossed a pair of sequin-covered boots at me.

"You have to try these on," Hitch giggled. "You'd look like a disco ball in the best way."

"I'd rather set myself on fire," I'd said, laughing.

Annie smirked. "Do it. Then I won't have to hear your voice during midterms."

We'd all burst out laughing.

We didn't care if the clothes matched. Or if the store was dusty. We just... tried things. Made jokes. Spent hours trying on things that were too big, too tight, too wild. It was fun. It was freedom.

It was a lie.

Because behind all of it, they still didn't see me.

Not really.

——————-

The memory faded, and I was back in the sleek, colorless boutique. My hands clenched the hem of the beige sweater my mom insisted on. My throat burned.

We went to the salon next.

"I want the highlights gone," she told the stylist before I could speak. "And cut it clean. She needs a fresh start."

I sat down in the chair, heart pounding.

The scissors hissed through the air. Colored strands fell to the floor like dead petals.

I watched silently in the mirror as the last trace of who I used to be was swept into a dustpan.

When it was over, my hair was darker, cleaner, precise. Polished. Back to its natural color.

I looked like someone else.

And maybe that was the point.

But as we walked back to the car with heavy shopping bags and a tight new haircut, I couldn't stop thinking about the girl I used to be, and the girls I used to trust.

I had left the hospital behind.

But some things were still healing, buried too deep for scissors to touch.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──
(Later at night)

The house was quiet. Unnaturally quiet , like it had been vacuum-sealed. No creaks. No distant TVs. No laughter. Just the faint hum of the refrigerator downstairs and the occasional car passing by outside.

I sat on my bed in my new room, a room that smelled like lavender detergent and new furniture. Everything was perfectly arranged. Not by me, of course. My mother had made sure of that.

The closet was filled with neutral-toned clothes I hadn't chosen. The vanity was spotless. The bedsheets crisp.

It looked like a catalog.

It didn't look like me.

I sat cross-legged on top of the covers, a soft hoodie pulled over my knees, hair still slightly damp from the shower. My phone lay face-down beside me on the mattress, like it was waiting. Taunting.

I reached for it. Turned it over.

One notification.

Sasha: Hey... I know you're probably not ready to talk yet, but I miss you. Just wanted to say that. No pressure. I'm here when you're ready.

I stared at the screen. My thumb hovered over the message.

I should've felt something. Warmth. Gratitude. Anger. Anything.

But all I felt was... tired.

Tired of reliving every memory when I saw their names. Tired of waiting for a message, a message saying they care. Tired of hoping for a version of our friendship that was real and not built on performances and silence.

I thought about Sasha and her soft smiles. About Pieck trying to make me feel better about myself. About Jean awkwardly checking in with good intentions. About Hitch and Annie, the ones who handed me over, even if they didn't mean to.

And I thought about him.

The way Armin looked at me before I was driven away. That unreadable expression. The one I used to think was fear. Or awe. Or hatred. Now I didn't know what it was. I didn't want to.

All of them, they belonged to the old me. The one who needed them to feel like someone.

But I wasn't the same anymore.

I tapped the message.

Typed a reply.

Paused.

Then deleted it.

My chest tightened, but I didn't cry. I just opened my contacts and started blocking.

One by one.

Sasha- blocked.
Jean- blocked.
Pieck- blocked.
Porco- blocked.
Bertholdt and Marco- blocked.
Eren, Mikasa, Connie- blocked.
Ymir and Historia- blocked.
Hitch and Annie- already blocked.
Armin...
I stared at his name for a long, long time.

Then:
Blocked.

I held my breath and opened my social media apps.

Instagram. Deleted.
Twitter. Gone.
Snapchat. Erased.
TikTok. Logged out and uninstalled.

And just like that, it was all gone.

Silence.

It was almost unsettling how easy it was. How fast the weight lifted, or maybe just floated higher, like a balloon I couldn't see anymore.

I placed the phone on my nightstand. Face-down again. This time, for good.

For the first time in months, I lay back and looked at the ceiling without seeing ghosts.

No laughter in my ears. No whispers behind my back. No voice in my head telling me I going crazy, or worse, that I deserved what happened.

Just quiet.

I wasn't healed. Not fully. But I was mine again.

Tomorrow, I'd start looking for a part time job. Research community colleges in nearby towns. Maybe find a bookstore that needed help.

Somewhere small.

Somewhere no one knew my name.

And if they did?

It would be the new name. The new story.

The real one.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──
(3rd person POV):

The evening had started off like any other.

A Friday night tradition. They'd crammed into Jean's apartment, laughter echoing off the walls, the air hazy with the smell of popcorn and cheap takeout. Sasha was mid-rant about her terrible professor when Pieck suddenly went quiet, her phone lit up in her hand, brows furrowing.

"Okay, wait... what the hell?" Pieck muttered.

Jean glanced over, still chewing on a fry. "What?"

"I've been blocked."

That caught everyone's attention.

"By who?" Connie asked, leaning in.

"Y/N," Pieck said simply, flipping her phone around. The room went still.

"Same here," Sasha whispered after a few seconds, staring down at her own screen. "She blocked me too..."

Jean pulled out his phone. "What the- she blocked me. Damn." His voice was half-shocked, half-sad. "She actually did it."

Ymir rolled her eyes, but her voice wasn't as sharp as usual. "Honestly? Can you blame her?"

Historia looked down, her voice soft. "She was hurting. We all saw it... and no one did anything."

Connie ran a hand through his buzzed hair. "I thought she was just being dramatic."

"You always think that," Jean snapped. "You didn't see her the way I did. After everything that happened..."

"She wasn't innocent," Porco muttered from the corner, arms crossed. "She treated people like crap. She got what was coming to her."

Eren, lounging back with a soda in hand, nodded silently in agreement.

"That's rich coming from you," Pieck shot back at Porco, her voice sharp now. "You bully people yourself! Besides, only cause she hurt Armin doesn't mean she deserved....that."

Mikasa hadn't said a word yet. She was staring at her phone, her expression unreadable. Finally, she looked up. "I didn't think she'd actually leave. I thought... she'd fight. I don't like her, at all. She hurt Armin, but I liked how strong and confident she always was."

Reiner, sitting near the window, spoke for the first time, voice quiet. "She was always good at pretending. That's what mom taught us."

Everyone turned toward him. He didn't meet anyone's gaze.

Bertholdt looked uncomfortable. "Do you think she's okay?"

"No," Jean said instantly. "But I think she's trying to be."

And then the room fell silent.

Until Armin stood.

Everyone turned to look at him. He hadn't spoken all evening, just sat there, staring at the floor like it held the answers to questions no one had asked.

"I'm the one who ruined her."

It came out so quietly it took a second to register.

"What?" Marco asked gently.

Armin's jaw clenched. His fists were balled at his sides. "I didn't just 'get back' at her. I manipulated her. Gaslit her. I made her believe she was losing her mind."

There was a sharp intake of breath.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Connie asked.

"You all saw her spiraling. But none of you knew I was the one pulling the strings."

"Armin-" Mikasa said quickly, trying to cut him off before he said too much.

"No. They should know," he snapped, and the room went deadly quiet. "She humiliated me for over a year. She treated me like trash. So when I came back, I wanted her to feel it. I wanted her to fall apart."

Eren sat up straighter. "We said we won't tell anyone."

"I know," Armin said. "I know. And at first... it felt good. Watching her lose that perfect image. But then... it just felt wrong."

"Why are you saying this now?" Sasha whispered.

"Because she's gone," he answered, eyes haunted. "And I keep thinking about how scared she looked that night. How quiet. Like a ghost."

The room was silent again, heavier now. Pieck looked down. Jean stared at the wall. Historia wiped her eyes quickly when she thought no one was looking.

"I thought I'd feel better after everything," Armin whispered. "But I don't. I feel- empty."

Reiner stared at him, his voice icy. "You broke my sister. She kept telling me it was you and I didn't believe her because I though you out of all people wouldn't. I should kill you right now."

Armin didn't reply. He just sat down again, the weight of his guilt finally cracking through the last of his pride.

And for the first time that night, no one knew what to say.

"Alright, Armin got his revenge, he had every right to." Eren spoke up, taking a sip out of his drink.

"None of y'all gave a fuck about her but now that she's gone you care?" Porco scoffed.

"I saw her as a friend, even though I didn't support all her actions." Pieck snapped, making Sasha, Ymir and Historia nod in agreement.

The tension in the air changed, after these unexpected secrets and feelings the night wouldn't be the same. Everyone was lost in their thoughts and someone, a specific blonde couldn't get the missing girl out of his mind.

Although he tried so hard to forget her.
︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

A/N: So... what just happened?

Y/N is gone. Healed, but changed. She left behind everything, the college, her friends, her past, in search of something better. A new beginning. A new life. And with one final move, she blocked everyone and wiped herself clean off social media.

Now? The silence she left behind is louder than ever.

Some are mourning her. Others are relieved. Armin just confessed his truth, the truth only Eren and Mikasa knew. He was the one pulling the strings. And now the guilt is sinking in deeper than any of them expected.

Meanwhile, Hitch and Annie? Nowhere to be found.

Is this really the end of Y/N's chapter in their lives...?

Will she ever come back?

Or will she finally become a ghost no one can outrun?

Stay tuned.

Chapter Text

It had been almost two months since I left it all behind, the college, the dorms, the friends, the hell I barely crawled out of.

Now? I was okay. Not perfect. Not healed beyond recognition. But okay.

That was enough.

Morning light slipped through the sheer curtains of my new bedroom, warm and soft like a whisper. The walls were pale beige, quiet and controlled, much like my mother's moods lately. The room smelled faintly of fresh laundry and lavender, two things I never associated with comfort until now.

A small desk stood by the window, cluttered with notebooks and flashcards. My textbooks were stacked neatly beside a half-empty cup of tea. It was my study corner now. My space. And every morning, I sat there with Yelena, tall, blonde, intimidating, and weirdly patient, as she homeschooled me.

Yelena wasn't like other teachers. She didn't force anything. She made me think. Made me slow down. Made me question everything in a way that didn't break me.

It worked.

"I have to say," she said last week, sipping her coffee without looking at me, "you're sharper than I thought."

I didn't answer. But inside, I smiled.

And the boutique? That was the second part of my life now. After class, I changed into soft-toned blouses and long skirts and worked until evening. Folding clothes. Smiling at customers. Learning the world didn't have to hurt so much when it was quiet and slow.

I liked the routine. I liked the version of me I was becoming.

Even my mom... changed. A little.

She still barked orders and scanned my outfits like a fashion critic with a personal vendetta, but she didn't yell. Didn't criticize everything I did. Sometimes, I even caught her watching me with something that might've been... pride.

It scared me.

I wasn't used to being loved like that, conditionally, awkwardly, almost.

And then there was Zeke.

Yelena introduced us. Said he was a friend from university who'd "know how to keep a conversation going."

I didn't expect much. But he was kind. Easy to talk to. Witty in a slow-burn kind of way. He was older, not ancient, just enough to seem more... steady than the boys I used to know. Steady in a way that didn't try to control me.

He started picking me up after shifts. Walking me home. Bringing me coffee "by accident." Telling stories about his childhood, his brother who he never named, the life he lived before I existed in it.

I didn't know what it was yet, whatever was starting between us. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it would become something. But for the first time in forever, I didn't feel like I was chasing after love like a dog begging for scraps.

I felt like I could be wanted. Softly. Genuinely. Without pain. He was distracting me from the past.

Tonight, I was meeting him after my shift.

Before I left, I stood by the mirror, brushing my hair.

Not the same hair he- Armin- used to look at like it was beneath him. Not the same girl who destroyed herself just to feel superior. Just to survive.

I didn't think about him often anymore. Only in passing. Only as a reminder of who I never wanted to become again.

I looked at myself now, clean face, soft sweater, a little gloss on my lips, and felt... calm.

Not healed completely. But whole enough to stand.

And I intended to keep it that way.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

The warm hum of the café wrapped around us like a gentle shield from the world outside. Steam curled lazily from our cups, mingling with the faint scent of fresh pastries and aged wood. Zeke laughed quietly at something I said, his voice low and easy, like a melody I wasn't used to hearing but instantly wanted to listen to more.

I caught myself watching him, the way his eyes sparkled when he smiled, the easy way he leaned back in his chair, completely relaxed. Somehow, in the middle of all this noise and clinking cups, I felt a rare kind of peace.

It was strange to think that just a few months ago, I was trapped in a different world, one of forced silences, cold walls, and people who didn't see me, or worse, saw me only as broken. Meeting Zeke and Yelena had been unexpected. She'd insisted I needed more than just lessons; I needed people, fresh faces, new stories. I didn't want to believe it at first, but Zeke was starting to prove her right.

Just as I was about to ask Zeke about his favorite music, I felt a shadow fall across our table.

"Y/N! Zeke!"

I looked up to see Yelena striding toward us, her presence vibrant and commanding in the mellow café light. Her eyes sparkled with something I couldn't quite place, a mix of mischief and warmth.

"Hey," I said, standing up, a little breathless from surprise and something like anticipation.

Zeke stood too, offering a polite smile.

"I didn't know you two were hanging out," Yelena said, sliding into the seat beside me like she owned the place.

"We just met because of you," I said, a small smile tugging at my lips.

She grinned, then her tone softened. "Good. That's exactly why I wanted you two to meet. You need people, new people, Y/N. New friends."

The words lingered in the air between us. "New friends," she repeated, like it was a spell, a promise. I hadn't told her the full story or mentioned any names. I just told her everything that had happened. She was my new friend.

Then she leaned forward, her eyes locking on mine, earnest and a little conspiratorial. "My brother's planning a trip for fall break. Paris."

The word felt heavy with possibility. Paris- the city of light, of art, of freedom.

Zeke's smile grew wider, as if the idea alone was enough to light a fire inside him.

"We're going together," Yelena continued. "My brother and his friends, Zeke and I. It's not just a trip, it's a chance to escape. To reset. To start fresh."

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding. The idea of leaving starting new, creating new friendships as this new girl. It sounded fun but I was still scared.

Yelena reached out and gave my hand a gentle squeeze. "You should come. It's good for you. For your mind. And for your heart. You deserve a fresh start. And new friends who'll see the real you."

I looked at Zeke again, and this time, he didn't just smile, he nodded, quietly, like he believed in this chance too.

For the first time in a long time, I let myself believe it might be true.

That maybe, just maybe, this trip could be the beginning of everything I wanted to be.

"Fine..." I whispered, unsure, the words barely leaving my lips. "I'll come."

Both Yelena and Zeke smiled, like I'd just handed them a rare gift.

"But..." My voice faltered, doubt creeping back. "I don't even have a plane ticket."

Yelena chuckled softly, taking a slow sip from my drink. "Don't worry about that. I'm taking care of everything."

Her eyes glimmered with quiet certainty. "I have to arrange... about twenty tickets."

Twenty. The thought spun in my head, who were all these people? New Friends? Strangers?

I pushed the questions aside and smiled, nodding.

"So... no hotel reservations yet?"

I added, thinking aloud.

Yelena shook her head, her lips curling into a knowing smile.

"That's okay." I said, suddenly feeling a surge of pride. "My mom owns a villa in Paris. If she's okay with it, that's where we'll stay."

Paris. The word felt like a secret wrapped in light, a promise of something new and breathtaking.

Zeke's hand brushed mine across the table, steady and warm. "This'll be different. Better."

Yelena leaned back, eyes sparkling with conviction. "This trip, Y/N, it's good for you. To make new friends, new memories. To finally start over."

Her words settled inside me like a slow-burning fire, warming the cold spaces I thought would never heal.

Maybe this was it. My fresh start.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

The door clicked softly behind me, and the quiet house swallowed my footsteps. I found Mom in the kitchen, methodically preparing dinner, the faint scent of herbs filling the air.

"Hey," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

She glanced up, eyes sharp but calm. "You're home early."

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "There's something I want to tell you. It's about a trip."

Mom's brow furrowed. "A trip?"

"Yeah. Yelena invited me to go to Paris for fall break. Her brother and some of his friends planned it. They're all going, and she wants me to come too."

Mom's eyes narrowed, lips pressing together. "Paris..." She paused, then nodded slowly. "And where will you stay?"

"At the villa. The one you own there. If you allow..."

She didn't say anything at first, just stirred the pot silently. Then she looked at me, voice quiet but firm. "I'm not going. This is your trip. You're responsible."

My heart skipped. "I know. I just wanted to make sure it was okay. And... thank you for letting me stay at the villa."

Her expression softened just a little, but she didn't smile. "Be careful. Don't forget why you're going."

I nodded, the weight of her words settling deep inside me.

This was my chance, my break, and I wasn't going to waste it.

I dashed upstairs, heart pounding with a mix of nerves and excitement. Sliding into the chair at my desk, I grabbed my notebook and started scribbling, a list of everything I wanted to do, to see, to buy. It was the kind of planning that made the future feel real again, tangible.

Lana del Rey's haunting voice filled the room as I lost myself in the music and my thoughts. Then, my phone buzzed, Yelena.

Yelena: Did your mom okay the villa?
Me: Yup, it's in our hands 😋
Yelena: Fuck yeah! Also, we're meeting at the airport in Paradis.

My smile froze. Paradis. The word hit me like a punch, my old life, just an hour away from Marley, a place where I thought I left everything behind. A thousand questions flooded my mind: Why Paradis? Why didn't Yelena's brother live nearby?

Me: Why not here?
Yelena: Marley doesn't have a direct flight to Paris, sadly 😪🙏

I let out a shaky breath, relief washing over me. Of course, overthinking again.

Me: Oh 💀 alright, I assume we're leaving early in the morning?
Yelena: You know it, girl 😉 Can't wait!

I smiled softly, my fingers slipping from the screen as I shut off my phone and let Lana's voice carry me away. For the first time in a long time, I felt something flicker inside, excitement. Hope. Maybe even happiness.

I was ready. Ready to dive into this new chapter, surrounded by new faces, new chances. Whatever waited for me in Paradis, or Paris, I was determined to face it head-on.

I grabbed my phone and laid down on my bed, going through my bank account. I had tons of money, not only from work but also from my mom, something like pocket money.

I'm so ready to spend it all in Paris, to try everything I want, to live the life I had craved and faked.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

A week passed in a blur, each day slipping by faster than the last, until suddenly, it was here. The morning arrived before I was ready, my alarm blaring loudly at 1 a.m., dragging me from restless sleep into the cold reality of the day ahead. The flight was at 5 a.m., and though I'd packed everything the night before, the thought of leaving still felt surreal.

I sat on the edge of my bed for a moment, trying to steady my racing heart. The soft hum of Frank Ocean filled the room, the haunting melodies of "Moon river" weaving around me as if echoing the fragility I felt inside. I reached for my headphones and let the music drown out the silence, its dreamy sadness oddly comforting.

Slowly, I rose and padded over to my dresser, pulling out my carefully chosen outfit for the trip, simple, comfortable for a long flight, but with a hint of the new me I was trying to embrace. The soft fabric slid over my skin as I dressed, and I caught my reflection in the mirror. The girl looking back was stronger, quieter, but still fragile in ways only I could see.

Downstairs, the house was quiet. My mom was already awake, sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea, her fingers wrapped tightly around the warm mug. She looked up as I came in, eyes scanning my face with something like worry, but she masked it quickly with a small, almost stern smile.

"You ready?" she asked, voice low and steady.

I nodded, avoiding her gaze. "Yeah. I'm ready."

She stood and moved closer, hesitating for a second before pulling me into a brief, awkward hug. "Be careful. And... call me when you get there." With that, she pressed the keys of the villa in Paris into my hand.

Her words were simple, but the tremor in her voice betrayed the worry she tried so hard to hide.

"I will," I promised softly, pushing the thoughts aside.

Minutes later, the sound of a car pulling up outside startled me. I grabbed my suitcase and stepped out onto the porch, the cool early morning air brushing against my skin. Yelena was waiting, leaning casually against her car with that confident smile of hers.

"Ready to go?" she asked, eyes sparkling with excitement.

I smiled back, feeling a little of my nerves ease. "Yeah, let's do this."

Sliding into the passenger seat, I buckled my seatbelt as Yelena started the engine. The car hummed quietly as we pulled away from the house, the streetlights fading behind us. The city was still asleep, but inside me, something was waking up, a flicker of hope, of new beginnings.

As we drove toward Paradis, I pulled my headphones back on, letting Frank's voice fill my ears again. This time it was "White Ferrari," a song that I had a deep connection with, a song that made me calm.

Outside the window, the world blurred into streaks of light and shadow, and for the first time in a long while, I felt like maybe, just maybe, I was ready to face whatever came next.

The hour-long drive slipped by faster than I expected, Yelena and I laughing until our sides ached, our voices bouncing off the car windows like a secret soundtrack to the early morning. The music blasted, an electric mix of indie beats and raw emotion, filling the small space with energy I hadn't felt in years. The world outside was dark, but inside the car, everything felt possible, like the night itself was holding its breath for what was to come.

When we finally pulled into the airport parking lot, the cold night air slammed into me, sharp and unforgiving. It was a jolt back to reality. Yelena popped the door open with that usual confident smile, and we stepped out into the silence, the distant hum of engines and footsteps the only soundtrack now. I adjusted the strap of my purse, the weight familiar, like an anchor, but my suitcase rolling behind me felt heavier than just luggage. It was all I was carrying of my old life.

Yelena's strides were purposeful and sure, her energy practically lighting up the sterile halls of the airport. She led me without hesitation toward the designated meeting spot. And there, waiting in a loose circle, were the others. Strangers. Or maybe not. My heart hammered violently in my chest, the fluttering nerves twisting into knots. Meeting new people was never simple. Not for me. It was always a careful dance, balancing between wanting connection and fearing rejection. Today, it felt like walking on glass.

My throat tightened. "Can you watch my stuff for a minute? I need to use the bathroom," I managed, my voice trembling more than I wanted to admit.

Yelena just grinned. "Go ahead. I've got it." Her confidence was a shield I desperately needed.

The fluorescent lights in the bathroom flickered above me as I locked the door behind. I stared into the mirror, really looked. The girl staring back wasn't the broken version I remembered. She was quieter now, stronger in a way that didn't scream for attention but whispered it in her calm eyes. The scars beneath my skin were hidden, but they were there, etched into every line on my face, every tremor in my hands.

I splashed cold water over my face, feeling the shock of it like a reset button. Slowly, I smoothed my hair, wiped my hands dry, and breathed deeply. This was supposed to be my fresh start. My new chapter.

Pushing the door open, I stepped back toward the meeting point. Every step echoed in my ears louder than it should, my pulse pounding with a mix of anticipation and dread.

And then I saw them.

The group standing there. Not just any strangers. Their faces were familiar, too familiar. The shock froze me in place. My heart lurched violently and slammed against my ribs like it wanted out.

Their eyes locked on me, wide, stunned. The silence between us was suffocating.

Jean's mouth slightly parted in shock and disbelief. Pieck's gaze sharpened, the way she looked like she was trying to piece together a puzzle she didn't want to solve. Sasha's eyes glistened, flickering between hurt and surprise. Ymir's stance softened, Historia's expression was unreadable, but the tension radiated off her like heat.

And then there was Armin.

His eyes were clouded, guilt, regret, something raw and unbearable. He didn't speak, but I could feel it crushing him from where I stood. He looked surprised, shocked to explain better.

Reiner, my brother, looked like he wanted to say something, but the weight of everything stopped his voice.

And Eren... he looked indifferent, like I was a ghost that could just vanish again without a second thought.

Mikasa's gaze flickered between them all, torn, caught between the girl I was and the girl they thought they knew.

Porco and Connie exchanged quick glances, neither hiding their apathy.

The air was thick, electric, almost too heavy to breathe in. For a moment, we were all frozen, two worlds colliding, a past that refused to stay buried rising up like a tidal wave.

My smile faltered, becoming a fragile mask. I turned back to Yelena, trying to steady my shaking hands. "Yelena-" but the words caught in my throat.

In that suspended moment, the sharp truth hit me: this wasn't the new beginning I imagined. This was the past, roaring back with a vengeance. And there was no turning away now.

The door to the past had swung wide open, and I was standing right in the storm.

"Y/N, meet my brother-" Yelena said with a smile.

"His name is Armin."
︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

A/N: Damn, what just went down? Y/N and Zeke, there's definitely something sparking between them, but she has no clue he's Eren's brother...

She thought she'd meet new faces on this trip, but instead, she came face-to-face with the past.

And those old faces? They're staring at the girl they once knew, but something about her is unmistakably different.

Oh, and did you catch that? Yelena is Armin's older sister...

How's this trip going to unfold? Buckle up, it's about to get wild.

Chapter Text

Yelena's voice rang out like a warning shot.

"Y/N, meet my brother-" she smiled, effortlessly, completely unaware of the storm unraveling in my chest.

"His name is Armin."

My lungs stalled.

The name cracked something open in my chest, something I had boarded up and left to rot months ago. But I didn't look at him. I couldn't. Not yet. My eyes clung to Yelena like she was my anchor. Her tall frame blocked most of him from view, and I thanked the universe for that sliver of mercy.

I could feel the stares. All of them. Sharp, burning, like I was under a spotlight.

My fingers curled around the strap of my purse, nails digging into the faux leather. I didn't flinch, didn't move, didn't breathe.

Then Yelena's phone rang.

She raised an eyebrow, glanced at the screen. "Zeke? Where are you?" she mumbled, eyes scanning the crowd behind me.

And just like that, she stepped away, murmuring something about finding him, disappearing into the flow of passengers.

The wall was gone.

I was alone.

The silence stretched, tight as wire.

Jean was the first to speak. "No way..." His voice was barely a whisper, more disbelief than words.

"Y/N?" Sasha stepped forward, eyes wide, like she couldn't believe I was real. "Is that... really you?"

I didn't respond. I couldn't. My voice was buried under layers of ice.

Historia's voice followed, softer, more cautious. "You look... different. Really different."

"You grew up," Ymir said, a hint of a smile in her voice. "Finally."

My eyes swept the group without fully facing them. Jean. Sasha. Connie. Historia. Ymir. Pieck. Marco. Bertholdt. All of them. Mature, maybe wiser. Definitely shocked.

And then there was Reiner.

He was staring at me like he wanted to run to me, to hug me, but didn't know if he was allowed. His brows were pulled tight, jaw clenched. Big brother mode on lockdown.

"I didn't know you were coming," he finally said, voice low, rough, like it hurt to say.

"I didn't know you would be here," I answered.

Armin was still quiet.

But I could feel him. His stare. Heavy. Unreadable.

I finally looked at him. Just for a second.

And in that second, everything cracked open again.

He opened his mouth.

I looked away before he could speak.

"Didn't take long to ruin the mood," Porco muttered behind them, arms crossed.

"Don't be a dick," Pieck shot back immediately, not even glancing at him.

Eren stood a bit farther back, eyes disinterested, hands in his pockets. He didn't look at me, not really. Just past me. Like I wasn't even there.

Typical.

Mikasa stayed silent, expression unreadable, but her eyes kept flicking between me and Armin.

"You look good," Jean offered, almost awkwardly. "Different, but... good."

"Thanks," I managed. My voice cracked. I hated that.

Marco smiled, soft and warm, like he didn't want me to feel out of place. "It's good to see you again."

And Bertholdt... he just nodded. Shy and awkward as always.

I looked back toward the crowd, willing Yelena or Zeke to reappear. To rescue me from this suffocating collision of past and present.

But neither of them were in sight.

So I stood there, trying to act composed while my past stared me down like ghosts refusing to stay buried.

And all I could think was-

This trip just got a whole lot more complicated.

"So... are we just gonna pretend we don't know each other?" Connie finally spoke up, his voice cutting through the thick silence. He reached lazily into Sasha's bag of snacks, earning a half-hearted glare from her.

"Yes. Yes, we are," I said, not hesitating. My voice was firmer than I expected. I met their eyes- each one of them, slowly, deliberately. "Yelena knows everything. The whole story. Just... without the names."

The group exchanged glances. Some eyes dropped to the floor. Others narrowed. A scoff from Porco. A sigh from Mikasa. Bertholdt looked like he wanted to disappear.

"Don't bring it up," I said quieter this time. "Don't mention that we know each other. For all of our sakes."

And then... I turned to him.

"Especially you."

The words left my mouth colder than I meant them to be, but I didn't take them back.

Armin blinked. His expression didn't change immediately, but something in his eyes shifted- like a crack splintering glass. For a second, it looked like he might say something. But he didn't. He just gave a silent nod, lips parting slightly like the words were stuck somewhere in his throat.

I looked away.

Sasha cleared her throat, her voice breaking through the tension like a lifeline. "Guys... this is a sign, isn't it?" Her tone was unusually soft, unsure. "The universe literally shoved us into the same airport at the same time... can we not make this ugly? Please?"

I didn't answer. None of us did.

The silence returned like a wave. It lingered, growing heavier by the second, until Jean stepped forward.

"We can pretend," he said. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried weight. "In front of Yelena. In front of Zeke. We'll fake it for them."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, eyes dark under the bright airport lights. "But we can't fake it with each other. We can't act like nothing happened between us. We need to talk. All of us. As soon as we land."

Surprisingly, heads nodded. One by one. Sasha. Connie. Historia. Even Ymir. No one argued. Not even Mikasa.

And then-

Two hands gently landed on my shoulders, familiar and warm. I turned, instantly relaxing when I saw who it was.

Zeke.

"Hey," he said, smiling, a little breathless. "You actually came."

I smiled back, small but real, and wrapped him into a quick hug. "Told you I would."

Before Zeke could even say something else, Eren's voice snapped through the moment like a whip.

"Oh, fuck no," he muttered from behind us, face twisted in unmistakable annoyance.

Zeke just rolled his eyes with a quiet chuckle, like he was used to it.

Yelena returned seconds later, breezing through the tension with a wide grin, completely oblivious. "Okay! Here they are!" she announced, pulling out a neatly stacked bunch of plane tickets from her coat pocket. "One for each of you- don't lose them. And yes, I triple-checked the seating."

She started handing them out, still smiling like she was hosting a summer camp.

As I took mine, my eyes flicked back to the group, still standing there like statues. Ghosts from a life I buried, now sitting just rows away from me for the next few hours.

God, I hope this flight doesn't kill me.

Because I'm not sure what's waiting on the other side will be any easier.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

The plane cabin was buzzing softly, that mechanical hum paired with murmurs of tired passengers and overhead luggage being shoved into place. I double-checked my seat number. 14B. Middle seat.

Of course.

I slipped into it, bracing myself for whoever would take the window and aisle. My heart was already fluttering like it knew something I didn't.

Zeke showed up first, dropping into the aisle seat beside me with a soft groan. "Middle seat, huh? Should've guessed you'd be the unlucky one," he said with a grin, nudging my arm lightly.

I gave him a small smile. "Wouldn't be my life if it wasn't a little cursed."

He chuckled, pulling out his earbuds and settling in. "You'll survive. I'll protect you from the crying babies and turbulence."

I relaxed, just slightly. Zeke always had that effect. Something about him was... grounding. Warm in a quiet way.

But then came the second shadow.

I didn't even need to look.

My entire body tensed before his voice even came out.

"...Excuse me."

Armin.

I slowly turned my head and saw him standing there, ticket in hand, looking at the seat beside mine like it personally offended him.

His eyes flicked up to mine, and for a second, they held. Something unreadable passed between us, recognition, tension, disbelief, maybe all three. But he didn't say a word.

Good.

I shifted slightly to let him through, and he moved in, sliding into the window seat without another glance.

The air changed.

Zeke didn't seem to notice. "Yo, I think we've got the only row without a toddler," he said, stretching his legs out. "We might actually sleep."

I pressed my back to the seat, heart thudding too loud. Armin's arm was just a few centimeters from mine. I could feel his warmth. It made my skin crawl and ache all at once.

I reached for my headphones, trying to shut everything out, but the hum in my chest wasn't going anywhere.

About half an hour into the flight, I started feeling it.

That dizzy, off-kilter float in my head. The nausea. The tight chest. My vision blurred slightly, the pressurized cabin feeling too small, too loud, too much.

Zeke noticed first. "Hey-" His voice lowered. "You alright?"

I didn't answer at first. I couldn't. I just kept my eyes forward, lips slightly parted, trying to take deep breaths without drawing attention.

"Y/N." He leaned in, concern written all over his face now. "You don't look good."

"I'm fine," I whispered, even though I wasn't.

But my hands were shaking.

Without hesitation, Zeke reached over and gently took mine. His grip was firm, warm, reassuring. "It's probably altitude. Close your eyes. Breathe with me, alright?"

I did as he said. Inhale. Exhale. Again. His thumb moved slowly over my knuckles, grounding me. Like he actually gave a damn.

And then-

Armin shifted beside me.

I could feel the tension radiating from him, even though he hadn't said a word. His body had gone rigid, jaw clenched ever so slightly as he stared straight ahead.

He didn't look at us, but he didn't need to. I could feel it.

That weird... energy. Like something crawling under his skin. A twist in his gut he couldn't name.

And I didn't know why.

Zeke gave my hand one last squeeze. "Better?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Thank you."

And finally, finally, Armin spoke. Quiet. Cold. "If you're not feeling well, maybe you should ask the stewardess for ginger ale. Helps with nausea."

I turned my head slightly, meeting his eyes for a single second. They were unreadable. Detached. But not really.

Zeke raised a brow but said nothing.

I just turned back in my seat, pulled my hand away, and closed my eyes.

I could feel both of them beside me.

Two worlds I never meant to bring together.

And now I was trapped between them- thousands of feet in the air, with nowhere to run.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

The mansion was quiet, the kind of silence that felt almost sacred after the chaotic airport reunion. I led them through the grand entrance, my footsteps echoing softly against the marble floor. Every corner of this place held memories I didn't share anymore, but today it was just a space, a backdrop for what was to come.

"This is the living room," I said, gesturing around the high-ceilinged room flooded with afternoon light. "The kitchen's just through there." I paused, watching their eyes flicker over the expensive furniture, the art my mom had collected, the subtle signs of a life far from the chaos I'd escaped.

Yelena leaned against the doorway, arms crossed with that confident smirk she always wore when she was about to take charge. "Alright," she said, cracking her knuckles. "Let's settle the room situation before we get too comfortable. I'm the oldest here, so I'm deciding the pairings. And yes Y/N, I know it's your house."

A few raised eyebrows met her declaration, but no one dared argue.

"Y/N, I assume you have your own room?," Yelena said and I answered with a nod, she smiled, looking at me like she'd just handed me a crown and a grenade all at once.

I tried to hold back a laugh, she was funny when she felt in control.

"Me and Zeke will share," she continued, "because you we are tight."

Zeke flashed her a small smile, nodding his head several times before patting my head.

"Eren and Armin together," she said, eyes narrowing with a hint of amusement. "Because they obviously can't get enough of each other."

Jean and Connie were next, then Sasha and Mikasa, followed by Pieck and Porco, Yelena's tone dropping ever so slightly when she named those two, they were chattering without listening to her and that annoyed her.

"Marco, Bertholdt, and Reiner will take the guest wing."

I caught Reiner's gaze, steady, unreadable.

"I have my own room too you know? It's my mom's house." Reiner spoke up, making Yelena's eyes slightly widen "Yo- how did I never realise? You're Y/Ns brother!"

Reiner nodded and then it was settled, Bertholdt and Marco while Reiner and I took our own rooms.

"Ymir and Historia are together because I love them," Yelena finished, folding her arms.

A hush fell over the group. It was more than just room assignments; it was a quiet map of old alliances, new tensions, and unspoken histories.

I kept my face neutral, but inside, my heart was a mix of nerves and something dangerous-anticipation.

Yelena's smile softened for a moment. "Alright, now that's done, anyone hungry? I'm thinking grocery run because I know damn well that fridge is empty." Sasha gasped at the idea of not having food.

Zeke and Yelena eventually exchanged a look and disappeared down the hallway, leaving the rest of us to settle in.

The mansion suddenly felt too big, too full of ghosts waiting to come alive.

"So- are we finally talking?-" Jean asked and I didn't answer, I took my suitcase and headed upstairs, obviously avoiding a conversation, a discussion.

Soon I heard other footsteps which meant everyone was going to find their rooms to unpack.

I can already tell that the time being here will be hell.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

The house had fallen into a strange, uneasy quiet ever since everyone had disappeared into their assigned rooms. Hours had passed in a haze of unpacking, muffled footsteps, and doors softly clicking shut. Even when Yelena and Zeke returned from the grocery run, arms full of bags and stories, the tension clung to us like dust in the air, undisturbed, unspoken.

Some helped in the kitchen, laughter forced, smiles plastic. Dinner was a performance. Everyone played their parts well, just enough laughter, just enough casual glances, all of it orchestrated so neither Zeke nor Yelena would sense the landmine that was buried beneath every word.

But I felt it. Every stare, every unspoken memory. It was like trying to breathe through silk, soft, suffocating, and slow.

Now, hours later, I was alone in my room. The mansion had slipped into its nighttime hush. Silence had reclaimed the halls, save for the occasional creak of wood settling, or the soft hum of Paris beyond the walls.

I'd cracked open the tall glass doors that led to the terrace. A warm breeze kissed my skin as I stepped out, wrapping myself in the soft fabric of my robe. The night air was rich with scent, jasmine, earth, and a faint trace of bread and wine drifting in from the city.

And there it was.

The Eiffel Tower.

Lit up like a dream, casting golden shimmer across the horizon. It stood tall and proud, a monument not just of metal, but of memory. The Seine glittered in the distance like spilled silver, and the heartbeat of Paris thudded quietly beneath it all. From here, the world didn't look broken. It looked like it had healed, glowed even brighter because of the cracks.

I leaned against the iron railing, soaking it in. The coolness of it pressed into my arms as I rested my weight, heart heavy, lungs trying to drink in peace.

Then I heard it.

The faintest creak behind me.

Before I could even turn, a hand slid over my mouth and an arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me back inside. The glass doors shut behind us with a click.

I struggled instinctively, panic flooding my system, until I heard the voice.

"Y/N, stop- stop, it's me. It's just me."

Armin.

He let go quickly, holding his hands up like he'd touched fire. My back hit the wall, breathing shallow as I stared at him in disbelief. He looked different up close in the dark, older, jaw sharper, glasses slightly askew. But his eyes... those stupid, soft, calculating eyes were still the same.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I snapped, my voice a harsh whisper. "You can't just grab people like that-"

"I'm sorry," he cut in quickly, his voice low but desperate. "I just- I didn't want anyone else to hear. I needed to talk to you. Alone."

I shook my head. "We said no talking. We're pretending, remember? That's the plan."

"I can't pretend," he said, taking a small step closer. "Not with you."

I turned my back to him, trying to walk away, but he followed, his voice pulling at the rawest parts of me.

"I never got to say I'm sorry. Not really. Not to your face."

His words were too much. Too real. I turned, fists clenched.

"You think sorry fixes anything?" My voice cracked. "You think you can sneak into my room and throw apologies at me like that's going to glue me back together?"

"I didn't know what I was doing, I never meant to hurt you this bad-"

"Yes, you did!" I yelled, louder than I meant to, voice trembling now. "You knew exactly what you were doing. You watched me fall apart piece by piece and you didn't stop. You didn't stop! You let it happen."

I shoved his chest, hard. He didn't move.

"You used me. You twisted everything in my head, made me doubt myself, made me think I was crazy!"

I hit him again, fists slamming against his chest, not enough to hurt but enough to shake. My tears finally broke free, hot and fast.

"I was alone, Armin. And you were supposed to be the quiet one, the harmless one, the one who couldn't hurt a fly. But you were the worst."

He didn't try to stop me. He just stood there, taking it, his hands clenched at his sides like he was punishing himself with every word I screamed.

My body crumbled as the weight of it all dragged me to the floor, sobs racking through me in waves I couldn't hold back anymore.

And still, he said nothing.

He just slowly lowered himself to the floor beside me. Not touching. Not speaking.

Just there.

Like a ghost haunting the mess he helped create.

And I hated how much I still felt him.

Even in silence.

"I lost my best friends because of you! I lost everything I had because of you!" I sobbed, my fists slamming into his chest again, weaker this time, trembling with the weight of everything I never got to say.

My voice cracked with every syllable. "I'm not stupid, Armin! I know I was cruel the first year! I realise it now! I was a nightmare- I humiliated you, I bullied you. I get it!"

Tears streamed down my face like fire. My throat ached. "But what you did to me- what you became-" I shook my head violently. "You made me insane. You made me question everything. And that's worse. That's so much worse."

"You're horrible," I screamed, the word ripping out of me like it had been trapped inside for years. "You made me hate myself. I looked in the mirror and didn't know who I was anymore- and it was all because of you."

He just stood there, jaw tight, eyes glistening, but he didn't defend himself. He didn't flinch. He let me take it all out on him like he believed he deserved it. And maybe he did.

But I wasn't calming down. If anything, the rage was growing, bigger, louder, redder because for the first time, I was finally allowed to feel it. The other rooms could probably hear me but I didn't care.

And then he did something I didn't expect.

His hand, shaky, cautious, trembling like a leaf in the wind, reached up behind my head. And before I could pull away, before I could scream at him to back off, he gently pulled me forward-

And pressed my face into his chest.

My breath caught. My fists froze mid-air.

He hugged me.

Not hard. Not forceful. Not like he was trying to fix anything.

Just... firm enough to hold the broken pieces.

I was stunned.

Every nerve in my body screamed to push him away. But my body didn't move. Because the feeling of him around me, his heartbeat echoing in my ear, steady and real, was disarming in a way I hated. It was like standing in the eye of the storm and finally understanding what quiet meant.

"I know," he whispered, his voice hoarse, barely there. "I know what I did. I let it happen. I stood by. And when I acted, it was already too late. But I swear to you, I never meant for it to get that far."

His fingers dug slightly into my back, like he was holding on for dear life. "You hurt me back then, Y/N. You really did. But I never wanted my revenge to go this far. I just wanted you to see me, see the way I hurt."

"And you did," he breathed. "In a really bad way."

I was sobbing into his shirt now, fists balled against his chest like I couldn't decide if I wanted to fight or fall apart completely. The silence between us was louder than my cries, louder than the city outside. It pressed in around us like a cage.

"I hated you," I whispered, voice barely audible.

"I know."

"I still do."

He nodded.

"But I think I hate myself more."

That's when he pulled back just enough to look at me.

And his eyes... God, his eyes weren't soft anymore. They weren't cold either. They were something else entirely. Wrecked. Raw. Haunted.

"I never wanted to break you," he said. "I just didn't know how to stop once I started. And by the time I realised I'd become the villain in your story..."

His voice broke. "You were already gone."

I stared at him, blinking through my tears.

And in that moment, we were no longer predator and prey.

No longer bully and victim.

We were two people who had ripped each other apart and were now sitting in the ruins, staring at the damage with bleeding hands.

"You don't get to be forgiven," I finally whispered, voice steady despite the chaos in my chest. "Not yet."

"I know."

He didn't let go.

And I didn't pull away.

Because sometimes the most painful thing isn't hate.

It's remembering how close it once came to being something else.
︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

A/N: woah- what’s going on here? Y/N and Armin having a moment without hurting each other?

Is Yelena actually clueless about everything?

How will Y/N and Armin’s relationship be now? And will the group reunite?

Stay tuned!

Chapter Text

I didn't sleep.
Not a second.

My eyes stayed open all night, fixed on the ceiling as if the plaster might offer answers. But there were none. Just silence. Heavy, echoing silence, and the ghost of everything that had happened on this floor, my floor.

I had unraveled in front of him.
And he just... let me.

What bothered me most wasn't the breakdown, not the yelling, not the fists pounding his chest like I was trying to bruise the guilt into him.
It was the way he took it.

He didn't flinch.
He didn't argue.
He didn't throw words back in my face like most would.

He just stood there, eyes full of something unreadable, and let me destroy him.
And when I was done, when I was shaking, raw, ugly-crying on the cold floor like some tragic cliché... he hugged me.

He hugged me.

Not a weak, awkward thing either, no. It was grounding. Steady. A hand behind my head, another around my back, like he'd done it a thousand times before. Like my breakdown had always been inevitable, and he'd been waiting for it.

That's what made me sick.
Not the hug.
The fact that it felt safe.

I wanted to claw the memory out of my head. I wanted to forget how warm his chest had felt, how fast his heartbeat had been, how I could hear his breathing when he thought I was too far gone to notice.

I hated how quiet he was.
How he didn't defend himself.
How he didn't explain, justify, manipulate- nothing.

He just held me, like that was enough.

And maybe, in that moment, it had been.

But now? In the cold light of morning, with the Paris sun bleeding through my curtains and the city buzzing far below?

It wasn't.

None of it made sense.
None of it made me feel better.

If anything, I felt worse.

Because somewhere in the mess of all the chaos...
I saw a version of him I didn't recognize.
And that scared the hell out of me.

It scared me how I felt comfortable in his arms for that one moment, even that minute was too much. I was supposed to forget him, forget them all but Yelena- she ruined everything. I can't even blame her because she didn't do it on purpose...

Right?
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──
(Yelena's POV, first weeks of tutoring):

It started with the tea.

"I'm dying- I'll go make us some tea," Y/N groaned, tossing her pen aside like it had personally offended her. I let out a small laugh as she disappeared out of the room in those ridiculous fluffy slippers she always wore when she studied.

The second she was gone, I looked around her open notebook.

Messy handwriting. Obsessive detail. She was too smart for her own good. The kind of smart that didn't let people in easily. The kind that only let people see the surface. I'd always known there was more underneath.

But I hadn't expected it to be this.

Her phone buzzed once. Then twice. A soft, innocent sound. But it was enough. I glanced at it on the edge of the bed.

Only a sliver of the notification bar was visible:
Unsaved number: Hey Y/N...it's Sasha. I'm using my mom's phone to text you, can you please tell me why you blocked us?

I froze.

Sasha as in....Sasha Braus?
That wasn't a coincidence.
I knew that name. The last time I had visited him, a girl with brown hair and sunshine personality was there, Sasha. That was exactly her name, so how could this be?

My mind snapped back.

Could it really be her?
The girl from the beginning. The first girl. The one who'd cracked him open and then got torn apart in return.
He never gave me a name. He never had to.
He always just said:
"She deserved it. But sometimes I wish I hadn't watched her unravel so slow."

I needed to know.

I waited for her to come back. Calm. Smiling. Two mugs in hand.

"Chamomile okay?" she asked, setting one down in front of me.

"Perfect," I said, taking a sip. I didn't look up. Didn't push. Not yet.

I flipped casually through a textbook page and then said, just quiet enough, "It's kind of funny, you know?"

She blinked. "What is?"

"How everyone has a reputation before you ever meet them." I kept my voice light, my tone reflective. "Like, in high school, you could be an entirely different person depending on who you asked. Some thought I was terrifying. Some thought I was a genius. Some thought I didn't even speak."

She chuckled, sipping her tea.

I looked at her, slow and steady. "What were you like in high school? Or like early college years?"

Y/N hesitated. Just for a second. Barely even visible. But I caught it.

She shrugged. "Complicated. Not the best version of myself."

I nodded as if that meant nothing. But inside, I smiled.

"Did people like you?"

"Some did." Another sip. Another pause. "Some... didn't. I was kind of a bitch my first year. I had a lot going on. Not an excuse, I know, but... I used to take it out on this one guy."

I looked down at the table like I wasn't hanging on her every word. Like my stomach didn't just clench.

"Oh?" I murmured.

She laughed, short and hollow. "Yeah. Poor kid. I made his life hell. He was quiet, nerdy, really fucking smart though. I guess I was jealous. Me and two of my- old friends used to humiliate his all the time."

My hand tightened slightly around the mug. She didn't notice.

"Did he ever fight back?" I asked, my tone light.

"Oh, yeah," she said, eyes dark. "Not at first. But later... he ruined me. In this subtle, twisted way. Like he was playing a long game and I didn't even know I was a pawn. I thought I was losing my mind."

My heart rate picked up.

Bingo.

"And you never told anyone?" I tilted my head.

"I did, no one believed me," she whispered, voice cracking. "By then, everyone believed that I had gone insane. And he was... he was just so good at pretending. Like he didn't know what was happening to me. Like he wasn't behind it all."

My mouth felt dry.

She had no idea.

No clue that I knew exactly who she was talking about.
That the boy she'd tormented-
The boy who destroyed her in return-

Was my brother.

I leaned back in my chair, sipping my tea like I hadn't just unlocked the final piece of the puzzle.

"Oh, and what was his name?" I asked with a casual smile.

But she only laughed. "You wouldn't know him."

No, sweetheart.
You don't know me.

And you sure as hell don't know my brother.

But now I know exactly who you are.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──
(Later that night, 3rd person POV):

Ring.

Ring.

"...Hello?"

Armin's voice came through low, groggy, like he'd been asleep or buried in research again.

Yelena leaned against her kitchen counter, a glass of red wine in one hand, the other holding her phone against her ear with a smirk planted on her face.

"Hey baby brother," she said, voice sweet but dipped in something unreadable.

"Yelena?" Armin rubbed his face. "Is everything okay?"

"Oh, everything's fine. Just had an interesting night."

She heard him pause. He never liked small talk. Never liked the edge in her voice when she was circling prey.

"You remember all those nights you called me in tears? Last year? When everything was falling apart?"

A long silence.

"Yes," he said finally.

Yelena smiled. "You never told me her name."

Armin didn't answer.

"You said she made you feel invisible. Made you hate yourself. That she made the world small and unbearable," she continued, her voice feather-light but sharp underneath. "You said she broke you. That she humiliated you in front of everyone."

His breathing changed. Barely. But she caught it.

"Funny thing is," Yelena went on, "tonight, I had a study session with this girl. Really sweet, smart, anxious as hell. She's doing better now. Trying, at least. We had some tea. She laughed at my playlist. And somewhere between organic chemistry and talking about the past, she told me a story."

Silence. Still.

"A story about a boy she used to bully. A quiet one. Someone she used to humiliate with her friends. Funny thing is she mentioned that the same boy got his revenge on her, made her go crazy and make everyone think she was insane."

"Yelena..." Armin's voice was quiet. Taut. Dangerous.

"I didn't say her name," she said, swirling her wine. "Didn't need to. I saw the look in your eyes back then. I remember the journal entries you begged me not to read. I know who she is. And you do, too."

"I didn't want you to find out who she was."

"Oh, I know," she replied, smiling wider. "But fate's got a funny sense of humor, doesn't it?"

Armin said nothing.

"So here's what I'm wondering," she continued, softer now. "You going to try and finish what you started?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean..." She took a slow sip. "You planted a seed in her head months ago. She's still living in the fallout. I saw her, she's alive, Armin. Breathing, different. Softer. Guilty. She's no longer the monster you made her out to be."

She paused. Let that sit.

"...So what happens now?" she asked. "Do you let her be? Or do you twist the knife deeper?"

More silence. Then-

"I don't, I never meant to go that far. I don't want to hurt her anymore."

Yelena's smile faded. Her voice turned colder.

"I do. For you my baby brother."

She ended the call.

The line went dead.

And in two different cities, two siblings stared into the dark, one with a spinning mind, the other with a smirk.

Both knowing this wasn't over. Not even close.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──
(Before Y/N and Armin's talk):

The kitchen is empty, dimly lit by the golden glow of the under-cabinet lights. The others have retreated to their rooms, tension diffused across the house like perfume in the air, heavy, invisible, everywhere. Outside, Paris breathes under moonlight.

Yelena leans against the marble counter, her arms crossed, one foot tapping lightly against the tile. Armin stands near the window, the light of the Eiffel Tower reflecting in his glasses, his jaw tight.

"You're not doing it," Armin says quietly, but the firmness in his voice cuts through the silence like a blade. "You're not going to use her for some revenge fantasy."

Yelena's eyes narrow, lips twitching with a bitter, disbelieving smile. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

"I did, I'm just shocked you're speaking like you didn't come crawling into my apartment half-dead because of her. You rode the bus for hours just to cry to me."

Armin exhales through his nose, sharp, controlled. "That was different. That was then."

Yelena steps closer, voice low, dangerous. "You don't get to rewrite history just because you saw her in a weak position."

"I'm not rewriting anything," he says, finally turning to face her. "But I'm not letting you ruin her life because you're still angry about what happened to me."

Yelena laughs. "Still angry? Armin, she destroyed you."

"I destroyed myself." His voice rises now, not loud but urgent. "She bullied me, yes. But I manipulated her. I messed with her mind. I turned everyone against her and I watched her fall apart. That's not on you. That's not yours to avenge."

"You're being naive." Her tone is cold. "You think she changed? She didn't. Girls like her don't. They evolve into prettier, more dangerous versions of the same monster."

"She did change." He says it without thinking, and the weight of it hangs in the air between them.

Yelena tilts her head. "How would you know?"

"I see it." He doesn't look away. "She's not the same. And neither am I."

Yelena scoffs, shaking her head. "You're not seeing clearly. Did I raise you this way Armin? What did I teach you about reading people like books?"

Armin doesn't flinch. "This world isn't a movie Yelena, stop feeling like the main character for once in your life. It was your idea to come here, what sick game are you playing?"

She steps closer. "It's not a game. It's balance. You know that. Actions have consequences."

"She already paid for hers," he says. "So did I. Let it end."

Yelena watches him, searching his face for weakness. "Why now?" she asks finally. "Why stop me now?"

Armin's gaze drifts toward the hallway, toward where he knows her room is.

"Because if you do this," he says, "I don't know who I'll become again. And I don't want to lose myself over her twice."

Yelena stares at him, but this time, she says nothing. And that silence tells him everything.

He turns and walks away before she can stop him, footsteps quiet, but his heartbeat is thunder in his ears.

And just like that, he disappears into the shadows of the hallway.

Headed straight for her door.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──
(Present time, Y/Ns POV):

The cold marble floor chills my feet as I make my way to the bathroom. I rinse my face, avoiding the mirror. If I look at myself too long, I'll start to remember how pathetic I must've looked- crying, screaming, breaking. I can't afford to be that girl today. Not around them.

Especially not around him.

By the time I'm dressed, the house is already alive. I can hear muffled laughter from downstairs, the sound of chairs scraping, cups clinking against saucers. Faint music plays from the kitchen, Yelena always wakes up early. Always makes sure everything feels perfect.

I descend the grand staircase slowly. My fingers brush the smooth mahogany railing. Every step down feels like I'm slipping deeper into a performance I didn't audition for.

As I reach the landing, I catch a glimpse of them through the wide archway that leads to the dining room.

Eren is leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, eyes deadpan as ever. Sasha's saying something too fast, too loud, her hands animated. Connie's halfway through a croissant, and Jean is sipping coffee like he didn't hear any of it.

Armin is there too.

Of course he is.

He sits with his head low, his fingers wrapped around a mug like it's the only thing keeping him grounded. He doesn't look up when I walk in. None of them do at first.

Then Historia spots me. "Hey! Morning."

Everyone turns.

The room flickers. The air changes.

Armin lifts his head.

Our eyes meet.

My stomach twists.

There's no smirk on his face, no trace of that irritating calm he wears like armor. He just looks...tired. Like me. Like we both crawled out of the same nightmare and aren't sure if we're still in it.

"Morning," I say, forcing the word through my throat like it's glass. I sit at the furthest empty chair, which happens to be across from Mikasa and right next to him.

Of course.

Of course the universe arranged it that way. People call it coincidence. I call it punishment.

"Coffee?" Pieck offers, sliding the pot toward me.

I nod. My fingers curl around the cup. I don't drink. I just hold it, needing something to do with my hands before I spiral.

Armin shifts slightly beside me, like he wants to say something.

Don't.

I keep my eyes on the toast in front of me, like it's suddenly the most interesting thing in the room. I feel him glancing. Hesitating. Wanting. But I'm not giving him the space.

Not after last night.

Not after I shattered in his arms like some fragile thing.

He doesn't deserve to see that version of me again.

But the silence between us?
It isn't peace.
It's a ticking bomb.

And this breakfast?

This house?

This trip?

It's the fuse.

I butter my toast slowly, methodically, pretending I'm part of the conversation when I haven't heard a single word. Every move I make is calculated—don't look at him, don't speak to him, don't feel him.

"Y/N," Jean suddenly says, and I glance up too fast.

His tone is light. Too light.

"Wasn't your mom the one who designed that hotel on Rue de Rivoli?" he asks, like it's casual. Like it's not bait.

I nod slowly. "Yeah. That was a while ago, though."

"Impressive," Pieck hums, sipping her coffee. "She's...a powerhouse."

"She is," I murmur, fingers tightening slightly around my mug.

"That explains this place," Connie laughs. "I feel like I'm living in a Vogue photoshoot."

"Some of us belong in Vogue more than others," Mikasa adds, her eyes skating deliberately past me to Armin, like she's saying more than what's on the surface.

The air goes still.
My spine stiffens.

He doesn't respond.
Neither do I.

But the tension slithers across the table like smoke.

"Paris is romantic, huh?" Sasha pipes in, trying to cut it. "Good place to... reconnect."

I blink.

Hard.

And when I glance around the table, I know, I know, she meant it as a joke. But the second the word lands, it's like everyone goes quiet for a fraction too long.

Even Armin freezes beside me.

Re. Connect.

"You know," Jean says, voice calm but eyes sharp, "it's crazy how fast people can change. Who they were last year? Total strangers."

"Yeah," I reply, carefully. "And some people just get better at hiding who they really are."

My words hang in the air like a blade. A few people shift in their chairs. Sasha coughs softly. Jean looks away.

I feel him glance at me again- him, the boy beside me. The one who broke me apart piece by piece and didn't say a word until I collapsed. I feel the weight of his stare like it's stitched into my skin.

And I can't help it.

I finally turn to him.

Slowly.

Our eyes meet.

It's only a second.

But it's enough.

He looks at me like he's searching for something inside me.
Regret.
Resentment.
Maybe the girl I used to be.
Maybe the girl I became because of him.

He won't find either.

I hold his gaze and then turn away, smooth as glass. As if it doesn't ache.

But oh, it aches.

Across the table, Yelena's watching secretly as she pretends to not listen to our conversation while talking to Zeke, she pretends as if she doesn't know something is up. Her lips curl around her mug in a ghost of a smirk.

She sees everything.

And somehow, I know, this breakfast?
This silence?
It was never random.

It was designed.

"So," Yelena said, her voice slicing through the thick quiet like a polished blade, "how's everyone enjoying breakfast?"

The table froze.

Zeke didn't look up from his plate, but I saw the brief flicker of a smirk tug at the corner of his mouth.

Jean muttered something. Connie coughed. Sasha stuffed an entire strawberry in her mouth and chewed like it might save her life.

Then Yelena continued, voice sweet, controlled, deadly.

"Must be awkward, huh?" she said, resting her chin in her hand. "Pretending none of you know each other."

I stopped breathing.

She had known all along.

A silence so sharp it could bleed settled across the table.

"Yelena..." Armin's voice was low, strained. "Drop it."

She turned to him slowly, one perfectly arched brow raised. "Why? So you can keep pretending?"

Mikasa's eyes narrowed. Pieck looked suddenly very interested in her croissant.

"I mean, let's just lay it all out, right?" Yelena said, smiling, but not with her eyes. "Y/N, the girl who bullied my brother. Armin, the boy who dismantled her life. The rest of you? Guilty by association. And now you're all playing house in Paris like it's some reunion special."

My hands curled into fists under the table.

"Yelena," Armin said again, louder now, "enough."

"No," she snapped back, all charm gone now. "You don't get to shut me up when you've spent years shutting yourself up."

He stood suddenly, chair screeching. The room jerked like a held breath.

"This isn't about her," he said. "This is about you. You always want to show how powerful and strong you are, how you can play with people's minds. You've been planning this for a long time haven't you?!?"

She stood too, slowly. "Of course I have. You think I let her on this trip for no reason?"

Everyone stared at her.

Zeke closed his eyes, quietly cursing.

"You told me," Armin growled, "you were going to get revenge. For me. For what she did."

Yelena smirked, finally, the trap springing.

"Oh, Armin," she said, tilting her head. "You really believed that?"

He blinked. "What-?"

"You idiot, didn't think my own brother would fall for my games" she said, laughing now, almost fondly. "I was never going to touch her. I like her. I genuinely like her."

Then, like fire licking through glass, her tone darkened.

"I just needed to see how much you did."

Armin froze.

Dead still.

Everyone else sat, speechless. Eyes locked between the two siblings, as if watching a car crash in slow motion.

"You've been dancing around it for so long," Yelena continued, stepping closer to him, soft and cruel. "You let her break you. You let her crawl under your skin. You became someone else just to ruin her, and now- now she's here, in front of you, and you can't even admit it, can you?"

"I don't-" he started.

"Yes, you do," she hissed. "You don't hate her, Armin. You never did."

And then her final blow.

"You're obsessed with her."

The silence after that wasn't silence at all, it was a howl, a quake, a pulse that echoed in everyone's chest.

I couldn't feel my body anymore.

Only the blood rushing in my ears.

Only the burn in my throat.

Armin's eyes found mine and they were full of panic. Full of guilt. Full of something else I couldn't name.

And I hated it.

I hated it.

Because some part of me... believed it.

He looked like he wanted to speak.

"Oh brother," Yelena chuckled, devilishly "you didn't change to get revenge on her, you changed to impress her."

Armin's jaw clenched and he slammed his fist against the table harshly, making Historia jump in her seat.

"Bullshit!" He yelled, glaring at his older sister "Yelena do us all a favour and pack your stupid mind games up and leave us alone."

And with that he left the breakfast table, his shoulder slightly brushing against mine as he went out of my sight.

The tension was tense, everyone was quiet. Yelena was smirking in victory, Eren went after Armin, Ymir looked impressed and the others just kept quiet.

I had so many questions, so many thoughts but I just stood up and left as well.

Yelena, you scare me.
︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

A/N: what a rollercoaster dude…DAYUM.

Yelena has every right to have this chapter be named after her, she ate everyone up. She outplayed everyone, even master manipulator Armin.

Speaking of….what will happen now? Will he finally realise that he feels sometimes different than hate towards Y/N? How will their relationship turn out?

Will the friend group reconnect like Sasha wanted??

Stay tuned!!

Chapter Text

The fight. Their words. The look on his face.

It's been playing on repeat in my head like a scratched record I can't stop spinning. Obsession? Impressing me?

The word obsessed has burned a hole in my brain. I haven't spoken to anyone since I left the table, no texts, no glances, no sounds, nothing. Just me, a high ceiling, and the echo of something I don't want to name.

I didn't cry.

But I didn't sleep, either.

My skull throbbed like it was trying to split open from the inside out, and eventually, I dragged myself off the bed in search of painkillers. The ache in my head was unbearable, like a punishment. Like a truth trying to claw its way out.

But then-
knock knock.

I froze.

"It's open," I called, voice rough from the silence.

The door creaked open and there he was. Zeke. Tall, calm, chaos tucked behind his sleepy eyes. He stepped in, the scent of bergamot and smoke following him, and placed a plate on my nightstand.

"I brought fruit. And macarons. Overheard you cursing over headache many times, sugar helps with that," he said casually, like he didn't just walk into the aftermath of an emotional detonation.

I gave him a tired smile. "Thanks. That's sweet."

He didn't answer. Just sat down at the edge of my bed like he belonged there. Like this wasn't strange at all.

"You look like shit," he said bluntly.

I barked out a laugh. "That's because I feel like shit."

Then I paused.

"Zeke... you knew. Didn't you?"

The air turned heavier. His jaw ticked. He leaned back, falling onto the bed like this was a casual sleepover and not a moment I'd been mentally unraveling.

"I did," he said finally. "But don't get it twisted. I wasn't in on some evil mastermind plot. Yelena believes her little brother's got feelings he's too much of a coward to admit. I just... came along for the ride."

"And my friendship with her?" I asked, voice low. "Was that just part of the plan?"

Zeke turned his head to face me, his voice unexpectedly soft. "No. That part was real. She likes you, Y/N. I like you. Neither of us wanted to hurt you."

I looked at the ceiling again, heart hammering against my ribs like a warning bell.

"I was thinking about what Sasha said..." I muttered. "She wants the group back. The way things were before."

"Then make it happen."

I turned to him. "It's not that easy."

"It is," he said. "You're just afraid."

I scoffed. "Afraid? Porco and Eren hate me. Armin's a walking war I want nothing to do with. Mikasa's probably two seconds away from drop-kicking me off the Eiffel Tower."

Zeke smiled, eyes crinkling. "You're dramatic. But charming."

"I don't even know why they hate me now," I said, pressing my hands to my face. "I changed. I thought I was sweet now."

"You are," Zeke said without hesitation.

I glanced at him. Our faces were closer than I realized. Too close.

"You're sweet. You're strong. You've got more heart than most people I've met. You should be proud of the person you've become."

My breath caught. His voice was too sincere. Too smooth.

I smiled and looked away. He chuckled, low and deep, and I felt it in my stomach.

"Don't worry about Eren," he said, sitting up. "I'll talk to him. He's my brother, after all."

I blinked. "Wait. What? He's the brother you've been talking about?-"

He shrugged, pulling out a cigarette. "Half-brother. But yeah."

I stared. "You're telling me I've been trauma-bonding with the older version of the guy who literally hates my guts?"

Zeke lit the cigarette and took a slow drag, like he had all the time in the world.

"Life's funny like that."

"I hate it here," I whispered.

He grinned.

"Look," he said, blowing out smoke, "you should take Sasha's offer. Hang out with them. Reconnect. Show them who you are now."

I hesitated.

"What if it goes wrong?"

He tilted his head, voice dropping a note deeper. "Don't you trust me, darling?"

I looked at him, eyes locking. His gaze was steady. Dangerous. Kind.

"I do," I whispered. "I'm just scared."

Zeke reached out and gently turned my face toward him, his thumb brushing my chin.

"Overthinking'll drive you crazy," he murmured, so close I could feel the warmth of his breath. "And trust me... you've already got enough people trying to do that for you."

He kissed my forehead, then stood, grabbing his cigarette and heading to the door like he hadn't just shaken my entire nervous system.

"Oh," he added, flashing me a grin over his shoulder. "Eat your fruit. It's healthy."

Click. The door closed behind him.

And I just... flopped back on the bed, pressing a pillow over my face to muffle the scream rising in my chest. Ain't no way Zeke just made my heart beat faster.

Am I actually falling for Zeke?

God help me.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

"Y/N?? — Is it true?!?"

The door slammed open with the grace of a hurricane and Sasha barreled into my room like she'd been launched from a cannon. My eyes snapped open just in time to see her wild hair and excited face bounce into my peripheral.

I groaned. "Sasha- what?" My voice cracked, still thick with exhaustion.

I had finally managed to drift into sleep after a sleepless night, hours of headaches, the mental whiplash of Yelena's breakfast bombshell and the weird sensation with Zeke. My body felt like it had been glued to the bed.

She didn't care.

"Zeke said you want to bond with us again!!" she squealed, bouncing in place like a kid on Christmas morning. Her joy was almost offensive.

I blinked. "He said what?"

Curse him. Couldn't even wait for our talk to turn a day old.

I sighed and sat up, rubbing the crusted corners of my eyes. "Yeah. It's true. But can I nap now? You know, like a regular tired human being?"

Sasha whined dramatically. "Come on! We're in Paris, and we haven't even left this rich-people mansion once! We've just been sleeping, eating, or fighting the whole time."

She yanked my blanket off like it was personal. The cold air sliced across my skin and I physically recoiled, grabbing at the fabric.

"We should go out. Dinner! Fancy dinner! Bread! Wine! A waiter that says bonjour in a hot accent!"

I buried my face in my hands and let out the world's most defeated sigh. "Fine. Tell the others. I'll be downstairs in an hour."

She gasped. "You will?!"

"Yes. But if you don't let me sleep for at least forty-five minutes, I'm strangling you with this blanket."

Sasha beamed. "Deal!"

And then she sprinted out of the room, yelling like she was announcing the Second Coming. I heard her down the hallway, screaming my name like it was a party invitation. God help me.

I flopped back onto the mattress, dragging the blanket over my face again and letting out a muffled groan into the pillow.

The room fell quiet once more.

But then, slowly, softly, I felt it.

A tug at the corner of my lips.

A smile.

It was small. Unwanted, even. But it was there. Buried under all the pain and uncertainty, a quiet warmth began to bloom.

Maybe it was Sasha's joy.
Maybe it was Zeke's words.
Maybe it was the idea that, despite everything, there might still be a piece of me that wanted to try again.

Try being happy again.

I didn't know if it would last.

But I let the smile linger anyway.

And for the first time in a long time, I felt something almost dangerous.

Hope.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

"Are we seriously walking?" Pieck groaned as she buckled her heels at the entrance, her voice dripping with theatrical despair. "I'm already tired."

Porco pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'll carry you if you start crying, alright?"

"Oh please," she huffed, swatting his arm.

"Stop whining for fuck's sake," Jean muttered, adjusting the collar of his coat with a dramatic flair. "It's literally a ten-minute walk. You'll survive."

I flicked the lights off and joined the group clustered by the grand front door, slipping on my own heels with a sigh. Everyone was already half-bickering, half-laughing. The kind of chaos that didn't feel quite like home yet, but didn't feel foreign anymore either.

"Alright," I said, grabbing my purse. "Let's go."

And just like that, all of us, every single one of us, stepped into the Paris night.

The cobblestones of the Champs-Élysées gleamed beneath the streetlamps, glossy from an earlier drizzle. The city was alive, buzzing with glittering storefronts and lovers wrapped in designer coats. It felt surreal. Cinematic.

Some of us chatted and laughed. Others strolled in pairs, hand-in-hand, the kind of romance this city seemed to demand. And then there were those who lingered at the back, quiet shadows trailing the group like ghosts.

Like Armin.

I didn't look back.

Instead, I locked into an oddly fascinating conversation with Zeke about French history, his voice was calm, deep, occasionally teasing. His knowledge came easy, and before I knew it, we were standing in front of the restaurant.

It looked expensive. Classy. Bathed in warm golden light, the kind of place that didn't even try to look welcoming, it just was. Powerfully, effortlessly so.

A waitress greeted us immediately in French, her tone clipped and elegant.

"J'aime baguette," Sasha said with wild confidence, causing Connie to snort behind her and break into a mocking French accent that made no sense at all.

I was about to save us all from public embarrassment when Jean stepped forward.

And damn.

He answered her in smooth, fluent French, fluent. His voice dipped low and velvety, so natural it was like watching someone completely shift forms.

The hostess smiled back, instantly charmed, and in seconds, we were being led through the velvet ropes to a massive table by the window.

I stared at him. "Okay- what the fuck? You speak French?"

Jean shrugged like it was nothing, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips. "Y/N," he said, sliding into his seat beside me, "I am French."

I blinked. "You're what?"

Zeke chuckled from my other side, clearly enjoying my confusion. I sat down slowly, slipping off my coat and trying not to let my mouth hang open.

Apparently I didn't know these people as well as I thought.

The room was low-lit and impossibly chic crystal chandeliers, dark velvet walls, gold cutlery. Everyone found their seats, the energy still light and excited, buzzing with Parisian magic.

Sasha leaned over and whispered, "Would it be weird if we played games here?"

Mikasa, ever the realist, didn't miss a beat. "Yes, Sasha. It would."

She sighed dramatically, slumping in her seat like a sulking child.

And as menus were passed around and glasses of water were poured with elegant precision, I looked around the table, at them. My former enemies. My maybe-friends. This bizarre little family thrown back together in the most ridiculous city in the world.

Something was shifting. I could feel it.

Something big was coming.

But for now... there was laughter. There was heat. There was tension.

And there was Paris.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

"Y/N... you're definitely full, right?"

I looked up to find Sasha giving me her best puppy-dog eyes, locked onto my half-finished plate of pasta like it was the last meal on earth. I sighed, snatching my last piece of garlic bread before sliding the plate toward her.

Her eyes sparkled. "YES." She clapped like a child, immediately diving in with pure, unfiltered joy. It was kind of adorable. If world peace could be brokered with carbs, Sasha would've saved us all by now.

The table was loud, Connie slurring his words slightly from too much wine, Ymir and Historia curled up together like a pastel indie movie couple, Sasha whispering love songs to her ravioli, but underneath the laughter, the tension simmered.

Like an open flame beneath thin ice.

Yelena and Armin hadn't exchanged a single word since the confrontation. Not a glance. Not even a breath shared. Her posture was rigid. His eyes, hollow.

Eren and Porco, on the other hand, did look. At me. Every chance they got. Glares sharp enough to cut through the noise, through the candles and clinking glasses and false sense of joy.

I ignored them.

Tried to.

"Okay- what if we do something crazy?" Connie slurred suddenly, knocking his elbow into a water glass that wobbled dangerously. Great.

Reiner groaned, already rubbing his temples. "You already sound like a threat."

Oh right. Reiner. We hadn't really spoken either. That... bridge was still on fire.

Connie held up both hands, mock innocence written all over his face. "Hear me out: we go back. We drink everything. We smoke. We get high as hell. Just for one night- no drama. No bullshit. Just us. Loosened up and off our asses."

Jean stared at him like he was watching a crime unfold. Mikasa was already shaking her head before he even finished the sentence.

Sasha was too busy making out with a spoonful of pasta to respond.

"Come on," Connie pleaded, eyes wide with alcohol-induced optimism. "We're a mess when we're sober. Let's be a better kind of mess."

"I agree," Porco said, voice cool, casual- unexpected. My eyes snapped to him.

Seriously? Porco?

"But where are we getting weed?" he added.

Connie rolled his eyes, practically skipping now. "Dude. We're in France. We can find it faster than you can say 'oui oui.'"

With that, he pushed back from the table like a man on a mission. "Alright my beautiful degenerates, let's head home and fuck this night up in the best way possible!"

Everyone started standing, a mixture of groaning, laughing, stumbling, and coat-grabbing. It was chaos, golden, glittery, dangerous chaos. The kind Paris seems to bottle in the air.

Zeke and I argued at the host stand about the bill for fifteen full minutes, the kind of petty, ridiculous back-and-forth only people on the edge of something romantic would have.

Spoiler: I won.

He smirked as I handed over my card. "Stubborn little thing, aren't you?"

"Don't test me," I whispered. But there was a grin fighting its way onto my face.

And with that, we were off again, heels clacking on cobblestone, laughter echoing down the streets of the city of love, of sin, of everything in between.

None of us said it out loud. But we knew.

The night was about to slip out of our control.

And something, someone, was bound to crack.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

Connie, true to his word, had managed to find weed faster than anyone could say oui. By the time we got back from the restaurant, everyone had changed into something more comfortable and started trickling down into the living room.

I was the first to get ready, so I took the chance to set up the coffee table, lining it with snacks, bottles of liquor, and every type of glass imaginable. Shot glasses, wine glasses, tumblers. You name it, it was there.

"Alright, ground rule number one," Connie announced as he flopped down onto the couch, already grinning like a menace. "No fucking in front of the group. Everything else? Fair game." He threw a look at Ymir and Historia, who only laughed.

I held back a snort and flipped off the main lights, letting the room glow with LED strips I'd turned on for the vibe. The air was already thick with excitement, everyone slowly gathering in a loose circle on the floor.

Everyone, except Marco and Bertholdt, who'd tapped out early claiming exhaustion. And Armin, who said he wasn't in the mood and was going to bed. Convenient.

"New rule!" Connie shouted, holding up a full shot glass like it was a trophy. "Everyone has to take a shot of vodka before we start. Gotta loosen the hell up!"

Without hesitation, he downed his in one go, slamming the glass against the table with dramatic flair.

Surprisingly, almost everyone followed.

"Don't break anything or you'll have to sell your organs to pay my mom back," I chuckled, tipping back my drink.

"Okay, sorry Miss Rich Girl," Connie snorted, rolling his eyes but laughing as he took a long hit before passing it to Ymir.

"We're partying like crazy- I love it!" Sasha grinned, practically vibrating with excitement as she wedged a family-sized bag of chips between her legs.

"You know what we should do?" Connie said, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Truth, Shot, or Dare! Not just truth or dare, we level it up."

"I don't see a problem," Jean shrugged. One by one, everyone agreed. Even me.

"Great!" Connie clapped his hands, already way too hyped. "I'll go first. Mikasa! truth or dare?"

Mikasa raised a brow like she was bored, then said calmly, "Dare."

"I dare you to leave a nasty hickey on Eren," he grinned, failing to hide his devilish delight.

Without flinching, Mikasa reached over, grabbed Eren by the hair, and pulled his head back. Her lips met his neck like she was trying to mark territory, dominant, unapologetic, and honestly a little scary. Everyone hollered and laughed.

"Porco," Mikasa said next, smoothing her hair like nothing happened, "truth or dare?"

"Truth," Porco said, slouched against the couch arm.

"Is it true you slept with Pieck in the lecture hall?" Mikasa smirked.

Porco's jaw dropped. "What the f-" he muttered, shooting a side glance at Pieck. But instead of answering, he grabbed a shot and threw it back.

And just like that, the chaos snowballed. Secrets spilled. Dares escalated. Connie ended up in nothing but boxers. Ymir and Historia vanished. Eren's face was covered in lipstick. Someone had drawn a mustache on Yelena. We were too far gone to care.

By round seventeen, Connie pointed at me again.

"Y/N- truth, shot, or dare?"

"Dare," I said, too bold for my own good.

His grin widened like he'd been waiting. "I dare you to make out with Zeke and Jean at the same time... until they're satisfied."

"What am I? A whore?" I deadpanned, arms crossing. The whole circle erupted in oooohs and laughter.

"You're free to take a shot," Connie said with a fake-innocent shrug.

I groaned and glanced at Jean and Zeke. Neither of them looked opposed. In fact, they looked way too okay with it.

After a deep breath, and a few choice words to myself, I crawled between them on the couch. I kissed Jean first, slow and a little teasing, before switching to Zeke. Back and forth. The crowd around us egged us on like it was some kind of performance.

Humiliating? A little. But the boys looked pretty damn satisfied when it ended.

We kept going, drinking, smoking, daring each other into insanity, until almost 3 a.m. Most of the group had either tapped out or disappeared by then. Sasha and Connie were passed out. So were Reiner and Pieck.

I somehow managed to push myself off the floor, legs jelly, vision blurry. I was fighting gravity with every step, crawling up the stairs like it was Mount Everest.

By the time I reached the bedroom floor, I was a mess, sweaty, tipsy, and just seconds away from blacking out. I stumbled into what I thought was my room and let my body fall onto the bed with a heavy exhale.

But something wasn't right.

The bed was warm. Occupied.

And that's when I felt it.

A body. A breath. A shift under the sheets.

I blinked hard and looked over, heart skipping.

It wasn't just anyone.

It was Armin.

And I was in his bed.

And this wasn't my room.
︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

A/N: I don't even know what to say at this point- y'all read that chaos yourselves 😭

Zeke being flirty with Y/N... and she's kinda falling for it?

Armin pulling away from the group like a ghost?

Sasha's dream of everyone reconnecting actually coming true??

But wait…Y/N just crashed into bed with Armin's sleeping body...

Will she manage to sneak out before he wakes up?

Or is this the moment everything changes?

Stay tuned. 😵‍💫

Chapter Text

I froze.

The moonlight spilled through the sheer curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. It was just enough to outline his face, and the moment I saw him, my breath hitched.

Armin.

He looked nothing like the boy I remembered. His long hair was disheveled and half-tied in a loose, messy bun that had mostly unraveled, framing his peaceful face. His chest rose and fell with the slow rhythm of sleep, the sharp angles of his collarbones catching the light. His glasses rested on the nightstand beside him, and for once, his face was completely bare, no shields, no walls.

Just him.

I cursed silently. My fingers dug into the sheets as I pushed myself up, every muscle stiff with panic. The only thing I could think was: Get out. Quietly. Don't wake him up.

I slid one leg off the bed.

Then the other.

But the second I stood, it hit me, the spinning. The dull buzz of alcohol mixed with the sharp aftertaste of weed swelled in my system, making everything blur. The floor shifted under my feet and I stumbled, barely catching myself on the wall.

Focus. One step. That's all I needed.

"...Who's there?"

My heart plummeted straight to the floor.

His voice. Deep. Rough. Sleep-laced. And unmistakably Armin.

I didn't turn. I couldn't. Maybe if I stood still long enough, the ground would open and swallow me whole.

Then came the soft click of a lamp turning on.

My eyes squeezed shut against the sudden flood of warm light.

"Y/N?" he rasped, his voice now sharper, more awake. "What the hell are you doing in my room?"

When I finally opened my eyes, he was sitting upright, hair falling into his face, his body bare except for a pair of low-slung grey sweatpants. His skin glowed under the lamplight, lean muscle stretched across his torso like it had no business being that defined. I didn't mean to stare, truly- but my eyes dragged over every detail.

"I-" I swallowed, trying to find my balance and some excuse. "Calm down. I just... I walked into the wrong room."

The moment the words left my mouth, a migraine slammed behind my eyes. I winced, grabbing my head as the world tilted.

"You're drunk," he muttered, standing up. "And high. I can smell it from here."

"Oh really?" I snapped, voice hoarse. "I didn't realize it myself."

I tried to move toward the door again, but the minute I pushed away from the wall, I wobbled. Armin reached forward without hesitation and caught my wrist, his fingers surprisingly gentle, but firm.

"Stop," he said. "You can barely stand. Just sleep here."

I blinked up at him, caught off guard. "You're... offering me your bed?"

His expression didn't change. "Do you want to faceplant in the hallway?"

"You know this is the perfect kind of scene for Yelena to twist into proof that you're in love with me," I muttered, too exhausted to hide the sarcasm in my voice.

"I don't care," he replied flatly. "You and I both know I'd never fall in love with you."

The words hit harder than I expected. Too sharp. Too fast. And something in my chest tugged, a stupid, fragile sting that I couldn't explain.

I didn't answer. I just nodded slightly and let him guide me back to the bed. His hand remained on the small of my back as I climbed under the covers, pulling the blanket over me.

He didn't rejoin me.

Instead, he grabbed his pillow, walked across the room, and made himself a bed on the small couch in the corner.

"If you need anything, wake me up," he said quietly, lying down and closing his eyes.

I turned to face the wall, voice barely audible.

"Yeah, whatever. Night."

My eyes drifted shut, heart still pounding for a reason I didn't want to name.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

I fell asleep fast, faster than I expected, even with the room spinning, but it didn't last long.

Not even close.

My eyes snapped open to a sharp, acidic sting crawling up my throat. A sickening heaviness twisted in my stomach, tightening with every breath I took. The air was stuffy and the sheets felt like they were swallowing me whole. I sat up in a panic.

The sky outside the window was a soft, pale blue, just before dawn. 5 a.m., maybe earlier. Armin was still asleep on the couch, one arm lazily draped over his chest, his brows relaxed, lips parted slightly. The peacefulness in the room was shattered by the violent churning inside me.

I threw the covers off and rushed for the bathroom, my legs barely cooperating, my hands catching the doorframe just in time. I dropped to my knees in front of the toilet and then-

Everything came up.

The sound was awful. My throat burned like fire, my stomach convulsing again and again as if it was punishing me for every shot, every hit, every stupid decision. My hands clutched the rim of the toilet, knuckles pale, tears spilling from my eyes uncontrollably.

I didn't even hear him get up.

But then- warm fingers swept my hair away from my face. Carefully. Gently. I froze, he didn't say anything.

I could feel him kneeling behind me.

One hand held my hair up, keeping it from sticking to the sweat on my forehead, while the other moved softly in slow, calming strokes over my back. Up and down, up and down. Reassuring. Patient. Not a single word of judgment. Not even a sigh.

If anything, the silence made it worse. Made it real.

Armin.

He wasn't disgusted. He wasn't smirking. He wasn't backing away.

He was... comforting me?

I sniffled, wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, and leaned away from the toilet slowly, feeling like I'd just been hit by a train. My head throbbed. My throat felt like it had been clawed from the inside. My pride was completely shattered.

"I'm fine," I croaked, voice raw and barely above a whisper.

"You're not," he answered quietly. His voice was gentle, not annoyed, not mocking. Just... calm.

He grabbed a small towel, dampened it under cold water, and pressed it softly to the back of my neck. I tensed at first, but the coolness felt too good to pull away from.

"I didn't ask for your help," I muttered, staring into the empty toilet bowl.

"No," he said, "but you needed it."

His tone was unreadable. Not cold, not warm. Controlled. But his actions betrayed him, the way he folded the towel carefully, the way he held my hair as if it were fragile, the way he stayed with me on that tiled floor like it was the most natural thing in the world.

It didn't feel like hate.

It didn't even feel like indifference.

And that terrified me more than anything.

I blinked away the last of my tears, too exhausted to push him away, too confused to thank him. We sat there in silence, me slouched against the cool wall, him crouched next to me, watching quietly, like he was thinking about saying something... but didn't.

The early light painted the bathroom in a faint, ghostly glow. I turned my head slightly, finally meeting his eyes.

He didn't look away.

Neither did I.

"You fear me."

His voice cut through the quiet like a blade, low and unexpected. I turned my head toward him slowly, blinking in confusion.

"Pardon?" My voice came out hoarse, cracked.

Armin let out a breath, his head falling back gently against the cool bathroom wall. "You talked in your sleep," he said, staring up at the ceiling. "Probably a nightmare."

My stomach turned for a different reason now.

God. I already hate where this is going.

"You were whimpering," he continued, his voice still quiet, almost clinical. "Sweating. Saying I should leave you alone. That you're not insane."

Each word landed like a stone dropped in water, quiet, but deep. My eyes widened slightly. Shame crept in like a slow wave, heat rising to my face even though I felt like I'd frozen on the spot.

I swallowed hard. "I... don't fear you."

It wasn't entirely a lie. But the way his gaze didn't waver made it feel like he wasn't convinced. I looked away.

"That night... when I cried in front of you," I said softly, forcing my voice not to tremble. "I told you you'd have to prove you deserved forgiveness. That you needed to show me something real."

He remained silent, no protests, no explanations. Just... listening. And that made it easier to keep going.

"And you did." I exhaled, running a hand down my face, trying to breathe through the weight pressing on my chest. "I might be stupid. Maybe I'm falling into another trap, maybe this is just another layer of your plan. But..."

I turned my head, finally meeting his gaze again. His eyes were unreadable. Soft, but focused. The kind of stare that makes you feel like you're being studied under a microscope.

"I forgive you."

His lips parted slightly, not in shock, more like he hadn't expected to hear it out loud. He didn't say anything right away, just watched me like he was searching for something behind my expression. Then, slowly, his face shifted, the sharp edges smoothing, tension softening, a flicker of something calm rising to the surface.

Maybe even... relief.

"I'm glad," he said eventually. "I meant it, you know. I didn't want to go that far. I didn't know how to stop."

I gave a faint nod, the air between us heavy with everything unspoken. There was nothing left to say, not tonight. Not like this. Not for now.

"Alright," I murmured, pushing myself to my feet carefully, legs still weak but more stable. "I'm gonna head back to bed."

I stepped out of the bathroom and paused at the doorway, turning my head one last time.

"Thanks," I said quietly, eyes flicking toward his. "For helping me."

Then I walked across the room, the soft shuffle of my steps the only sound, and climbed back into the bed that still smelled faintly like him. I didn't care anymore. I was exhausted.

And without another word...
I let the dark take me again.

This time, I slept without dreams.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

The morning felt... off.

Not in a bad way, just unusual. I hadn't been yanked from sleep by my alarm or the distant, constant hum of Parisian traffic. There was no Sasha crashing into my room with wild stories or chaotic plans.

I simply... woke up. Peacefully. Like my body had finally had enough and decided it was time.

A soft yawn escaped my lips as I blinked the sleep out of my eyes, my limbs stretching under the blanket like I had all the time in the world. Golden sunlight poured through the windows, casting gentle shadows across the walls. Outside, the city buzzed in its usual frenzy, cars honking, people laughing, café doors swinging open.

I turned my head lazily toward the nightstand, and nearly jumped.

12:03 p.m.

Shit.

I sat up with a gasp, cursing under my breath. Had I really slept that long?

And then I saw him.

Armin.

He was sitting on the couch in the same room, as if he hadn't moved all night. Shirtless, just like before, legs crossed loosely, a thick book resting in one hand. His long blond hair was down now, slightly tousled, catching the sunlight. His glasses sat perfectly on his face, and his fingers, veiny, elegant, littered with silver rings, held the pages delicately, like the book was sacred.

He didn't even flinch at my sudden movement. His eyes met mine behind those lenses, steady and unreadable.

"Good. You're awake," he said, voice calm, almost flat. He pushed his glasses up with one finger and added, "Zeke was looking for you earlier. I told him you'd had a long night and needed to rest."

The way he said it made me freeze.

I blinked. My brain heard the words... but my brain also twisted the meaning.

My brows knit slightly. "Right. Thank you," I murmured, unsure if he knew how suggestive that sounded or if he was just being... Armin.

I slid out of the bed, stretching again with a soft groan and trying to smooth down my hair with my fingers, ignoring how horrible I probably looked. "Uhm... I'll head back to my room now. Thanks for letting me stay over."

He gave me a small nod. "No need to thank me."
His voice remained casual, matching the brief smile he gave me before his gaze returned to the book in his hand, like nothing about last night, or this morning, meant anything at all.

I didn't say another word. I just nodded awkwardly and made my way toward the door.

Only to bump directly into Eren.

Perfect.

"Ow- damn it," I hissed, rubbing my forehead as I staggered back a step. Eren stood in the hallway, brows furrowed, mouth already twisting into something suspicious.

His green eyes flicked between me, my messy hair, the open door behind me... and then back to me again.

"Ain't no way," he muttered, his face contorting in disbelief. "What were you doing with Armin?"

I gave him the most deadpan look I could muster. "Eren. Literally nothing."

He didn't look convinced. At all.

Rolling my eyes, I shouldered past him without waiting for a response, muttering something under my breath as I picked up my pace. I needed to find Zeke. And maybe some water. And possibly a hole to crawl into.

Could this day get any worse?

I had almost searched every corner of the place, growing more convinced I was the last one awake. Neither Zeke nor the others were anywhere to be found. For a moment, I wondered if everyone else had already vanished.

Just as I was about to give up and head back to my room, the terrace door creaked open, meaning it was unlocked. My heart leapt. Without hesitation, I pushed the door wide and stepped outside.

There he was, Zeke, leaning casually against the railing, a cigarette dangling between his fingers. His hair was tousled in that effortlessly messy way I could never pull off, and his usual long brown coat hung over his broad shoulders. His glasses sat low on his nose, giving him that dangerously irresistible look I always fell for.

"I've been looking for you," I said, closing the distance with a tired but relieved smile.

He turned slowly, a smirk curling on his lips, his eyes glinting with a mixture of mischief and something softer. "There you are, Sleeping Beauty." His low chuckle made something twist inside me. "Long night, huh?"

I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms. "Ignore his stupid comment. He just worded it wrong." I let out a soft laugh, shaking my head again. "Long night means me throwing up in Armin's bathroom."

His smirk softened into a genuine smile, eyes never leaving mine. "Well, that sounds... charming. But it looks like you handled it like a pro."

I raised an eyebrow. "Pro? Barely survived."

Zeke stepped closer, the space between us shrinking until I could feel the heat radiating from him. His voice dropped to a low rumble. "You're tougher than you think. And maybe a little reckless."

My breath hitched. "Maybe."

He reached out slowly, brushing a strand of my hair from my face, his fingers lingering just a second too long. My heart slammed against my ribs.

"Careful," he murmured, "after that kiss we shared last night, I might start thinking you want me around more than just for the chaos."

My lips parted, a flicker of something unspoken passing between us-

Then a loud clearing of a throat broke the tension like a thunderclap.

"Hey, lovebirds," came Jean's teasing voice from the terrace door. He leaned against the frame, arms crossed, a grin playing on his lips. "Saving any passion for the rest of us, or is this gonna be a private show?"

Zeke rolled his eyes but grinned. "Jean, your timing is impeccable. I was just about to shoot my shot."

I flushed, stepping back, the sudden reality crashing down.

Jean laughed, shaking his head. "Relax, I'm just messing. But really, Y/N, you're looking rough. Zeke's gonna have to babysit you all day."

Zeke shot Jean a look but then his eyes flicked back to me, warm and steady.

"Babysitting sounds like a plan."

"Excuse me? Hell no! I don't need a babysitter!" I crossed my arms, but my face betrayed me, bright red from embarrassment.

Jean snorted, and I glared, but he quickly switched gears, trying to change the subject.

"In case you guys care- Connie slept in a bathtub all night. And yes, Historia and Ymir were at it," he smirked, crossing his arms.

"Well, Connie's stupid. And please- those two are the freakiest people I've ever met," I giggled.

"Well- according to what Eren just told me, you're freakier. Sleeping with your so-called enemy?" Jean raised an eyebrow, and my jaw dropped.

"The hell? Tell that bastard to stop spreading rumors!" I yelled, flinging a slipper at Jean.

"Hey! Why are you coming after me?!" he laughed, dodging it easily.

"Go, Jean! Go tell him to shut up! That asshole!" I whined, burying my face in my hands.

"Alright, alright- but Zeke, don't steal her away too soon. I'd like to taste those lips one more time before they belong to you," Jean teased, but before he could finish, I threw my other slipper, chasing him off.

Honestly, are these guys really over twenty?

"It's time for babysitting," Zeke smirked, holding back a laugh.

"Absolutely not! I meant it! I'm fine!" I groaned, but before I could argue, Zeke scooped me up over his shoulder effortlessly.

"Put me down, Zeke! I swear I'll kill you! This is a crime!" I hit his back, but he didn't budge, walking on casually, cigarette still perched between his lips.

As we passed the living room, I heard Sasha whisper to Connie, "Do I wanna know what's about to happen?"

"Nothing, Sasha! He's babysitting me by force!" I yelled, mostly out of embarrassment.

"More like making babies," Connie teased, bursting into loud laughter.

Jean just smirked from the corner as he talked to Eren, I assume he was explaining the Armin situation.

I honestly hate my life.

As Zeke carried me up the stairs toward my room, we passed Armin, and for some reason, my eyes caught his. He looked... bothered. Tense. Like he was trying to hide something.

I shook off the thought. No way I'm overthinking this.

Before I could say anything, we were inside my room, and without warning, Zeke gently, but firmly, threw me onto the bed.

I groaned, immediately sitting up and glaring at him. "I'm gonna tell Reiner to jump your ass."

He smirked, crossing his arms with cocky ease. "You really think he'd win, darling?"

I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms in defiance. "First of all, yes. Second of all, don't call me that!"

"Oh? It bothers you?" He feigned innocence, then bent low so his face was dangerously close to mine. "I swear, I always caught you blushing when I did."

I groaned again and grabbed a pillow, smacking it right at his face.

He blinked, stunned for a second, then slid his glasses off and placed them carefully on the nightstand.

My heart jumped, silently begging him not to-

But he snatched the pillow from my hand and started hitting me back.

Laughter exploded between us. I grabbed another pillow, launching an all-out attack.

What started as pillow hits quickly escalated into a full-on wrestling match. I tried crawling away, but he always caught me, his grip firm and teasing.

I tossed the pillow aside, trying to pull at his coat or hair, anything to get free, but it was useless.

Then, unexpectedly, he grabbed both my wrists in one hand, pinning me down on the bed. His body was over mine, legs on either side, trapping me completely.

My eyes widened, my heart nearly stopped. Embarrassment hit me full force.

"See? I win." His smirk was confident, eyes locked onto mine. "Now behave like a good girl."

For a brief moment, I let myself admire him, the sharp line of his jaw framed by a faint beard, that strong, magnetic presence.

My gaze drifted lower, resting on his lips, just for a second.

Without realizing it, he leaned in closer, his face just inches from mine.

My breath hitched. The silence between us was thick with something unspoken.

Then, the door slammed open.

"Yelena called. She said you should go help her."

Armin.

He stood frozen in the doorway, but his eyes weren't on me, they were locked on Zeke.

Zeke cursed under his breath, quickly standing and sliding his glasses back on.

"We'll continue this later," he winked at me before striding out, brushing past Armin like a storm.

I stared after them both, confusion swirling in my mind.

How could Yelena need help-

When she was only at a museum?
︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

A/N: Wow, so much happened in this chapter, huh?

Armin is finally forgiven by Y/N... could this be the start of something like a friendship? Or maybe something more complicated?

But speaking of Armin, have you noticed how tense he gets whenever Y/N is around Zeke? Is he hiding something?

And what about Yelena's obsession theory, could she be onto something after all?

Oh, and yes, I did tease you all with a near kiss between Zeke and Y/N... but hey, maybe the real moment is just around the corner. Patience, my loves.

Also- side note! We haven't heard from Annie and Hitch in a while, have we? 👀 What do you think they're up to?

Chapter Text

(That morning, Armin's POV):

She's been asleep in my bed for hours now, even though morning sunlight has long since spilled through the windows. It paints soft, golden lines across her face, her lashes casting delicate shadows on her cheeks.

She looks so peaceful like this.

Vulnerable.

For a moment, I just sit there, book forgotten in my lap, glasses slipping slightly down my nose as I watch her chest rise and fall beneath the blanket. Her lips are slightly parted, her hair messy from tossing in her sleep, and she's curled up like a child seeking safety.

I shouldn't be staring.
But I do.

Because I'm trying to understand how this version of her...

is the same girl who used to make my life hell.

The girl who laughed when I dropped my books. Who rolled her eyes every time I tried to speak. Who once whispered something cruel about my glasses when she thought I couldn't hear.

And yet, here she is now, in my bed, of all places. Peaceful. Still. Unarmed.

I think she's changed. Really changed. Not just on the outside. Not just the polite smiles or the calm tone or the way she's become quiet when the room gets loud. There's something in her eyes lately, like they've seen too much. Like the fire she used to burn others with has finally scorched her, too.

And somehow... I hate how much I care about that.

A soft noise pulls me out of my thoughts. She's stirring. One hand moves beneath the covers. Then, slowly, her eyes begin to flutter open.

I push my glasses up and speak before I can stop myself.

"Good. You're awake."

She blinks at me, bleary and confused. The light hits her face perfectly, and I swear for a second I forget how to breathe.

"Zeke was looking for you earlier," I add casually, flipping a page in my book that I haven't actually been reading for the past hour. "I told him you'd had a long night and needed to rest."

Her brows furrow slightly, probably overthinking the phrase "long night," but she just nods.
"Right. Thank you."

She sits up, stretching lazily. The neckline of her shirt slips slightly down her shoulder, and I look away before I can stare again.

"Uhm, I'm gonna head back to my room now. Thanks for letting me stay over."

I nod.
"No need to thank me."

I return the same neutral tone she uses, but inside, my mind is racing.

She's changed.
But that doesn't mean I've stopped thinking about her.
And it sure as hell doesn't mean I've forgotten.

She slips out the door and just like that, the room feels colder.

I don't even realize I've been holding my breath until the door clicks shut behind her.

The book slips from my hand and falls onto the couch without a second thought. I rise slowly, the room suddenly too still, too quiet. After the night I've had, after she stayed, I should feel drained, but there's something electric buzzing beneath my skin.

I make my way to the bed and let myself fall into it, expecting the usual relief from the dull ache in my back.

But the first thing that hits me...
isn't comfort.
It's her.

Her perfume.

Faint but unmistakable, sweet, heady, familiar. The same scent that's followed her everywhere since the first time I met her. It used to hit me like a warning bell when she passed by in lecture halls, in the library, the cafeteria, always just out of reach, always surrounded by people who worshipped the ground she walked on.

Now that same scent is on my pillow.

Embedded into my sheets.

Seeping into my space like she belongs here.

I lie back and stare up at the ceiling, the scent wrapping around me like a ghost. I'm not sure how long I stay like that, seconds? Minutes?

But I don't miss the small smirk tugging at the corner of my lips.

Because for the first time... she left something behind.

And it wasn't hate.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

After lying in bed for a while, the ache in my stomach finally won out over my thoughts. I hadn't eaten anything, only drank a coffee, and I was starting to feel it. I forced myself to get up and head downstairs.

But on my way down, I passed her- them.

Y/N was flung over Zeke's shoulder, laughing breathlessly, hitting his back as she demanded he put her down. Her voice rang out light and playful, so giggly, so carefree and I don't know why, but it made my jaw clench.

I kept walking, fists curled slightly at my sides as I entered the living room. Connie and Sasha were practically doubled over in laughter on the couch.

"Why are you guys laughing like idiots?" I asked, tilting my head, trying to sound neutral.

"They're being childish," Jean said with a sigh, rolling his eyes. "Connie made some dumb joke about how Y/N and Zeke are gonna- well, you know."

My brows furrowed. The image alone was enough to turn my stomach. I shook my head and walked into the kitchen, grabbing whatever I could to make something, anything- to eat. I needed a distraction and I needed breakfast.

I leaned against the counter, waiting for the pan to heat, but I could barely stand still. Something inside me itched, crawled beneath my skin. A voice in the back of my head told me to go back upstairs. Now. To stop whatever was happening. To intervene.

I gripped the edge of the counter with both hands, arms locked, head bowed low as I tried to breathe through the chaos clawing at my insides.

"You look tense."

Eren's voice cut through the silence. I tilted my head just enough to glance at him.

"I'm not."

"Armin- be fucking for real," he scoffed. "I've known you since you were still in diapers. What's going on?"

I clenched my jaw, cursed under my breath. "I don't know. She's in my head constantly, and it's starting to piss me off."

Eren blinked, stunned by my honesty, but then, that damn smirk of his returned. "Yelena was right, huh? You're in love with her?"

"I'm not in love," I snapped. Too fast. Too sharp. "I don't know what this is."

"Well, I had Mikasa on my mind 24/7, and you've seen how that's going," he said, shrugging as he grabbed an apple and took a bite. "Maybe it's not that different."

"It is," I muttered. "You and Mikasa were friends. Y/N and I? We were enemies. We've destroyed each other in every way possible."

"Then destroy each other in bed," he said casually.

I whipped a piece of bacon at him.

"Jesus, Eren, stop thinking with your dick for once."

He laughed, dodging. "All I'm saying is, Zeke's into her. And yeah- it's kind of creepy. She's our age. He's... a fossil. I'm starting to think that he has a fetish for her-"

I didn't answer.

"I don't like her," Eren continued, more serious now. "Not after what she put you through. But if you think she's changed... if she's worth it... I'll give her a chance."

I stared at him for a moment. No words. Just silence.

Then I pushed myself off the counter.

"Watch the eggs."

Without waiting for a response, I walked out. Connie made some dumb comment as I passed, but I ignored him. My legs moved on their own.

Up the stairs.

To her room.

I raised my hand to knock, but froze.
The silence behind the door wasn't just quiet. It was loaded. I didn't need to see it to know.

Still, I opened the door.

And there it was.

Zeke was on top of her, pinning her wrists to the bed, hovering just inches above her. Their lips were this close. One breath away. One second from crossing a line.

My face didn't move. I kept it blank. Controlled. Calm.

"Yelena called," I said flatly. "She said you should go help her."

A complete lie.
Yelena was at the Louvre with the others. She hadn't called. She didn't need help.

But Zeke believed it. Of course he did. Stupid idiot.

He stood, grabbed his glasses, shot Y/N a smirk. "We'll continue this later."

He left.

And now, it was just us.

Me and her.

The silence returned, but it wasn't the peaceful kind. It was sharp, tight, crawling with tension. We didn't look away from each other. Not once.

She was studying me.

Trying to read me.

Trying to decode me.

She was always too smart for her own good. That's why we were rivals. That's why we worked. I was sure, one hundred percent sure, that she knew I was lying. But neither of us said anything.

And for some reason, that silence said more than anything ever could.

(Back to present time, Armin's POV):

I didn't move.
Neither did she.

Her chest rose and fell in a slow rhythm, but her eyes, God, her eyes, stayed locked on mine. Narrowed. Studying me like she was trying to dissect every part of my mind.

And maybe she could.

I felt it in the air between us, the question she wasn't saying out loud.

Why are you really here?

But I didn't owe her that. Not after everything.

So I tilted my head slightly, broke eye contact for the briefest second, and let my gaze run over her, not hungrily, not intentionally, but searching. Like if I stared long enough, I'd find a version of her I understood.

She was still on the bed. Her hair tousled, strands sticking out from wherever Zeke's hands had been. Lips slightly parted. I hated how my eyes lingered there. I hated how my chest tightened.

"You're not going to say anything?" she asked at last, voice soft, but laced with challenge.

"I don't have to." My tone was even, almost careless. "You already know."

"No, Armin." She rolled her eyes, standing as she ran her hands through her hair. "I do not know."

I stared at her for a second before I shrugged, casual, dismissive, fake.

"You lied about Yelena," she said bluntly.

There it was.
Of course she'd figure it out. Of course she'd say it.

"I did," I admitted without hesitation, arms folded across my chest as I leaned one shoulder against the doorframe. "What about it?"

"Why?" she snapped, stepping forward but not close enough to touch. "Why lie?"

"Because I was doing Jean a favor." I shrugged again, and even I knew it sounded weak.

"Jean?" She raised a brow, arms now crossed in challenge. "You can't be serious. Jean and I hooked up. He doesn't love me. And I don't love him."

The words were sharp. Clean. Like a line drawn in permanent ink.

"Oh, so Zeke loves you?" I scoffed, unable to hide the disgust curling in my throat.

"Yeah," she snapped back without flinching, stepping in closer, voice raised, "he does. Problem, Prince Charming?"

I blinked, caught off guard, not by what she said, but by how angry it made me.

"The hell are you saying?" I muttered. Then sighed. "Fine. Yeah, I lied. It wasn't for Jean. It was for Eren. He doesn't want you with his brother."

Half a lie. But better than the first one.

"Now that's a better excuse," she said with a tight chuckle. But her tone was cold. "Still bullshit though. You're lying again. I know you better than my own brother."

She took another step forward. We were close now, so close I could smell her perfume again. The same perfume that was all over my sheets.

Vanilla and fire.

"I've studied you, Arlert," she said, voice suddenly quieter, more dangerous. "You can lie to everyone else, but not to me."

We were face to face now. I was still leaning against the doorframe, but even slouched I towered over her.

Her gaze pierced mine, and I hated the way it made my heart beat faster.
Like I was caught. Like she saw right through me.

"Say it," she challenged. "Say whatever it is you're so scared to admit."

I clenched my jaw. I didn't want to give her the satisfaction. She was the girl who used to ruin my life. She was the storm I'd barely survived.

But now she was looking at me like she was waiting to be chosen. And the part of me that wanted her, the part I'd buried under logic and pride, was clawing its way back up.

"You think you're the only one who can get under people's skin?" I muttered.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked, brows narrowing.

"It means," I leaned in just a little, voice low, "you're not as untouchable as you pretend to be. And if you weren't lying to yourself, you'd admit that this..."

I glanced between us.

"...matters more than you want it to."

She didn't say anything. Her eyes dropped to my lips for a split second, one heartbeat, and that was all I needed to see.

"I'm not Zeke," I said. "I'm not going to pretend this is a game."

"And I'm not your enemy anymore," she replied, tone barely above a whisper.

For a moment, the silence was unbearable.

Until I moved, just slightly, and she didn't back away.

Not an inch.

I was no longer leaning. I stood tall now, back straight, chest out, eyes locked.

Towering over her completely.

She tilted her head up, meeting my gaze. Unflinching. But I could read every layer behind those eyes, tension, confusion, defiance.

And something else.

Something she didn't want me to name.

"You're not my enemy," I said quietly, voice low and razor sharp. "You're right."

Her brows twitched slightly. She didn't like the calm in my tone.

"But you're so damn glad we're not enemies anymore," I added, voice barely a whisper now, like I was speaking directly into her bloodstream.

Her eyes widened, not dramatically, just enough for me to catch it. I caught everything.

Even the breath she tried to hide, caught halfway up her throat. She was nervous. Nervous like prey pretending to be a predator.

"You think I haven't noticed you staring?" I leaned down just a little, lowering my voice like it was a secret. "You've been drooling over me, and you think you're subtle."

She flinched, not with her body, but her eyes. They flicked to my mouth, just for a second.

"The first thing you did when you woke up in my bed this morning," I continued, "was look at me. My body. My hands."

Her throat bobbed.
A slow, hard swallow.

I smiled, not kindly, not smugly. The kind of smile that says: I know you. I've always known you.

"Bullshit," she snapped, her voice unsteady despite the fire behind it. "You're getting ahead of yourself."

She scoffed and looked away, trying to shake me off. "I'm not hungry over you. You're the one hungry over me."

That made me smirk, wide and dangerous.

And I didn't answer right away.
Instead, I took a slow step forward.

She didn't move. But I saw her shoulders stiffen. Like her body was bracing for something it wasn't sure it wanted to stop.

"If I was hungry over you," I murmured, gaze dropping briefly to her lips, "you'd be on your knees by now."

She inhaled sharply, like the air in the room had shifted. Like I'd just cracked something inside her.

"Don't flatter yourself," she snapped, but it lacked heat. She was cracking.

I stepped closer again.

Now, there was no space between us. Just heat.
Just the sound of our breathing and the violent silence that hung between each word.

"You don't want me to flatter myself," I said softly, "because you know I'm right."

"Armin," she warned, voice low, almost trembling. "Don't. You're being an asshole again."

But her tone was full of everything but resistance.

I leaned in, my mouth next to her ear now, my breath brushing her skin.

"You don't hate me anymore," I whispered. "And that scares the hell out of you."

She didn't respond. Her chest rose faster now. Like she was trying to keep up with something that had already outrun her.

When I finally pulled back, her eyes were glossy.
Like she didn't know if she wanted to kiss me or slap me.

"Go ahead," I said, daring her. "Keep pretending."

Her jaw clenched, but she didn't step back.

Instead, she reached up, so fast it startled me, and shoved at my chest.

It didn't hurt. It didn't even move me.

But it said everything she couldn't.

"Get out," she said, voice raw.

I didn't move.

"You don't mean that," I said, gaze steady. "And you know it."

She just stood there. Breathing.

Burning.

And I didn't step away.

Not yet.

She grabbed me by the collar, yanking me into the room and slamming my back hard against the wall. A low groan escaped me.

"You really love slamming me against walls, don't you?" I teased, smirking.

"Shut up," she snapped, voice sharp and fierce. "Shut the fuck up."

I furrowed my brows and looked down at her, eyes locking with hers.

"Let me be clear, Arlert," she said, her voice rising just enough to sting. "I'm not lustful over you. I don't love you. I don't want you. The closest we'll ever get is friends. Got it?"

She was inches from my face now, on her tiptoes, fingers gripping my shirt with pure hate. But her eyes... her eyes told a different story, something raw, something unspoken.

Before I could respond, a loud cough interrupted us.

Connie. With that big, infuriating smirk plastered across his face.

"Don't mean to interrupt y'all's- angry sex- but the others are back, and they've set the table."

I said nothing. I just glanced back at Y/N. She looked up at me, then shoved me away with an annoyed scoff.

I smoothed my shirt and pushed up my glasses.

"We'll continue this later," I said, mocking Zeke's words with a smirk, deliberately loud as I walked past Connie.

Even if it's not love, whatever this feeling is,

it's definitely something.
︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

A/N: Some pretty big stuff went down, huh? The tension between Y/N and Armin is off the charts- you can feel it sizzling.

Are they really done playing games, or just getting started?

And can we talk about Connie's perfect timing? Classic cockblock energy.

Also... time in Paris is almost up. Next chapter is their last day here.

What will happen when they have to return and face their separate paths?

Stay tuned!

Chapter Text

(Y/Ns POV):

It's been almost a week since that night.

The night Armin and I had that stupid, spiraling, heated conversation, the one that ended with him walking away and his voice still echoing in my head like a curse I can't shake off. I haven't been able to get his stupid, smug, infuriating face out of my mind since.

And I hate it. God, I hate it.

The way he looked at me. The way his voice dropped when he got close. The way his words weren't loud, but still rang louder than anything else anyone has said to me this entire trip.

I've tried to convince myself it meant nothing. That it was just Armin being Armin, irritating and manipulative and weirdly charming in a way that shouldn't affect me. But it did. And if I'm honest with myself... it still does.

"You think I haven't caught you drooling over me?"

Ugh. Shut up.

Now here we are, our last day in Paris.

One last night with this chaotic group of people who once felt like strangers, and now somehow feel like something I'm not ready to let go of. Five hours left until we head to the airport. Five hours until I go back to my new life with Yelena and Zeke... and they go back to theirs.

I thought I'd feel relieved. Like this whole experience was just a storm to ride out. But standing here now, on the edge of goodbye, it doesn't feel like relief.

It feels like something unfinished.

We planned to visit the Eiffel Tower tonight, to see it glow under the Parisian sky one last time. Everyone's buzzing, half-packed and half-dressed, their voices filling the house as the sun sets in gold behind the windows.

But I'm quiet. Moving slower than usual. Because I know deep down... this night isn't just about the Eiffel Tower.

It's about the moment after.

It's about what we leave unsaid.

"Have you packed, darling?" Zeke's voice breaks through my thoughts. I turn to face him, force a smile, and nod.

"Yeah," I murmur. "I'm ready to go back to my normal life."

He nods and lifts my suitcase with ease, leading the way downstairs. I follow, my fingers brushing the railing like I'm saying goodbye to every step.

Everyone's already outside when we get there. The night air is cool, sharp with the scent of Paris in spring.

"We're gonna load the taxis with the bags now," Yelena announces, clipboard in hand as always. "They'll head to the airport ahead of us."

One by one, we load our things into the waiting taxis. I catch myself looking at the villa as the trunks close, the house that, in just a few days, held so many versions of us. Arguments. Secrets. Laughter. Pain.

It's ridiculous how much I've felt in such a short time.

As the last cab pulls off into the distance, Connie tilts his head back and stares up at the stars.

"Damn," he mutters. "This feels like the end of a coming-of-age movie."

"I don't want this to end..." Sasha sighs, and I glance over just in time to see her wipe the corner of her eye.

"This isn't the end, guys. We still have the Eiffel Tower," Yelena says with a warm chuckle, patting both their backs.

"You know what they mean, Yelena," Jean says softly. I meet his eyes for a brief second, there's a sad smile on his face, like he already knows what I'm thinking but won't say it out loud.

"We should go," I cut in, my voice sharper than I intend it to be. "The tower lights up soon."

I start walking ahead before anyone can say anything else, truthfully, I'm not rushing toward the Eiffel Tower.

I'm walking away from the talk of endings.

But even as my feet move faster, I can feel a presence behind me. A silence that follows me a little too closely.

And somehow, I already know who it is.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

The walk to the Eiffel Tower was quiet.

Too quiet. And way too fast.

Maybe it was just me, or maybe everyone was feeling it too, the unspoken weight of time running out, the clock ticking toward goodbye. We moved like we were chasing something, like if we walked fast enough, we wouldn't have to face the inevitable.

Now we're standing just in front of the Eiffel Tower. Not directly beneath it, but close enough to feel the immensity of it. Close enough to feel small under the shadow of something that's seen thousands of stories like ours, beginnings, endings, confessions, regrets.

It's not glowing yet. The sky is dark, the air cool, everyone standing in little clusters, waiting. But me? I'm not looking at the tower.

I'm staring up at the sky.

Empty. Endless. A thousand scattered stars and not one of them tells me what the hell I'm supposed to feel right now.

I don't notice the way my hands are clenched. I don't hear the way people around me start to quiet. I don't even realize it's time, until it happens.

The lights flicker on.

The Eiffel Tower explodes in golden brilliance.

Gasps ripple through the group, and for a second, the silence turns to awe. It's just like in the movies- no, better. It feels unreal. The kind of moment that should belong to someone else, some other version of me in some other life.

And just as I turn to admire it fully-
Zeke's hand slides into mine.

I blink.

Before I can process it, he gently tugs me toward him. My body stumbles slightly, out of instinct, and his hand finds my waist, anchoring me in place.

Then he leans in.

His other hand moves to support the small of my back as he tilts me slightly, like a scene staged too perfectly, too beautifully, to be real- and kisses me.

Under the golden lights.
In the heart of Paris.
In front of everyone.

It's soft, slow, and dramatic in the way only Zeke knows how to be. A kiss designed to look like it means everything.

And maybe to him, it does.

But my eyes flutter open a second too soon.
My body doesn't melt the way it should.
And in that split-second between feeling and faking, my gaze lands past his shoulder, straight into a pair of wide, icy-blue eyes.

Armin.

He's standing a few feet away, just at the edge of the group, the lights casting sharp angles across his face. His expression isn't one of surprise. Not really.

It's something deeper.
Like betrayal.
Like pain.
Like he knew this would happen and yet still didn't expect it to hurt like this.

I feel my stomach twist.

Zeke pulls away slowly, smiling at me like the moment is perfect, like the Eiffel Tower didn't just become a stage for something much messier than love.

"You okay?" he whispers, brushing a thumb across my cheek.

I nod. Too quickly.

"Yeah," I lie.

But when I glance back at Armin again... he's already gone.

Vanished into the crowd.

And suddenly the golden lights don't feel so magical anymore.

"Woah- are you guys like... dating?" Connie blinked, eyes bouncing between Zeke and me, genuinely surprised.

I didn't answer.
I couldn't.

First of all, I didn't even know what we were.
Second of all... my mind wasn't here.
It was somewhere else.
With someone else.

"Not yet," Zeke chuckled beside me, his voice calm, confident. "But I plan to take her out soon."

He took my hand again, brought it to his lips, and placed a soft kiss on my knuckles.

I smiled.
Or at least, I tried to.
But it wasn't real.

My eyes flicked around, scanning the group.

Historia and Ymir were kissing gently under the tower lights, completely lost in their own world. Pieck had her arms around Porco, who was whispering something into her ear that made her laugh. Mikasa and Eren stood close, his arms around her shoulders in a quiet embrace.

But when Eren's eyes met mine...

He looked disappointed.

Not judgmental.
Not surprised.
Just- disappointed.

And then his gaze shifted.
Past me.
Toward the space where Armin had disappeared.

My heart sank.

I bit down on my lip, suddenly unsure.
Should I go after him?
Why should I?

He hadn't spoken to me since that night.
We hadn't talked.
We weren't anything.

Not even friends.

"Alright, lovebirds!" Yelena's voice rang out, breaking the quiet tension. "We should start heading to the airport."

She turned on her heel and began walking. One by one, the group followed, laughter and conversation slowly picking back up like nothing had happened.

I followed too. Steps heavy, head full.

But one question echoed through me louder than the lights, louder than the kiss, louder than Zeke's plans and Eren's stare and Armin's absence-

Why didn't that kiss feel right?

Why didn't it feel like anything at all?
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

30 minutes.

That's all the time we had left before boarding.
Before we'd leave Paris behind. Before it all ended.

Now, we were sitting near our gate, the group unusually quiet, bags at our feet, tickets in hand. The silence was loud, pressing down on all of us. Thick with something heavier than just the end of a trip.

Something like grief.

Out of nowhere, Sasha's voice broke through.

"Y/N... please come back to our college."
Her voice cracked mid-sentence, and when I looked up, her eyes were already glassy with tears.

My chest tightened.

"Yeah, dude," Connie added, forcing a laugh that didn't quite land. "I didn't used to fuck with you but... you're honestly so cool now."

That one stung.

Their words should've made me smile. Should've warmed me. But instead, they just made the tears blur my vision. I didn't respond, just stared down at my hands, clenched tight in my lap.

A silence followed. Then, even more unexpected-

"Never thought I'd say this," Porco muttered from a few seats down, his voice lower, rougher. "But... I don't hate you anymore."

I looked up.

He wasn't joking. No smug grin, no sarcasm. Just Porco, being... real. And if he could say that, one of the few people who'd openly hated me, I didn't know what to believe anymore.

Reiner was next. His voice gentle, apologetic.

"Y/N," he said, shifting in his seat. "I'm sure Mom will let you come back. If you want. After all, I'm still here."

That word again: back.

Back to where I left everything. Back to the place I once called home.

"I-" I started, voice barely there. I scanned the group, all of them looking at me like they were hoping, praying I'd say yes.

"I can't."

The word hit the floor like glass.

Sasha's lips trembled. Connie dropped his head, trying to hide how upset he was. I could've sworn Jean whispered "fuck" under his breath.

"I've lost my reputation there," I said finally, my voice stronger now, but no less broken. "My image. Everyone sees me as a psycho. Someone who was put into the mental hospital."

No one corrected me.

Because they knew I was right.

Because even if they didn't think that anymore, the rest of the campus still did. The whispers. The posts. The rumors. The damage Armin and I had done... it was permanent.

And I wasn't going to beg for scraps of normalcy.

Not again.

"But... Marley's an hour away from us," Pieck said quietly, her voice laced with disappointment as she rested her head on Porco's shoulder. "We won't be able to see you that easily."

"I know," I murmured, eyes falling to the floor. "I'm sorry. I just... I can't."

The silence that followed was soft but painful.

Then Sasha spoke, voice trembling.

"Will you at least... unblock us? So I can make a group chat?"

She sounded like she was trying not to cry, and that alone made my chest ache more than I expected.

I gave a breathy, bittersweet chuckle and pulled out my phone. No words, just actions. One by one, I removed the blocks.

Not even a second later, a notification buzzed across my screen:

Sasha has added you to the group 'Fake Parisians🥖🍷'

A real laugh slipped past my lips this time, quiet and sad. The name was so stupid it was perfect. So Sasha.

I stared at the message for a moment longer... then locked my phone and slid it into my pocket.
Still smiling, but it didn't reach my eyes.

Not really.

The moment I shut my phone off, the reality settled again.

We were all still sitting together, but the conversation had faded into a heavy silence. Not the comfortable kind, the kind where everyone knew the clock was ticking.

Fifteen minutes until the flight.

Fifteen minutes until we leave Paris. Until this version of us, whatever we were here, ends.

"Damn," Connie exhaled, leaning his head back against the cold airport wall. "This sucks."

No one disagreed. Even Porco, who usually had some dry, sarcastic comment locked and loaded, stayed quiet as he rubbed small circles on Pieck's back.

"I know we're all on the same flight," Sasha mumbled, "but it still feels like goodbye."

"Because it is," Jean added. "After we land, that's it. We split."

Zeke nodded beside me, arms crossed as he leaned back in his seat. "We'll head straight home. Yelena wants to start planning Y/N's homeschool schedule."

I didn't react. I just stared ahead.

And I hated how it felt like everything was falling back into place, except me.

"Hey," Historia said gently, her voice soft and uncertain. "Before we board... can we take a picture?"

Everyone looked up.

"That's... actually a good idea," Ymir said.

And for the first time in what felt like hours, we all stood, a little hesitantly, and moved to the wide, glass wall overlooking the runway. The Eiffel Tower wasn't in sight anymore, but Paris still glimmered in the night sky, as if it knew we were saying goodbye.

We huddled together. Connie tried to drag Jean into the center. Sasha threw her arms around both of them. Mikasa stood close to Eren, who surprisingly didn't complain about taking pictures although he hated it.

Zeke stood behind me, a hand resting gently on my shoulder, and Yelena held the phone out, counting down with a lazy smirk.

"Three... two..."

The flash went off.

And just like that, it was captured.

Our last night in Paris. Our last memory together, all of us.

A moment that, for better or worse, we'd never get back.

But even then, as everyone started sitting back down, laughing softly at the photo, I found my eyes wandering again.

Not toward Zeke. Not toward the camera.

But to Armin.

He hadn't smiled in the picture.

And even now, he was sitting a few feet away from the group, alone, flipping something over and over in his hand. A coin, maybe. His eyes were low, but every so often, I could feel them shift toward me.

I swallowed hard.

Because even now, after everything, I still didn't know what he was thinking.

But I knew what I was thinking.

Why the hell didn't the kiss with Zeke feel right? And why do I keep thinking about it?

And why, after all this time, does it still feel like something between me and Armin hasn't been said?

At least....Not yet.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

The automatic doors slid open with a hiss, letting in a gust of warmer Paradis air. Outside, the sky was dull and gray, so different from Paris. No golden light, no glowing towers. Just concrete, cars, and the weight of reality creeping back in.

We were home. Or at least... they were.

Me?

I was already halfway gone again.

Zeke stood beside me, checking his phone. Yelena was talking to the driver who would take us back to Marley, using a different route so we'd arrive sooner. Everyone else gathered near the exit, bags and suitcases beside them, lingering like kids at the end of summer camp.

The silence wasn't as heavy now, it was worse.

It was final.

"Well," Sasha said, her voice cracking slightly despite her forced smile, "guess this is it."

My throat tightened. I didn't know what to say. There were too many words and not enough at the same time.

"I know you said you can't come back," Jean muttered, stepping forward, "but that doesn't mean we're not going to bother you in that group chat every day until you're sick of us."

That made me smile, just barely. "I'm already sick of you."

Connie laughed quietly. "She's back, the mean girl is back."

Everyone chuckled, but it didn't last. The moment settled again, thick and unspoken.

"Thank you," Historia said softly, her voice almost lost under the noise of the terminal. "For deciding to come with us even though the situation was ugly. Thank you for trying and making us enjoy Paris."

"Don't be a stranger," Ymir added, nudging my arm lightly. "We're not good at sentimental stuff."

I nodded, feeling my chest clench. "I'm really gonna miss you guys."

"We're gonna miss you too," Sasha whispered, her eyes glassy again. "So much."

Then came the hugs. One after the other, warm, long, some shaky. Sasha squeezed too tight. Connie ruffled my hair like a brother. Pieck whispered something in my ear in French that made me laugh through the tears. Even Porco gave me a stiff, awkward pat on the back before muttering a gruff, "Don't get all weird and mean again."

I smiled at that. I smiled at all of it. Even as I was falling apart on the inside.

And then... he still hadn't come over.

I turned. Armin was standing back, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, glasses slightly fogged from the cold air outside the glass doors.

His eyes were on me. Unmoving. unreadable.

And mine?

Mine were begging for him to say something.

Anything.

"Armin," I called softly, voice trembling.

He didn't move at first. But then slowly, he walked over, stopping a few feet in front of me. Just close enough.

There was a pause. A heartbeat. A thousand words hung in the air between us, unsaid.

"I hope," he said quietly, voice steady but tight, "that wherever you go... you finally feel safe."

The words hit me harder than I expected. My mouth parted slightly, but nothing came out. I just kept staring up into his eyes.

Because what do you say to that?

"I hope you find peace," he added. "Real peace. Not the fake kind you try to convince yourself of."

Then he smiled, but not the charming, smug smirk I'd gotten used to. This one was sad. Almost... tired.

"I'll see you around, L/N."

And just like that, he turned and walked away.

No hug. No dramatic last line. Just... Armin being Armin. And he had called me by my last name.

And it was worse than anything else.

"Y/N," Zeke said gently, hand on my back. "It's time."

I nodded.

With one last glance at the group, at Armin's retreating figure disappearing into the crowd, I turned and walked toward the gate.

I didn't look back.
Because I knew if I did...I wouldn't be able to leave.

This was the end.

People who were my closest friends in Paris,

are strangers again.
︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

A/N: Ouch... this ended way too soon.

Hello? Even Porco softened toward our girl Y/N. That's character development if I've ever seen it.

But seriously, what now?

The group finally reunited just like Sasha wished, and now they're splitting up again? Feels illegal.

Will someone replace Y/N? Annie? Hitch? 👀

Will Y/N keep thinking about Armin?

Will he manage to get her out of his mind?

Paris may be over, but the real story might just be starting.

Stay tuned~

Chapter Text

It really did end.

It's been two months since Paris. Two months since the last time we were all together. Laughing, fighting, falling apart... and somehow still holding on. That chaotic group of misfits and memories, gone in the blink of an eye.

We kept the group chat alive, though.
We texted.
We spammed.
We FaceTimed on weekends, some of us falling asleep mid-call while the rest stayed up arguing over music or Connie's dumb jokes.

But it wasn't the same.

It didn't feel the same.

The laughter didn't hit as hard. The silences weren't peaceful anymore, they were hollow.

Heavy.

I missed them. I missed the drama, the chaos. The late-night talks and the ruined breakfasts.

I even missed him.

Armin.

God, I hated how his name still echoed in my mind like a song stuck on repeat. We hadn't spoken since Paris. Not even a text. And while everyone else treated it like one of those things that fade naturally, I knew it wasn't.

Not for me.

And deep down, I knew, not for him either.

Zeke and I? We tried. There were a few dates, a handful of sleepovers, kisses that never made it past anything more. I always stopped things before they could go too far. Because no matter how charming he was, no matter how safe he made me feel, my mind was somewhere else.

With someone else.

Eventually, I told him everything. The truth. About the way I still thought about someone who never gave me closure. Zeke took it better than I thought. He respected it. Said he'd rather have my honesty than half my heart.

So, we "ended" things on good terms.
Good friends now. Maybe better that way.

I tossed my phone onto my bed and stared at the ceiling of my old room in my mom's house.
Same ceiling. Same posters. Same silence.

But I wasn't the same.

And I think that's the worst part.

Then my phone buzzed again, the group chat lighting up:

Jean: Connie got yelled at by Prof. Ackerman- god, it was hilarious

Sasha: And I got caught stealing the apple off Erwin's desk 😔🙏

Connie: L ratio. That's why I'm the better thief. Also Y/N, I'm sick so I skipped 💔

Ymir: Bitch we miss you

A soft, stupid smile tugged at my lips.

Me: I miss y'all too. Yelena's been torturing me with lessons 😪

I locked my phone and set it down again. The glow of the screen faded, but the sadness didn't.

Because at the end of the day, it still sucked that the only thing keeping us connected was a screen.

"Y/N! Yelena's here!" my mom called from downstairs.

I closed my eyes for a second, sighing.

Another day.
Another lecture.
More studying.
More pretending I'm fine.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──
(quick 3rd person POV, a few weeks later):

The fun ended faster than anyone expected.
Text messages that once flew back and forth, packed with inside jokes and blurry selfies, slowed down. A few a day became a few a week. Until one day, there was nothing at all.

The group chat, once buzzing with laughter, teasing, and the chaotic bond they thought would never break, went silent. Just like that. No final message. No dramatic goodbye. Just... quiet.

Maybe it was inevitable.

School picked up. Assignments piled up. Friendships shifted. Life kept moving, whether they wanted it to or not.

Connie threw himself into sports. Sasha focused on her side projects. Jean buried himself in exams. Ymir and Historia stayed close, but even they stopped sending updates. And Armin...
Armin disappeared completely.

He barely texted or talked to anyone.

Even Mikasa and Eren noticed, asking questions he brushed off with "I'm fine" or "just busy studying."

But the truth was, Armin wasn't fine.

Not even close.

Every time he opened the group chat and saw Y/N's name at the top, something twisted in his chest. He wanted to text her, God, he wanted to say anything.

But what could he say?

"Sorry for ruining you."
"Sorry for making you think you were crazy."
"Sorry for feeling something for you I can't name."

No. He couldn't.

So he stayed silent.

And the longer he stayed silent, the harder it felt to reach out.

Back in Marley, Y/N felt it too. Not just the distance from him, but from all of them. The silence hit her like a slow, creeping wave. No one said it out loud, but they were all moving on.

Maybe she should too.

But at night, when the house was quiet and the stars above Marley reminded her of Paris, she couldn't help but wonder...

Was she the only one still stuck in that memory?

The answer was no. Absolutely not.

Historia kept their airport photo as her wallpaper.

Connie screamed the group chat's name whenever he won basketball games.

Sasha baked everyone's favorite desserts and sold them, a little tradition in her own way.

Pieck reposted videos that matched the group's vibe.

None of them had forgotten.
They just all thought the others did.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──
(Armin's POV):

Another stupid school day.

I used to love this, thrived in it, actually. I lived for the competition, the lectures, the thrill of proving I was the smartest one in the room. Especially when she was there, challenging me, smirking like she had something to prove too.

Y/N.

God, I miss fighting with her.
Now? School was just... dull.

Ever since Paris, things had shifted. The group that once felt like the center of his universe now barely functioned. They only really talked during classes or hanging out during breaks. Outside of school, everyone was "busy." Life kept moving, but I felt stuck.

And every damn day, she was on my mind.

Her smile. That stupid, infuriating confidence.
The way she laughed when she knew she was right. The way she looked under the sparkling lights of Paris, like a dream he had no right to have. The tension between us, undeniable. Thick like fog. Dangerous like fire.

I should be over it. I told myself to be.
She was probably with Zeke now. That smug bastard.

Just the thought of him made my jaw clench.

I was pulled from my thoughts when a loud thud echoed beside me- Eren, tossing his bag down as he took the seat on my right.

"Yo- what's up, nerd?" Eren chuckled, nudging me with his elbow.

I offered him a small smile, barely there. I hadn't really been in the mood for weeks now. "Nothing much. Just another day."

More students started filing in, voices echoing around the lecture hall until the whole row was full, our row. The one the group always claimed.

All except for one seat.

One seat, left empty.

Hers.

I stared at it longer than I meant to. Like an idiot.

It was stupid how something as small as a chair could punch a hole straight through my chest.

Then there were them, the two girls I wanted to forget existed.

Annie and Hitch.

Suddenly the "it girls" of campus. Laughing too loud, posting too much. They didn't even mention Y/N anymore. Didn't speak her name. As if they'd never been friends. As if Y/N never existed.

And that, God, that pissed me off.

I was snapped out of it when the room fell silent. All heads turned toward the front as Professor Hange walked in, a stack of papers in their arms and a coffee in hand.

The class was about to begin.

But I was somewhere else entirely.

Still stuck in Paris.

Still stuck on her.

Throughout the entire lesson, my mind wasn't on the lecture.

It was in Paris.

On the nights that felt infinite. The laughter. The chaos. The group that, for one brief moment, felt like a family. But mostly, my mind kept drifting back to her.

Y/N.

And that one damn moment in her room.
The way she pinned me to the wall, her eyes burning into mine.
Her breath on my skin.
The tension between us, thick enough to suffocate.

God- I should've kissed her.

I wanted to kiss her.

But instead, I just stood there like an egoistic bastard.

And then she was gone.

A deep silence cut through my thoughts, pulling me back to reality.
Wait, why was it so quiet?

Even Hange had stopped talking.

That's when the door creaked open.

"Excuse me for disturbing..."

That voice.

No.

No way.

Y/N.

I didn't even turn my head, I couldn't. I was frozen.

"Ain't no fucking way-" Connie whispered, jaw completely slack.

I glanced up slowly, heart beating out of rhythm.
And there she was.

Standing in the doorway like some scene ripped from a dream I'd tortured myself with for months. Same hair. Same eyes. Same presence that demanded attention the second she stepped in.

But this time, she looked... peaceful.
Different. Stronger.

"Oh, don't apologize, dear!" Hange clapped with delight, practically bouncing with excitement. "Everyone, please welcome Y/N- she's returning to our campus after a lovely healing process!"

Wait.
Returning?

Returning to our campus?

I blinked, unsure if I heard that right.
Everyone else must've been thinking the same, because whispers broke out all around us, a wave of shocked gasps and murmurs.
But none of us, me, Sasha, Connie, Jean, Mikasa, Eren, Historia, Ymir, Reiner, Pieck, even Porco- none of us said a word.

We were too stunned.
Too breathless.

And then she started walking, up the steps of the lecture hall, every eye in the room following her.
Like a scene in slow motion.

Her boots on the stairs. Her bag slung over her shoulder. Her gaze flickering up toward us.

Then- she stopped in front of our row.

Right in front of the empty seat.

The one she used to sit in.
The one that had stayed empty ever since.

"Is this seat taken?" she asked, that familiar smile on her lips.

Not forced. Not polite.

Real.

Soft. Warm. Radiating something I hadn't seen in a long time.

And then Sasha, bless her impulsive soul, launched out of her seat.

Didn't care that we were mid-lecture.
Didn't care that half the class was watching.
She just threw her arms around Y/N, holding her tight like she might disappear again if she let go.

"You're back?" Sasha gasped, voice cracking.

Y/N hugged her just as tightly. "I missed you so much."

It was like a dam broke.

Connie stood up next, knocking over his water bottle as he scrambled to hug them both.
Jean followed, then Mikasa, who nodded silently but had the faintest hint of a smile on her face.
Even Porco stood, arms crossed but visibly moved. Ymir smirked and muttered something about "finally."

I stayed seated.

My heart was hammering in my chest, hands clenched into fists in my lap.
I didn't know what to do.
What to say.

But then, her eyes met mine.

Just for a second.
A flicker. A heartbeat.
Enough to drown me.

And in that second, I saw it.

She hadn't forgotten me either.

Not even close.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──
(Back to Y/Ns POV):

It took a lot to come back.
A lot of convincing.
Convincing my mom that I could handle it. Convincing myself that I could.

Something inside me kept whispering that I had to return. That I wasn't done here. That there were pieces of me still left behind.

I told myself the stares wouldn't matter, that people wouldn't care when I showed up again.

Yeah, that was a lie.

The moment I stepped into the lecture hall, every single pair of eyes locked onto me like I was a walking headline. But I kept walking anyway. Chin high. Shoulders back. Like I owned the place.

Just like I used to.

I didn't care about the whispers. Didn't care about the turned heads or the wide eyes.
Because mine were focused on one thing.

That row.

My row.

The one with my friends in it.

Now we were all crammed around a too-small cafeteria table, trays and drinks and loud voices blending together.

It felt like us again. The way it used to.

"I'm still speechless," Sasha mumbled around a mouthful of food. "Ain't no way you actually came back."

"What made you return after, what, almost three months since Paris?" Jean asked, eyes narrowing in that nosy-but-caring way only he could pull off.

I shrugged, sipping from my drink. "Honestly? I don't know. It just... felt like I had to. Like something unfinished."

Before anyone could respond, a trio of girls I didn't recognize walked up to our table- smirking like they thought they were relevant.

One of them tilted her head. "Is it true you were in, like... a mental hospital?"

Oh.

That story.

Cute.

I leaned in just slightly, lips curling into a devilish smirk. "Yeah, it's true. Be careful though- I tend to hurt pretty girls."

Their faces dropped.

One actually took a step back.
Then they all turned and practically ran off.

God, that felt good.

Connie wheezed with laughter. "You are so fucking fun, I swear."

Everyone started laughing until someone spoke up again.

"Oh my god- wait!" Historia gasped suddenly, practically bouncing in her seat. "We should throw Y/N a welcome party!"

"Yes!!" Sasha squealed, yanking on Eren's hair. "Please, tell me we can!"

"Ow- fine!" Eren groaned, trying to pry her hands off. "Let go of me first!"

I laughed. I couldn't help it.

For the first time in a long time, it felt right.

Coming back?
Might've been one of the best decisions I've made.

But of course, it wouldn't be our group without at least one awkward moment.

"Wait," Jean started, his brows raised, "Y/N- are you sharing a dorm with... you know..."

I gave him a flat look. "No, Jean. I have my own dorm, thanks."

Then I smirked. "Wanna come over~?"

He grinned instantly. "You cheating on Zeke already?"

...Right.

Zeke.

"That, uh... never actually happened," I admitted, eyes flicking down to my tray. "I kind of rejected him before anything started."

There was a beat of silence-
Then Eren let out the loudest sigh of relief known to man. "Thank fuck."

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

He just leaned back and shrugged. "What? Someone had to say it."

And I swear I heard Armin exhale beside him.
Quiet. Subtle.
But definitely there.

Or maybe... maybe I just wanted it to be.

The rest of the lunch break flew by in laughter and chaotic plans. For the first time in what felt like forever, we were all back in sync. Talking. Teasing. Loud. Whole.

And even after lunch, as we split off into smaller groups to head to our majors' lectures, that same energy lingered in the air.

Because we all had something to look forward to.

My welcome party.

At Eren's house.

Or better said-
Eren's mansion.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

I stood in front of the mirror, smoothing my hands over the fabric of the dress.

It clung to me in all the right places, elegant, timeless. Not too long, not too short. Just enough to make a statement without trying too hard.

It was my mom's.

Surprisingly, she handed it to me without a word when I was packing to return. Just laid it on my bed and walked out. No long speech. No conditions.

But that was her way of saying she approved.

The dress was deep burgundy, silk with a subtle shimmer under the light. Strapless, but structured. It cinched at my waist and draped over my hips like it had been tailored for me. Paired with gold jewelry and heels I wasn't used to walking in, it screamed wealthy, untouchable, I'm back.

I adjusted my hair one last time, applying a bit of gloss and spraying my perfume all around my body, the perfume that made me smell like vanilla, my signature smell.

Tonight was one of those moments. Those moments where I felt confident and happy.

My phone buzzed.

Jean: We're on our way to Eren's. You better make a hot entrance Y/N. (might wanna make out since you're single)

Sasha: I told them you're gonna look like a goddess so don't let me down!!! 😭

Historia: Please remind everyone why you were THE girl on campus. Do it for the drama🤗

Ymir: Jean is hard thinking about you.

Jean: HELLO? I'M NOT?

I chuckled, locking my phone and picking up my bag.

I didn't know exactly what tonight would bring, who I'd run into, what words would be said, or how many glances I'd steal when no one was looking.

But I knew one thing.

They weren't ready.

And maybe, just maybe...
neither was I.

Still, I grabbed my coat, stepped out the door, and walked into the night like it belonged to me.

Because for once in a while,

It did.

One of the smartest things I'd done, maybe ever, was leaving my car behind when I left. I didn't think much of it at the time. My mom drove me everywhere, and I figured I wouldn't be gone long. But now, coming back? It felt like a sign. Like a small part of me knew I'd return.

Now it was mine again.

I slid into the driver's seat, the leather familiar against my skin. I connected my phone to the Bluetooth, scrolling through my playlists until I found the right one, fu, smooth, loud enough to match the adrenaline buzzing in my chest.

The engine purred to life, and as I shifted into gear, a memory hit me like a gust of wind.

Me. Annie. Hitch. Our trio. Sitting in this very car, waiting on each other, blasting music, laughing over stupid things.

For a second, it clutched at my chest. Tight. Unforgiving. But I shook it off.

Not tonight.

I pulled onto the road, heading to Eren's place and, of course, it didn't take long. His mansion stood like some monument to wealth and rebellion. Lights flashing. Music blaring. People spilling out onto the lawn. Typical Eren party: loud, messy, wild.

I parked, stepped out, and immediately the bass of the music thrummed through my body. The scent of alcohol, cologne, and expensive perfume hung in the air. My heels clicked against the pavement as I made my way through the crowd, faces I didn't recognize, people who weren't really friends, just party regulars chasing a high or someone to go home with.

I didn't stop for anyone.

Just headed straight for the back, the VIP area Eren always had roped off for us. The actual crew.

And there they were.

"Look who's finally here," Jean called out, eyes raking over me with a low whistle. "Damn."

Sasha nearly launched herself from the couch, wrapping me in a tight hug before I could even open my mouth. Her perfume smelled like flowers and nostalgia.

"I missed you so much- don't you ever leave again," she mumbled into my shoulder, clutching me like I might disappear.

"I'll think about it," I teased, laughing softly as I hugged her back.

Behind her, the others had already started standing, Historia waving excitedly, Connie raising his red cup like a toast, Mikasa giving me the tiniest, most genuine smile. Even Reiner was there, arms crossed, nodding like he was proud of me.

And then there was him.

Armin.

Sitting on the edge of one of the couches, hands in his lap. His eyes locked on me the second I stepped into the VIP area. And he hadn't looked away once.

I swallowed.

It wasn't just the dress. It wasn't just the return. It was the history, the weight of everything we never said. And in that moment, it all came crashing back.

The wall pin. The tension. The silence.

I glanced away before I got pulled too deep.

"Drinks?" Connie offered, breaking the spell. "They're actually decent tonight. Eren splurged."

"Oh? What's the occasion?" I asked, slipping off my coat and taking a seat beside Sasha.

"You," Historia said simply, like it was obvious. "You're the occasion."

And for the first time in a long time, I let myself believe it.

That maybe I was worth celebrating.
That maybe I wasn't just a memory they were trying to forget.

But then, Armin stood up. Quiet. Slow. His cup still in hand.

He didn't say anything, just walked past me- close enough that his shoulder brushed mine, close enough to feel the tension like a wire stretched too tight.

And then he was gone. Disappeared into the crowd.

My breath caught in my throat.

So much for letting go.

Welcome back, I guess.

Sasha didn't notice. Or maybe she did and chose to ignore it. Either way, she kept talking, gushing about how Eren had hired actual bartenders this time and how Connie had tried to flirt with one and got rejected spectacularly.

But my mind wasn't on the drinks. Or the music. Or the neon lights reflecting off the pool like some surreal painting.

It was on him.

Armin.

The way he brushed past me without a word, without even looking at me. Like I wasn't there. Like I wasn't the girl who had haunted his thoughts and dreams and sleepless nights.

Or maybe I still was.

Maybe that was the problem.

I stared down at the drink Historia had just passed me, some pink fruity thing that looked harmless but probably packed a punch. I took a sip anyway, ignoring the burn in my throat.

Jean flopped down beside me, throwing an arm over the back of the couch. "So... how long are you staying this time?"

I looked at him. "Long enough, probably forever."

He smirked. "Vague. Hot. Mysterious. I approve."

"Don't you have someone else to annoy?"

"Sure do. But they're not dressed like that," he said, gesturing to my outfit. "You're seriously trying to kill someone tonight, huh?"

"Maybe," I chuckled, glancing toward the hallway Armin disappeared into.

Jean followed my gaze, then leaned in slightly. "He's been messed up, you know. Since Paris. Since you."

I didn't respond.

Not because I didn't want to. But because my stomach twisted at the thought that maybe, just maybe, I wasn't the only one stuck in the past.

"I'm gonna go get some air," I muttered, standing up.

Sasha blinked. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Just need a minute."

I walked away from the group, past strangers dancing and strangers making out and strangers drinking like the world was ending. I kept walking, through the house, down the hallway-

-and out the back door to the garden.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

The music pulsed through the walls like a heartbeat, loud, relentless, deafening.

But out here, in the shadowy garden behind Eren's mansion, it was quiet. Moonlight poured over the stone paths in pale ribbons, the air laced with cigarette smoke and expensive cologne. It smelled like memory and temptation.

And then I saw him.

Armin.

Leaning against the stone wall like he belonged to the darkness. A few buttons of his shirt undone, his collarbone catching the moonlight. Jaw sharp. Posture tense. Eyes lifted to the sky, like he was searching for answers he'd never get.

He didn't move when I stepped outside.

Didn't flinch when the door clicked shut behind me.

Didn't speak as my heels clicked across the stones, each step dragging me closer to a gravity I told myself I'd never orbit again.

The silence wasn't awkward.

It was alive.

Heavy with every unspoken word, every mistake, every night I spent convincing myself I didn't miss him.

I stopped a few feet away, arms crossed.

"So you're just gonna ignore me now that I'm back?" I asked, voice soft but sharp, like a blade wrapped in silk.

His shoulders stiffened. Slowly, he turned to face me, and his eyes. God. Those ocean-blue eyes caught the moonlight like glass, and for a moment, I felt the full weight of them. The way he looked at me like he was standing in front of something he couldn't have, but wanted anyway.

"Only when it's someone I'm not ready to face," he murmured.

My heart jerked in my chest. "Am I that someone?"

He didn't hesitate. "You already know the answer."

I stepped closer, close enough to smell him. Warm and clean, with that faint trace of mint and something darker. Something him. It hit me in the gut like a memory I didn't ask for.

"I didn't come back to start a war," I said quietly. "But I'm not here to pretend nothing happened either."

He exhaled sharply, like the air had been trapped in his lungs for too long.

"Then what are you here for?"

I held his gaze. "Closure. Maybe."

He scoffed. "Closure's a lie people tell themselves so they can sleep at night. You're smarter than that."

I took another step. Too close. But not close enough.

"You're angry," I said.

"I'm a lot of things."

"I'm not the same girl anymore."

He tilted his head slightly, tone biting. "Aren't you?"

"I'm softer. But not weaker. I've grown. I've healed." I gave a slow shrug. "But you... you haven't changed at all, have you?"

His eyes flicked to my mouth, just for a second. But I saw it. Felt it.

Something in him cracked.

"You think I haven't changed?" he whispered, voice low. Rough. "I haven't slept properly  in months. I see you every time I close my eyes. I hear your laugh in places you've never been. And that night in Paris..." His voice broke just slightly. "I still feel your hand on my collar like you branded me. I can't get that stupid scent of yours out of my veins."

My breath caught.

"Don't do that," I said.

"Do what?"

"Say things like that."

"Why?" His voice dropped into something dangerous. Intoxicating. "Because you'll want to kiss me again?"

He stepped forward.

And just like that, the distance disappeared. We were breath-to-breath. My back nearly hit the stone wall. His body a wall of heat in front of mine.

"Tell me to stop," he said, voice barely above a whisper. "Tell me you don't want this."

I didn't say anything.

Because I couldn't.

Because I did.

God, I craved this.

His hand came to my jaw, fingers brushing my skin like he was afraid I might disappear. I didn't pull away. I leaned in.

"I hate you," I breathed.

"I know."

"I wanted to hate you."

His thumb traced my cheekbone. "So did I."

And then-

His mouth crashed into mine.

It wasn't tender. It was wildfire. All teeth and tongue and desperation. Like we were trying to ruin each other with every kiss. Like every repressed feeling was finally clawing its way out.

I grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him closer, devouring him like he was oxygen and I'd been holding my breath for months. His hand slid down my spine, around my waist, gripping me like he needed me to stay grounded.

My back hit the wall. His hips pressed into mine. I gasped into his mouth and he swallowed the sound like it belonged to him.

And maybe it did.

He pulled back for just a second, just long enough for his forehead to rest against mine. We were both panting, chests heaving, lips bruised.

"This is a mistake," he whispered.

"I know."

"But I'm going to do it again."

"Do it," I dared.

He kissed me again. Harder. Deeper. His hands tangled in my hair like he didn't care if he got lost in me.

My fingers found the buttons of his shirt. I undid the rest of them one by one, slow, deliberate, my hands sliding across his chest, his abs, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath my fingertips. He groaned into my mouth, a low sound that made heat bloom deep in my stomach.

But then- he stopped.

Abruptly.

He pulled away, just enough to look at me. His lips were smeared with my lipstick, flushed and wet and parted just slightly.

He looked sinful.

And then, slowly, deliberately, he smirked.

He fixed his shirt, buttoning it back up, like nothing had happened.

Pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose with maddening calm.

I blinked at him, breathless. Confused.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

He took a step back, eyes gleaming with mischief and something darker beneath it.

"Remember when we argued, and I said you drool when you look at me?" His voice was smug. Dangerous. "And you kept denying it?"

I stared.

"Well..." he said with a slow smirk. "Now I'm going to leave you exactly like this. Desperate. Drenched in want."

My lips parted in shock.

He leaned in, brushing his mouth against my ear.

"The second you beg for me..."

A pause.

"I'll be all yours."

And just like that, he turned and walked back into the party, leaving me standing there, breathless, stunned, and burning.

He left me craving for him.
︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

A/N: WOAH, WOAH, WOAH- what just happened there?!

Yeah, I finally fed you a heated kiss after starving y'all for chapters. Was it worth it? Be honest.

Y/N's back, finally. how are we feeling?! Did you miss her being back in Paradis?

Now the real questions begin...

How will Annie and Hitch react to her return?

Will Y/N actually beg for Armin like he wants her to?

Stay tuned, besties. It's only getting messier from here.

Chapter Text

TW: This chapter contains heavy smut, explicit sexual content, and kink-related themes. Reader discretion is advised.

Feel free to skip the chapter when Y/N gets to her car.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

(3rd person POV):

Armin walked back into the house, shoulders squared like nothing had happened.

Like he hadn't just committed a full-blown sin under moonlight.

But the second he stepped into the living room, everything stopped.

Conversations halted. Laughter died mid-breath.

Every head turned.

His blonde hair was a tousled mess, a distinct handprint raked through the strands like someone had clung to him in desperation. His lips were swollen, kissed raw, stained in familiar red, unmistakably lipstick. The same color bled down his jawline, smeared like war paint. His glasses sat crooked on the bridge of his nose, fogged at the lenses.

It was the look of a man undone.

Connie froze mid-sentence. Sasha gawked, her drink wobbling dangerously in her grip. Porco let out a low, entertained whistle.

Jean's jaw dropped. "Holy shit, Arlert..." he breathed, leaning forward. "Who the hell did you eat alive?"

Armin didn't respond. Just shrugged lazily and sank into the couch, arms sprawled across the backrest, like he hadn't just set the garden, and Y/N, on fire. He crossed one leg over the other, utterly relaxed. Untouched by the chaos he'd caused.

But then-

The room held its breath again.

Because she walked in.

Y/N.

Her hair was a mess of elegant ruin, soft strands clinging to the sheen of sweat along her neck. Her lipstick was half gone, smudged carelessly across her mouth, the very same shade now tattooed across Armin's face. Her dress clung tighter than before, like even it had been gripped too hard, dragged up too fast.

She kept her eyes low.

Because she could feel it.

The stares. The weight of them. The electricity lingering in the air. No one needed confirmation, the evidence was written all over them.

Eren sipped his drink with a slow, satisfied smirk. Mikasa's brow arched, gaze flicking sharply from Y/N to Armin. Historia nudged Pieck, and they exchanged stunned, scandalized looks. Reiner looked ready to commit to a blackout rather than process what he was seeing.

The silence tightened, like the room itself was holding back a scream.

Until-

"Damn, y'all nasty," Ymir said flatly, the words slicing through the air like a whip.

The room exploded.

Laughter rang out, raw and unfiltered. Sasha slapped Connie's arm, wheezing. Jean practically doubled over. Porco muttered something under his breath about exhibitionists. Pieck took her phone out and took an evidence picture of them.

"Wait- wait," Sasha choked out. "Did you two- Here? At the party?!"

Y/N glanced her way but didn't speak.

She didn't need to.

Instead, she strode across the room with the kind of poise that only came from practiced indifference, grabbed a drink from the table, crossed her legs, and leaned back into the couch like the smudges on Armin's face weren't hers. Like she wasn't mentally cursing him out for edging her and leaving her like that.

Bastard.

Jean was still staring. "Are we just not gonna talk about it? Like it's not obvious?"

"Nope," Armin replied immediately, almost too fast, stretching out like a cat in the sun. "We're absolutely not."

Eren raised his glass across the room, barely hiding his grin. "Told you she'd come to you eventually."

Armin didn't even glance his way.

He just lifted his drink in silent acknowledgment, the smallest smile curling on his lips. The kind of smile that came with power. With victory.

Y/N glared at him from across the room, sharp and cold, like a warning.

But it wasn't hatred.

It was heat.

A silent promise.

A dangerous game.

And the rest of the group?
They had no idea what the hell they'd just witnessed...

But they knew one thing for sure:

Shit was about to get messy.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

(Back to Y/Ns POV):

I couldn't help it.

Couldn't hide it either.

My entire body was on edge, and no amount of forced calm could smother the fire licking up my spine.

I was frustrated, sexually frustrated, because Armin had turned me on like no one ever had... and then left me.

Just like that.

He'd lit me up and walked away with a smirk, leaving my body aching, pulsing, needing. Like I was some game he could half-play and then drop mid-match. Typical video game players.

And I hated how I felt.

Why the hell was I craving him so badly? Him?

Armin Arlert?

Never- never- in my wildest nightmares had I thought this would happen.

Not to me.

Not like this.

"Yo- Y/N?" Connie's voice sliced through my daze, snapping me out of my spiraling thoughts. "You're, uh, poking holes in your cup with your nails. You good?"

I blinked, glanced down.

Sure enough, the plastic cup in my hand was leaking, little punctures dotting the sides from where my nails had dug in.

Smooth.

I quickly tipped the rest of the drink back, draining it before the leaking made a scene. "Yeah. I'm good."

But one person knew I was lying.

I felt his stare.

Armin.

Every time I looked up, there he was, watching me over the rim of his glass, pretending to be innocent with that soft smile. That gentle tilt of his head. That stupid, sweet expression.

Devil.

He wore that harmless look like a mask, and I'd fallen for it once. I wouldn't do it again.

I've learned from the past. I've studied him now.

He wanted me to crawl back. To beg. To admit I wanted more. He said it to my face, "beg for me."

Well...

Not in this lifetime.

Let us play this game, Arlert.

"Folks!" Connie suddenly jumped up, grinning like he'd just cured boredom. "Y'all know what time it is..."

A pause.

"GAME TIME!"

Sasha clapped like a seal at a buffet, cheeks flushed with excitement. Pieck gave several nods of approval, her smile already wicked.

The group lived for chaos, and games were our favorite kind of gasoline.

Actually, Connie... not a bad idea.

Armin wants me to beg?

No, baby.

I'll let him watch me give that energy to someone else.

He's not the only one who can play with fire.

My eyes swept the room, slow and deliberate, like a predator choosing prey. And then I found him,

Jean.

Reclined back on the couch, one leg lazily propped up, a drink swirling in his hand like he had all the time in the world. Relaxed. Handsome. Effortlessly confident.

He was perfect.

I smirked.

Then I stood, letting my hips sway a little extra, subtle, but enough, and strolled over to him, each step deliberate, measured. I could feel Armin's eyes trailing me like heat down my spine, burning through the fabric of my dress.

Good.

Let him watch.

I slid onto the couch beside Jean, close enough that our thighs touched. His eyes flicked to me, surprised at first, but that smirk came quick. He clocked the game in seconds.

"Well, hey there," he said, his voice low, cocky, amused. "You good?"

"Never better," I replied sweetly, leaning just slightly into him, eyes twinkling with mischief.

His brows lifted, intrigued now, fully in.

And across the room?

Armin had gone still.

I didn't even need to look to know. I felt it, the pressure in the air, the tension hanging like a loaded gun between us. Silent. Lethal.

Let him boil.

Let him wonder.

Let him burn.

"What game are you playing, Y/N?" Jean murmured, turning slightly toward me, his voice smooth like velvet but edged with curiosity.

"Me? A game?" I tilted my head, pouting playfully, but it didn't last. I cracked a smirk and leaned in, whispering just enough for him to hear. "I'm just getting my revenge. And you, my love, are going to help me."

Jean chuckled under his breath, rubbing his jaw like he was thinking it over. "Huh. Don't remember signing up for that."

I leaned in closer, teasing, "You get to be all touchy with me and make out. Isn't that your entire personality?"

That made him laugh, loud, full, amused. "You're crazy."

He paused, then eyed me with a crooked grin.

"...But I'm in. Only 'cause you're fine as fuck though."

Perfect.

I reached forward and clinked my cup against his in silent agreement, flashing him a sly smile. This would work.

I wasn't into Jean. Sure he was attractive but not my type, not the type I would date.

But Armin didn't know that.

And speaking of-

"Alright!" Connie's voice rang out again. "Everyone circle up! We're doing Truth or Dare, but like, actual dares. No coward shit!"

"YESSS," Sasha yelled, already crawling over to the middle of the room. Pieck followed behind, dragging a pillow across the floor like she was getting ready for war.

Within seconds, everyone started to move. Blankets were thrown down, cushions shifted. The friend group formed a loose circle in the living room, drinks in hand, anticipation buzzing in the air like static. It felt like a sleepover rather than a party.

I stayed exactly where I was, on the couch, next to Jean and waited.

I could feel Armin's gaze cutting into me from across the circle. He hadn't moved. His posture was relaxed, but his jaw was tight, and his fingers curled too hard around his glass.

"C'mon, lovers," Ymir called, motioning at me and Jean. "Join the group before we make you do the first dare."

I smirked.

And then, as if on cue, Jean leaned forward and offered his hand to me. Smooth. Confident.

I took it.

Let Armin see.

The circle was now complete.

Everyone had settled in drinks topped up, phones tossed aside, anticipation buzzing like a fuse ready to be lit. Laughter echoed in little bursts, but underneath it all, there was tension. Heavy. Lingering. Most of it sitting between me and him.

He was sitting directly across from me now, legs casually crossed, that same faint smile playing on his lips. Innocent on the outside. Murderous on the inside.

I knew that look.

I recognized it from when he was planning something.

Good. Let him scheme.

Jean sat beside me, his arm casually slung over the couch behind my shoulders. Close enough to claim, but not enough to commit. Perfect. It gave us room to play, and enough space to keep Armin guessing.

"Alright," Connie grinned, pulling a bottle from the center of the circle, "let's make this interesting."

He spun it, fast, chaotic, and we watched it whirl, all of us leaning in just a bit.

It slowed...

Spun...

And landed on Mikasa.

"Ooooh!" Sasha squealed.

"Truth or dare?" Connie asked, wiggling his brows.

"Dare," Mikasa said flatly, because of course she did.

Connie grinned like a devil. "I dare you... to give your phone to Historia for one minute. Unlocked."

Mikasa didn't even flinch. She handed her phone over without hesitation. Historia started scrolling, her eyes widening in slow horror, then amusement. "There are so many muscle training videos. And... wait- Mikasa, are these fight edits of you and Eren?"

Everyone howled.

Even I laughed. It felt good. Natural. But still, beneath the surface, I could feel him. Watching. Studying me like a scientist to his favorite experiment.

The bottle spun again.

And again.

Laughter grew, dares got riskier, and truths started to sting.

Until-

The bottle spun again... and landed on me.

"Ooooooh, finally," Ymir cackled, practically vibrating. "Y/N. Truth or dare?"

I didn't even flinch. "Dare."

Gasps echoed like thunder. Sasha kicked her legs like she was at a concert. Historia sat up straighter. Connie looked like he'd just been given a mic on live TV.

"Ohhh, she's bold," he grinned. "Alright, alright-"

But he didn't get to finish.

Because Armin cut in.

"I've got one," he said casually.

All heads turned.

He was reclined back in his seat, ankle crossed over one knee, one hand lazily swirling his drink. That same faint smile on his face, but now... it looked sharper. Like a blade disguised as silk.

But his voice?

That shit was loaded.

The air shifted.

"Since she's so brave..." he said smoothly, "I dare her... to make out with someone in the circle. Disgustingly."

A beat of silence.

Then-

"WHAAAT-" Historia.
"YO-" Reiner.
"OH HE'S SO PETTY-" Connie.
"MY GOD-" Pieck.

Even Eren blinked. Jean let out a low whistle, sitting up straighter like he'd just been called to the stage.

I leaned back, elbow draped lazily over the couch arm, chin tilted slightly.

Smugness seeped into my bloodstream like venom.

He wanted to play dirty?

Fine.

"Okay," I said coolly, like it was nothing. Like he hadn't just thrown a grenade at my chest.

And then, without hesitation, I turned to Jean.

His brows arched, nice act. "You serious?"

I smirked. "You cool with this?"

He paused only a second before that familiar grin slid onto his face. "Sweetheart, I was born to kiss."

The group exploded.

Whistles, screams, laughter, Sasha nearly spilled her drink, Pieck grabbed her phone, Historia clutched Ymir like they were watching live porn.

And Armin?

He went quiet.

Good.

I shifted, slow and deliberate, closing the space between me and Jean. My hand landed on his chest as I leaned in, lips brushing his, gentle at first.

Testing.

Then?

We dove.

It turned heated fast, too fast. Jean's hand slid into my hair, mine to his neck, and soon enough, we weren't just kissing.

We were devouring.

Mouths open, breaths ragged, tongues tangled like it meant something. I climbed into his lap, his arms settling around my waist, anchoring me there like we'd done this a thousand times.

The room had gone still.

No one was laughing anymore.

Even the music in the background felt distant, muffled under the sound of teeth grazing lips and low hums of breath.

But I didn't care.

I wasn't doing this for them.

And I wasn't doing this for Jean, either.

I was doing it because I was still aching from earlier. Still buzzing from the taste of Armin's lips. Still furious at how he left me wanting, needy, desperate, unsatisfied.

So I made myself forget.

Or at least tried to.

We didn't stop, not until our lungs burned and my lipstick had vanished completely.

And then?

I finally pulled back, breathless but composed, dragging my thumb slowly across Jean's mouth to wipe away the smudge I'd left behind. He smirked, dazed, maybe proud, and I slid off his lap without another word, returning to my spot.

And my gaze?

It went right to him.

Armin.

He was frozen. Jaw locked. His glass still in hand, but empty.

He'd downed it.

All of it.

In silence.

"Damn," Pieck muttered, fanning herself.

"I give that session a ten," Connie said, voice weirdly serious, like a judge at the Olympics. "Armin, thoughts?"

That annoying little smile curled on Armin's lips again. Cold. Calculated.

"Yeah," he said smoothly, without even blinking. "Not bad."

But I saw it.

The flicker in his eyes.

The twitch in his jaw.

He was seething.

And I was winning.

For now.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

We played for hours.
Round after round of truth or dare, messy dares, sloppy kisses, shots poured without counting, secrets spilled like drinks on the floor.

And for a while, I thought it was working.

I thought making out with Jean, climbing into his lap like I didn't care, would be enough to cool the fire crawling under my skin.

But I was wrong.
So wrong.

Because now?

Now I was sitting alone on the edge of the couch, drink untouched in my hand, staring out at the chaos of the night, and I still felt starved.

Across the room, Historia and Ymir were dancing, limbs tangled in some tipsy rhythm only they understood, laughing into each other's necks.

Eren and Mikasa were in a dark corner, mouths fused like they hadn't seen each other in years.

Connie and Sasha were at the dining table, aggressively trying to out-eat each other slice for slice, while screaming through full mouths.

It was loud. Hot. Dizzying.
And I felt completely out of place.

Like the only person in a dream who realized they were dreaming.

I hadn't noticed it until Pieck walked past and glanced at me, her brows slightly furrowed and I realized...

I was bouncing my leg, hard.

My nails were at my lips, gnawed down to the skin, anxiety flickering under every breath.

Because it hadn't helped.

The kiss. The games. The attention.

None of it scratched the itch where I needed it most.

I still wanted him.

Armin.

That annoying, smug, manipulative bastard. That perfect storm in a cardigan. He hadn't even looked at me once since the dare. He didn't need to. His silence was louder than anything he could've said.

And it was driving me crazy.

Why did I want him so badly? Why was my body still buzzing for him, even after I'd tried to bury the desire under someone else's lips?

God, I hated myself for it.

I took a deep breath and dragged my gaze around the room, until it inevitably landed on him.

Armin was sitting on the armrest of the couch, lazily sipping something darker now, maybe whiskey. He was surrounded by chatter but not speaking. Just nodding occasionally, smiling slightly, like he wasn't completely aware of how undone he looked under the dim lights.

His hair was still a little messy.
His lips, still faintly tinted.
His eyes?

On me.

Just for a second.

Then he looked away.

Like nothing happened.

And yet, my heart dropped.

I swallowed hard.

I couldn't do this much longer.

I was going to snap.

And I did, I did snap.

I snapped like a fool.

I couldn't take it anymore.

The heat crawling under my skin. The ache I couldn't scratch. The way he sat there like he hadn't ruined me under the stars and walked away like he didn't care. Like he hadn't edged me to the brink just to watch me fall apart.

I was done pretending.

The leg-bouncing stopped. My nail slipped from between my teeth. And before I knew it, I was already standing.

I crossed the room with tunnel vision, my eyes locked on him like a target. Armin noticed the shift, his gaze flicking up to me just a beat too late.

"Get up."
My voice was low. Sharp. Firm.

He blinked once, clearly surprised, but that smug little smile tugged at his lips again. "Oh? Something wrong-?"

"I said get up, Armin."

That wiped the smirk clean.

Reiner, Pieck, and Jean all paused mid-convo as I grabbed Armin by the wrist. He let me, didn't resist, just raised an eyebrow in amused curiosity as I yanked him off the armrest and started pulling him through the room.

We passed Eren and Mikasa. Passed Ymir and Historia and everyone else who barely got the chance to react.

"Y/N?" Sasha called after me. "Where are you-?"

"Now's not the time," Jean muttered, watching us disappear down the hallway with wide eyes. "She's on a mission."

I shoved open the first door I found. Empty room. Dim lighting. Perfect.
I dragged him in and slammed it shut behind us.

The moment we were alone, I turned, breath shallow, eyes blazing.

"You think this is funny?" I snapped.

Armin tilted his head, tone infuriatingly calm. "Think what's funny?"

"You- sitting there like you didn't just leave me like that," I growled. "You made me crave you. You. I made out with Jean and I still couldn't stop thinking about you. I hate it. I hate that you know exactly what you're doing to me."

His expression didn't change, but his eyes-
God, his eyes darkened.

"Then say it," he said softly.

"What?"

"Say what you want." He stepped closer, so slowly it made my skin prickle. "You dragged me in here. You clearly need something. Say it."

I hesitated.

Teeth clenched.

Heart pounding.

But the truth was already on my tongue.

"I need you, Armin," I said, the words slipping out like a confession I couldn't hold back anymore. "I'm done playing. I can't think straight. I can't focus. I need you to finish what you started."

I stared up at him, chest heaving, every part of me tense, raw, vulnerable, aching.

But instead of folding?

He smiled.

That twisted, knowing smile. The kind that promised danger, the kind that meant he had already won.

He stepped closer, slow and smooth, until my back hit the door. My breath caught.

His hand came up, fingers curling under my chin, tilting my face up to his.

"That's cute," he murmured. "But not enough."

"What?" I blinked.

"You heard me." His voice was low, dangerous, delicious. "If you want me, Y/N... really want me... then beg. Just like I told you."

I stared at him.

Heat rushed through me so fast it made my knees weak. My pride screamed. But my body...?

My body betrayed me.

He leaned in closer, his mouth brushing against the shell of my ear.

"Say it," he whispered. "Say you want me. Say you need me. Say it like you mean it."

His hand slid down my side, slow and deliberate, just enough pressure to set my nerves on fire. And still, he didn't kiss me.

I swallowed hard, fists clenched at my sides.

"Armin-"

"Nope." He pulled back just enough to look at me, his blue eyes sharp and unreadable behind glasses. "You want me? Earn it. You made me watch you crawl into another guy's lap and moan into his mouth."

I flinched, guilt slashing through the haze of lust.

He smiled again, that devilish glint in his eyes. "So come on, baby. Let's see how far your pride really goes."

I was silent.

Breathless.

Cornered, not just by the door behind me, but by him. By his gaze. By every unsaid thing thick in the air between us.

Armin leaned in again, his nose brushing mine. Barely touching. Close enough for my body to scream more, but far enough for my ego to tremble.

"You started this," he whispered, his hand still planted firmly on my waist. "You paraded around all night like a brat in heat, thinking Jean's tongue could fix the ache I left behind?"

His voice was soft, lethal. Every word landed like the slice of a scalpel.

"I was just-"

"Acting out?" he cut me off, head tilting slightly, eyes glinting. "Trying to get my attention?"

My lips parted, but nothing came out.

Because he was right.

And I hated him for it.

He leaned in again, trailing his nose down my jaw, so slow it made my skin crawl with heat. When he reached my ear, he whispered again, each syllable dipped in venom and velvet.

"Tell me... did he kiss you better than I did? Did his lips taste better than mine?"

I swallowed hard.

"N-no."

Armin smiled against my skin. Cruel. Pleased.

"Thought so."

His hand slid higher, fingers ghosting up my ribs, skimming the sides of my chest, not quite touching, but close enough to make me arch without thinking. He chuckled low in his throat, amused by how easy it was.

"Poor baby," he cooed, mockingly gentle. "All that teasing, all that pretending... and you're still aching for me, aren't you?"

My face burned.

"Say it," he whispered. "Beg."

I bit my lip, body buzzing with frustration and need.

He stepped back slightly, eyes narrowing, daring me to disobey.

And I cracked.

"I'm begging," I breathed. "Please, Armin. I need you."

His gaze stayed sharp. Unmoved.

"Louder."

I snapped.

"I need you, Armin," I gasped. "Please, touch me. Ruin me. Do whatever you want, just don't stop this time."

That slow, smug smile unfurled across his face, the look of someone who knew they'd broken you.

"There she is," he murmured. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

My chest heaved. I was unraveling while he remained cold, untouched, still entirely in control.

He bent down slightly, meeting my eyes again. "You want me?" he whispered. "Then move. We're going to my dorm."

I blinked, startled. He didn't kiss me. Didn't finish what he started. He just stood tall, expectant.

Waiting for me to obey.

So I did.

I opened the door, my body still trembling, and stepped into the hallway.

He followed close behind, quiet. Confident. Like this was routine.

We made our way back toward the private room. The sounds of laughter and music returned in full force, and the moment we crossed the threshold, the energy shifted.

Eyes turned.

Historia and Ymir were still dancing, but they slowed. Connie had pizza sauce on his cheek. Sasha's mouth hung open mid-bite.

Jean looked over from the couch and froze.

"Ohhh shit," Ymir drawled, eyes locking on us like a hawk. "Where've you two been?"

Pieck raised a brow. "Bathroom's the other way."

Sasha snorted. "They were definitely not in the bathroom."

Connie threw a dramatic hand over his heart. "Is this betrayal I feel, Y/N?! You left Jean for this nerd?"

Armin's expression didn't shift, not even an inch. Calm. Collected.

"She feels dizzy," he said flatly, voice smooth as silk. "I'm taking her back."

Eren sipped his drink and smirked behind the rim. "Yeah. I bet she does."

That earned a round of cackles.

I didn't say a word. I kept my eyes on the floor as I quietly stepped past them, grabbing my purse and jacket from the couch.

My face was burning.

Jean gave me a quick wink, his smirk flickering into something proud... then understanding.

"Ohhh," he muttered under his breath, low enough for only Armin to hear. "So that's what she wanted from the start."

Armin just looked at him once, expression unreadable.

And kept walking.

He placed a light hand on my lower back, steering me toward the door without another word.

We left to the sound of Sasha giggling, Connie hollering, and Pieck whistling low like she'd just witnessed a crime.

But I didn't turn around.

I couldn't.

I was too busy following the devil I'd begged for, right into the fire I asked to be burned in.

Outside, the air was cool against my skin, but it did nothing to soothe the fire still burning beneath it. I didn't say a word, couldn't. The adrenaline, the shame, the need still clawed at me, raw and relentless. I was dazed.

Without looking at him, I reached into my purse, pulled out my keys, and handed them over.

Armin took them without a word, like he'd been expecting it. Like he knew I wouldn't trust myself behind the wheel after the way I shattered in that room.

The drive was quiet.

Not awkward. Not tense in the uncomfortable way. Just charged. The kind of silence that crackled, like a storm building under skin. The radio stayed off. Streetlights flickered past, casting golden glows across Armin's face in pulses, like flashes of something I wasn't supposed to see.

I couldn't stop looking at him.

At the veins in his hands wrapped around the steering wheel.

At the way his jaw flexed when we hit a red light.

At the hard, unreadable line of his mouth.

He didn't glance at me once.

He was cold again. Detached. Slipping into that unreadable mask he wore so well and I hated that it made me want him more.

When we pulled into the lot, he parked smoothly, with muscle memory. He got out first, circled around, and opened my door like it was routine. Still wordless.

I stepped out, shaky, not just from nerves, but from the weight of everything unspoken.

The walk to the dorm felt short. Familiar. Too familiar.

We passed a few students on the sidewalk, laughing, buzzed, carefree. No one gave us a second look. No one knew that with every step, my pulse thundered louder. That Armin's fingers brushed mine once, barely, and it sent a shockwave through my spine.

The hallway smelled like detergent and midnight snacks. Normal. Comforting. A cruel contrast to the ache unraveling inside me.

He unlocked the door and stepped aside, waiting for me to go in first.

Inside, it was dim. Quiet. Still.

A hoodie lay tossed on the back of a chair. The soft scent of Armin's cologne hung in the air, sharp, clean, familiar. But underneath it was something darker. Warmer. Like spice and smoke and static. Like a warning.

I turned just in time to hear the click of the door locking.

He didn't speak.

He moved past me, slow, purposeful, peeling off his jacket and tossing it to the side. His shirt shifted with the motion, and I caught a glimpse of his abs, lean, defined, tense. His face stayed unreadable. That same cool stare. Like I was something beneath glass. Something cornered.

Then he moved.

Step by step. Quiet.

When he reached me, he didn't touch.

He just stood close.

So close that his chest barely brushed mine. So close that I could feel the heat radiating off his skin.

"I'm giving you one chance," he said low, like a warning. "If you want to leave, do it now. The door's right there."

I didn't move.

Didn't flinch.

Didn't breathe.

His gaze dropped to my mouth. Then slowly climbed back up.

"You stay," he murmured, "you're mine tonight. No games. No pretending."

I nodded.

Once.

Small. Shaky.

He stepped even closer.

His hand came up, slow, careful, and brushed a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers lingered near my jaw. Not touching. Almost.

"Last chance," he whispered, his voice rougher now, edged with something dangerous. "Say it."

"I'm not leaving," I whispered.

Armin's eyes darkened, deep, stormy, hungry.

And then-

He reached for the edge of my coat.

Fingers curling around the fabric.

And slowly, deliberately, slid it off my shoulders.

It hit the floor without a sound.

His gaze never left mine.

Even as my coat slipped from my shoulders and hit the floor, he didn't so much as blink. His eyes stayed fixed on me, sharp behind those glasses, jaw tight, chest rising just slightly under the crisp white button-up he still hadn't unbuttoned.

Like I was something he'd been waiting for.

Something he wasn't quite ready to touch yet, but fully intended to ruin.

His hands found my waist again, more firmly this time, commanding. His thumbs dragged along the curve of me through the fabric of my dress, and I swear I felt it like fire under my skin. He pulled me in slowly, deliberately, until our bodies brushed, until the tension snapped like static between us.

And then-

He kissed me.

No warning. No hesitation.

Just heat.

It wasn't soft. It wasn't sweet.

It was a collision, months of resentment and tension and want igniting between our mouths. He kissed me like he meant to unravel me, like he was taking back control one bruising kiss at a time. His teeth grazed my bottom lip, just enough to make me gasp, and the second I did, he slipped his tongue in, deep and unrelenting.

My hands found his chest, fingers fisting in the fabric of his button-up, desperate for something to hold on to. But it wasn't enough. I needed skin. I needed him.

"Take it off," I whispered, tugging on his shirt, breathless.

Armin smirked, cocky, dangerous.

He leaned back just slightly, enough to drag his hands up to his collar. Button by button, he undid his shirt with slow precision, eyes locked on me the entire time. He was in no rush. He wanted me to watch. To squirm.

And I did.

He shrugged it off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor behind him. The muscles of his chest were lean and tense, golden under the warm dorm light. His glasses were still on, slightly fogged, making him look all the more dangerous, like a devil disguised as a scholar.

He didn't give me time to admire.

His hands came up, fingers curling under the thin straps of my dress.

One side slipped down.

Then the other.

His knuckles grazed my shoulders as he dragged the fabric lower, his breath hittingched, barely noticeable, but I caught it. The dress pooled at my waist, caught on my hips.

He paused there, his hands resting just above the edge.

"You want to stop, tell me now," he murmured, voice lower than ever, rough and strained. "Because once this falls..."

"I don't want to stop," I breathed. "I want you."

A muscle in his jaw twitched.

Then, with one slow pull, he slid the dress down the rest of the way.

It fell to the floor.

And I was standing there, bare and breathless, trembling not from cold, but from the weight of his gaze.

His hands returned to my skin.

And when his mouth found mine again-

There was no room left for hesitation.

"Fuck- you're so fucking pretty," he cursed against my lips, voice low and breathless, like the sight of me was undoing something deep inside him.

His hands roamed again, not rushed but hungry, fingers mapping my ribs, my waist, the small of my back like he was trying to memorize the shape of my need. He kissed me harder this time, messier, like he couldn't get close enough. His glasses bumped my cheek, slightly askew, but neither of us cared. The heat between us drowned everything else out.

I moaned into his mouth, and he growled, genuine, guttural, as if that sound shattered his last thread of patience.

"You have no fucking idea," he whispered, dragging his lips along my jaw, down the slope of my neck. "What you do to me."

He placed slow and heated kisses on my neck, his whole face buried there. "I can't get enough of your scent, my vanilla."

His hands suddenly slid down to the back of my thighs. He bent slightly, then lifted.

I gasped as my legs wrapped instinctively around his waist.

"Armin-" I barely breathed, clutching onto his shoulders.

"Shh," he muttered into my skin. "I've got you."

And he did.

He carried me with ease, strong arms wrapped beneath my thighs, his mouth never straying far from my neck, my collarbone, anywhere he could reach.

With a soft push of his foot, the door to his bedroom creaked open. He stepped inside, the air colder than the living room, but it didn't matter. He walked us over to the bed, gaze locked on mine, wild and reverent.

Then, slow, careful, like I was something both sacred and sinful, he laid me down.

And the world went quiet.

Except for the sound of our breathing.
Except for the fire still crawling beneath our skin.

He just stared at me for a moment, unmoving, unreadable, like he was trying to memorize me.

Then, without a word, he moved.

Crawling over me with slow, deliberate control, his knees bracketing my hips, one on either side. I sank back into the mattress, breath catching. He was still fully in his pants, and I was left in just my bra and underwear, aching, pulsing, practically trembling with impatience.

It was too slow. Every second was dragging. And he knew it.

"Hurry up," I whined, unable to hide the need in my voice.

He cocked his head, that smug, infuriating smirk tugging at his lips as he leaned closer, face mere inches from mine, his glasses slightly slipping down the bridge of his nose.

"That desperate already?" he murmured.

I could feel the heat of his breath on my mouth. My fingers curled into the sheets beneath me.

His hand trailed down, slow and teasing, dragging the backs of his knuckles over the skin just above the waistband of my underwear. His voice dropped even lower, silkier.

"You begged me to ruin you," he said, eyes flicking between mine, "and now you're rushing me?"

"I didn't mean ruin me slowly," I bit out, cheeks flushed. "You're torturing me."

He laughed under his breath, and the sound vibrated against my skin as he dipped down, lips brushing over the line of my jaw.

"Good."

He kissed lower, down my throat, then the space between my collarbones. Every press of his lips left a brand behind, and his hands were sliding down my sides, over my hips.

I tilted my head to the side, biting my lip as I shut my eyes. I could sense my heart pounding out of my chest.

And of course he used that opportunity. He attacked my neck with lustful and wet kisses, leaving many hickeys, desperate hickeys.

He marked me.

I let out loud whimpers, unable to control the sounds that left my mouth and god, he was fucking smooth. He had distracted me so well with the kisses that I hadn't realised that my bra was already on the floor.

Before I could react he started placing kisses, making his way down to my chest but the thing that drove me crazy was that

he was looking into my eyes the entire time.

My head fell back with a loud whimpers as he started kissing my chest, his hands on my waist. I automatically moved my hand to his hair, slightly gripping it.

"Armin- hurry!-" I cursed and that made him stop, he fucking stopped.

"Don't rush me or I'll make you cry out in need." He said seriously, grabbing my jaw while doing so. But then a smirk appeared again.

He stood up in front of the bed, taking a hair tie from his nightstand as he put his hair into a low ponytail. God, even that made me insane.

I watched him as he unbuckled his belt, letting his pants hit the floor and somehow, him standing in front of me only in his boxers made me blush like a fool.

God Y/N, stop it.

He chuckled at my reaction and left the room quickly, making me confused but just as quick as he left, he came back, holding something up in the air, between his fingers.

"Sorry love, Eren has these, I don't."

right, he was holding a condom. But what did he mean by that? Did he just generally not sleep with anyone or did he go..raw?

Armin's eyes glinted as he shut the door behind him with a soft click, the condom still dangling teasingly from between his fingers. He padded toward the bed slowly, each step deliberate, boxers riding low on his hips, muscles flexing subtly with the movement.

The shadows from the hallway lights framed him in gold, like some mythological tease made flesh, carved smooth and lean and completely focused on me.

"Don't overthink it," he said casually, but there was a weight under the words. He tossed the condom onto the mattress beside my thigh and leaned in, placing one hand on the bed beside my waist, the other sliding slowly up my leg. "I don't sleep around, that's why I don't have them."

The intensity yet softness in his voice stole the air from my lungs.

"Don't look away," he murmured as my eyes instinctively tried to drop to his mouth, to the hand now ghosting up my inner thigh. "Listen to me," he breathed, and there was that wicked smirk again, "and look at me the entire time."

I didn't even realize he'd slipped my underwear down until the cool air hit the slick warmth between my legs. He didn't tear them off, he eased them, like he was unwrapping something precious. The contrast sent a sharp, wet pulse through me, hips twitching before I could stop them.

"Already trembling for me," he said lowly, dragging a knuckle down my center, deliberately avoiding my clit. "What were you saying? Hurry?" His fingers curled, catching slickness, drawing a long line up my folds that made me gasp and shudder.

"Fuck- Armin-"

"Shhh," he hummed, his mouth descending again, but lower this time, over my ribs, my stomach, leaving little burning kisses that bloomed in trails of need. His fingers were spreading me gently now, eyes never leaving mine even as his lips found the soft crease just above my mound. His breath was warm, and when his tongue finally pressed against me, flat and slow, my whole body jerked with a loud, desperate cry.

He moaned into me, like he'd just tasted something divine. And god, he didn't just lick, he ate. Tongue curling, dragging, flicking with maddening rhythm, then dipping low again, back and forth, never in a rush, always watching how I bucked and writhed and clenched at the sheets.

I felt his hands slide under my thighs, lifting and spreading me wider, his shoulders pinning my legs open while he kept me prisoner to every wet, relentless lap of his tongue. My hands flew to his hair again, twisting the ponytail tight in my fist as my moans climbed, thick and shameless.

"Armin- god, I'm-"

He pulled back just slightly, lips glistening, eyes hooded. "You think I'll let you cum yet?" His voice was hoarse, full of restrained desire. He pressed two fingers in deep without warning, shlick, curling them immediately, thumb flicking with practiced precision.

I couldn't even answer. My body locked, thighs trembling violently around his shoulders, and he watched me fall apart. Lips wet, eyes smug and adoring all at once.

"There," he whispered when I finally sagged, breathless and boneless beneath him. "That's the face I wanted."

But he wasn't done.

He kissed my inner thigh, then the other, rising slowly as his fingers slipped out. I watched, dazed, as he grabbed the condom and tore it open with his teeth, never taking his eyes off me.

"I'll go slow," he said, softer now, nudging my knees higher with reverence. He slid the boxers down, member finally springing free, hard, flushed, veined beautifully. I swallowed thickly, thighs already parting instinctively again.

Armin stroked himself once, then fit the condom on and lined himself up. He brushed the head over me, teasing, dragging through the mess he'd already made of me.

When he pressed in, it was devastatingly slow.

I felt every inch as he sank deeper, hips nudging forward, stretching me so perfectly that I forgot how to breathe. He groaned low in his throat, head falling forward to rest against mine as his hips met my skin.

"So tight around me," he panted, voice trembling just a little. "Fuck- fuck, baby, look at me."

I did, helplessly, caught in his gaze again as he began to move. Deep, unhurried thrusts that hit all the way at the back, his skin hitting against mine with every movement.

I gripped him, nails dragging across his back as my mouth dropped open in moans he swallowed with kisses. Every stroke built higher, my slick noises obscene, rhythm wet and fast now.

And still, he held me with those eyes.

"You gonna cry out for me now?" he whispered into my mouth, hips snapping harder, a hand tangling in my hair to tilt my head back as he bit down lightly on my throat.

"Fuck- Armin!" I cried out in pain and relief.

"Good girl." He whispered but then smashed his lips against mine again as he started to move even faster, making me cry out loudly and my nails dug deeper into his skin, drawing blood.

The rhythm built slow, deliberate, devastating. His eyes stayed on mine the whole time, even as my head began to tip back from the rising pleasure. He wouldn't let me look away.

"Y/N," he said, voice tight. "I thought I told you to look at me? I want to see how good I make you feel."

And god, it did feel good.

Too good.

My hands gripped his biceps now, holding on as his thrusts deepened, each one perfectly angled, perfectly timed. His mouth was everywhere, along my jaw, my collarbone, my chest. Every possible place he could reach.

"You like that?" he murmured, pressing in even deeper, his hips grinding just right. "You like how I make you feel?"

I couldn't speak. Could barely breathe.

My body was burning, pulsing, caught in some suspended place between bliss and oblivion.

And he knew it.

I was close, too close, and when he slid a hand down, fingers rubbing tight, fast circles, my vision went white.

"Armin-" My voice broke as I shattered beneath him, orgasm tearing through me with a force that left my whole body trembling, thighs clenching around his hips.

He didn't stop.

Didn't slow.

He chased it, chased me, his rhythm turning desperate, rougher, until he was panting into my mouth, forehead pressed against mine.

"I'm gonna- fuck- Y/N-"

"Don't," I whispered, barely coherent, wrapping my legs tighter around him. "Don't stop- please-"

That undid him.

He cursed under his breath and smashed his lips back against mine, devouring me as he fastened his pace, making me moan against his mouth.

He was a mess, not worse than me but still. His groans had turned into loud whines, close to cries. His hair was messy, almost out of the ponytail and he was looking at me with those desperate eyes of his.

"I can't anymore- fuck-"

He groaned deep in his chest, thrust once more, hard, before stilling, his body jerking as he came, head buried in my neck, fingers tangled tight in my hair.

And then there was only breath.

Heavy, tangled, hot against skin as we lay there, still joined, still shaking.

He pressed a soft kiss to my collarbone as he pulled out, taking off the condom and tossing it into a nearby trash can. And of course, he cleaned me up like a gentleman. But...

the room was quiet now.

The kind of quiet that made every breath feel louder, every heartbeat heavier. The kind of quiet that follows a storm.

The sheets were tangled, warm beneath us, and the air still carried the faint scent of sweat and something sweeter, something softer.

I lay there, chest rising and falling as I tried to catch my breath, my body still buzzing, but not from need this time.

From him.

Armin.

He was still there, thank god, laying beside me, half-propped on one elbow, glasses off now and tossed somewhere onto the bed. His hair had come loose from its tie, golden strands falling into his face. He looked... undone. Soft around the edges.

Human.

Beautiful.

He watched me with something unreadable in his eyes. For a long moment, neither of us spoke. Then he moved, slowly, carefully, reaching out to brush a thumb across my cheekbone.

"You okay?" His voice was low now. No teasing. Just real. Just raw.

I nodded, and for a second I didn't trust myself to speak. But then I managed, "Yeah. I'm okay."

He let out a breath, like he'd been holding it this whole time. "Good."

Then he shifted, leaning over to press a kiss to my forehead. One hand cupped the side of my face while his other arm slid around my waist, gently tugging me toward him until I was tucked against his chest.

I melted.

His skin was warm. His heartbeat was steady beneath my cheek. His arms wrapped around me like he'd never let go.

"I didn't mean to go too far," he murmured, lips brushing my hair. "You'd tell me if I did, right?"

"I would've stopped you," I whispered. "I wanted it."

He went quiet again, but I could feel the way his hand rubbed slow, grounding circles into my back. Not rushed. Not possessive. Just gentle. Like he was trying to calm something in me... or in himself.

"You're shaking," he said softly, like he wasn't sure if I knew.

"I know," I said, voice muffled against his skin. "I think I'm just... processing."

That made him pull back just enough to see my face again. "Do you need anything? Water? Hoodie? Blanket?"

I gave a weak smile. "Maybe all three."

He let out a quiet laugh, the first real one of the night, and it was like something cracked open between us. He kissed me once more, this time slow, sweet, no heat behind it, before sliding out of bed and grabbing a water bottle from his desk.

Then he returned, tossing one of his oversized hoodies over my head like he'd done it a hundred times, and pulling the blanket higher around me. He crawled back in beside me, wrapping himself around me again, this time with no urgency, just closeness. Just comfort.

"You're warm," I mumbled.

"You're welcome," he whispered, a smirk tugging at the edge of his voice.

I didn't respond. I just curled closer, fingers lightly hooking onto the fabric of his shirt.

"I don't regret this," I said after a while, eyes barely open.

"I'm glad," he replied softly, brushing his lips against my temple. "I don't either."

We fell asleep like that, skin against skin, hoodie sleeves too long for my arms, his heartbeat steady in my ear, and the silence finally soft enough to rest in.
︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

A/N: okay so uhm... I hope I fed y'all good

HOW ARE WE FEELING???

Was it hot enough?

Did I ruin your life in a good way?

Did Armin make you scream into your pillow?

Was the slow burn worth it?

and most importantly...

WHAT do we think the next morning will bring?
awkward tension??
soft Armin??
regret???
round two???

Drop your predictions. I'm watching 👀

I love you all sm for reading, stay delusional, stay obsessed, and stay tuned because it's only getting messier from here 🫶

Chapter Text

(Armin's POV):

The sunlight snuck softly into the dorm room, spilling in through the cracked blinds and painting the chaos of last night in warm gold. It dappled across the twisted sheets, the scattered clothes, and her, curled up in the center of the bed like the calm after a storm. My hoodie swallowed her frame whole, sleeves slipping far past her fingertips, her hair tangled, lips parted slightly as she slept. The same lips that were on mine last night.

I stood still, breath caught in my throat as I looked at her.

She looked breathtaking.

Like an angel.

A hurricane.

The very same girl who once tore through my world like a wildfire, and last night, let me hold her like I'd never deserved to.

I reached forward, hesitant, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. Her skin was warm, soft. And I wanted to stay in that moment, wanted time to stop, to never have to deal with the mess I had made.

But it was already morning. And the moment had already started to move forward.

I turned away from her sleeping form, dragging my feet into the kitchen. I was shirtless, only in grey sweatpants, her marks still fresh on my back, thin, raised lines from her nails that still stung like they belonged there. Every movement reminded me of how her body had felt beneath mine. How she had looked at me like I was worth something.

And how I'd didn't want it to be over.

The kitchen felt colder than it should. I moved like a ghost, cracking eggs into the pan with shaking fingers, turning on the coffee machine just to fill the silence with anything that wasn't my own thoughts. Every sound was too loud. Every breath was too shallow.

Then the door opened.

Eren strolled in like he owned the morning, his hair a mess, his coat slung over his shoulder. He paused as he took me in, shirtless, eyes tired, back torn to hell.

His eyebrows lifted. "Fuck, dude- your back-"

I didn't turn around. I just flipped the eggs.

"Did you fight a wild tiger last night or something?" he drawled, his voice low and amused. I could sense the smirk on his face.

"Shut up, Eren," I muttered.

But he was relentless. He dropped his coat, walked around the counter, and leaned in with a sly grin.

"Come on, I'm your best friend," he said, sitting on a stool. "Who did you rail last night?"

I sighed heavily, barely glancing at him. "Why are you asking when you already know?"

He shrugged, smile widening like a cat who just smelled blood. "Actually, nerdy, I don't know."

I turned to face him, eyes narrowed. "Yeah. I slept with Y/N. Now quit being annoying."

Eren stilled, just for a second, and then the smirk returned, slow and smug. But then, his eyes flicked toward the hallway. Something shifted in his expression. Something I didn't quite catch.

He looked back at me.

And said nothing.

Instead, he let the silence draw out like a blade.

Then, louder this time,deliberate, dangerous, he said:

"Sleeping with the girl who made you miserable last year?" His voice echoed through the dorm, smooth and sharp. "Never thought you had it in you. What was that? Some twisted enemies-to-lovers fantasy?"

My heart stopped.

The words slipped from my mouth before I could stop them. Sharp. Defensive. Laced with venom I didn't mean.

"It was revenge," I snapped. "She humiliated me. I wanted her to feel it. Last night wasn't real. I just wanted to put her in her place. Make her beg."

The silence that followed was deafening.

Until a voice, soft, broken, shaking with betrayal cut through it like a blade to the ribs.

"Fuck you."

I froze.

I turned.

She was standing in the hallway, the golden light catching in her tear-glossed eyes, arms crossed tightly across her chest. My hoodie still hung off her like armor that didn't belong to her anymore.

Her voice shook as she stepped into the kitchen.

"You wanted to put me in my place?" she spat. "Is that what last night was? A punishment?"

"Y/N," I breathed, stepping toward her, reaching for her as if she was slipping away. "Wait, that's not what I-"

"Don't touch me!" she yelled, shoving me with more strength than I expected. Her eyes were wide, panicked. A wounded animal. "Don't you dare fucking touch me!"

I tried again, hands raised. "Y/N, please-"

"No!" she screamed, slamming her fists against my chest. "You think this is some joke? You think you can just use me? Like I'm just some notch on your fucking belt? All that because I used to bully you? You're disgusting!"

I grabbed her wrists gently, not to hurt, just to stop her from hurting herself more.

"Let me go," she said with disgust, her voice cracking under the weight of tears. "Armin. Let me go."

She tried to pull away. I didn't.

She sobbed harder, breaking against me like a wave.

"Let go of me!" she yelled again, pounding my chest, her voice unraveling. "Let go of me!"

And then, like a switch had been flipped, she sagged.

All the fight drained from her body in a single, exhausted breath.

"Please..." she whispered, voice threadbare. "Just let me go."

I slowly released her wrists, breath shuddering.

"You done?" I asked quietly.

She looked away.

"I'm so stupid," she muttered, shaking her head, fists clenched. "So fucking stupid. I fell for your stupid mind games again."

I opened my mouth to speak-

Crack.

Her hand slapped across my face before I could react, my head snapping to the side.

"Burn in hell," she hissed, venom lacing every syllable.

She turned and disappeared into my room.

I didn't move.

I couldn't.

Moments later, she came back out. The hoodie was gone. She was back in the same black dress I'd pulled off her the night before, her coat slung over her arm, her bag clenched in one hand. Her eyes were puffy, her hair a mess, but she didn't look weak.

She looked like a storm about to swallow the world.

Even like this she looked beautiful.

At the door, she paused. Looked at Eren.

"Don't give me that empathetic look," she said through clenched teeth. "I know you're laughing on the inside. You're just as cruel."

She slammed the door so hard the windows rattled.

I stood frozen, cheek burning, heart in pieces on the floor. My chest rose and fell as if I'd just run a marathon. But I hadn't moved. I hadn't fought. I'd just let her leave.

Because what the hell was I even going to say?

That I didn't mean it?

That I only said it because I was ashamed of how deeply I cared?

That the truth terrified me more than rejection?

Eren approached slowly, his voice quiet now.

"Damn," he muttered. "You really fucked that one up."

I didn't reply.

He turned my face toward him to inspect the red mark from her slap.

"She got you good," he said.

I stayed quiet.

And then, softer, more serious, Eren asked:

"Was it really revenge?"

I clenched my jaw, eyes burning.

"No," I said, voice hoarse. "It was everything but revenge. I L-" I stopped mid sentence.

He nodded, and for once, there was no teasing in his expression.

Just something close to pity.

"Then you better hope she gives you another chance," Eren said. "Because this was the moment you should've exposed your feelings."

And I felt it.

For the first time in years, I felt it.

Real fear.

Not of losing to a girl. But of losing her.

The one girl I'd never been able to stop thinking about.

The one girl I promised I'd never fall for.

A broken promise.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

(Y/Ns POV):

After storming out of that bastard's dorm, I didn't head back to mine.

No.

I didn't even look in that direction.

My feet moved on their own, fast, frantic, like they were chasing a version of me that hadn't just been broken in half. I could barely breathe. My throat was tight. My vision blurred. The world spun around me, loud and distant and too cruel to bear.

I needed someone who knew me before all this.
Before Armin.
Before the mess.
Before my heart learned how to break.

So I went to him.

Reiner.

I barely remember the walk. Only the cold air on my face and the sting of tears that wouldn't stop coming. I didn't bother to text him. I didn't care what time it was. I didn't even think about what I'd say.

I just knocked, no, pounded, on his door like the world was on fire.

The door opened in seconds.

Reiner stood there, blinking sleep from his eyes, hair messy, in old sweatpants and a t-shirt that clung to his chest. At first, he looked confused. Then he saw my face.

And he froze.

"Y/N?" His voice was groggy, soft, and full of that protective panic only an older brother knows. "What happened?"

I didn't answer.

I just walked in, the warmth of his apartment crashing into me like a wave, and my body gave out. My knees buckled, my bag slipped from my shoulder, and I collapsed onto his couch, hands shaking.

He closed the door quietly, but he was already by my side before it even clicked shut.

"Y/N," he whispered, kneeling in front of me like I was something sacred. "Look at me. Please. What happened?"

The words caught in my throat.

They scraped and clawed and refused to come out. All I could do was cry. Not the kind of crying you hide in your pillow at night. No. This was ugly. Raw. Gut-wrenching. The kind of crying that lives deep in your chest and only comes out when someone breaks you open.

Reiner didn't ask again.

He just gathered me in his arms, carefully, like I was glass, and pulled me against his chest.

I buried my face in his shirt and sobbed harder.

He didn't say anything.

He just held me.

His hand cradled the back of my head, his other arm wrapped around my back, and he rocked us gently, like I was five years old again and the monsters under my bed were too loud.

"I've got you," he whispered, voice trembling. "I've got you, kid. You're safe."

It made me cry harder.

Because I wanted to believe him.

"I was so stupid," I choked out, my voice raw and shaking. "I let him in. I thought maybe, just maybe, he changed. I thought I wasn't... I thought maybe I wasn't someone people just use."

Reiner's grip tightened, like he could physically hold me together.

"He has changed," he said, jaw clenched. "But that doesn't matter. Because if he hurt you, if he chose to hurt you, then he doesn't get to have you. I don't care what he feels."

I nodded into his chest, the sound of his heartbeat steady under my ear.

"He said it was revenge," I whispered. "That I begged. That it meant nothing. He slept with me to put me in my place."

Reiner was silent for a long moment.

When he finally spoke, his voice broke.

"Goddamn it," he said softly. "You're my little sister. You're my whole world. And if I could take every piece of this pain out of your chest and put it in mine, I would. I'd carry it all. I'd carry you."

I cried again, not from the hurt this time, but from the weight of his love.

"You don't have to be strong right now," he whispered into my hair. "Not here. Not with me."

I nodded again, too choked up to speak.

"I remember when you were little," Reiner murmured, "and you fell off your bike and scraped your knee. You didn't want to cry. You looked at me with your lip trembling and said, 'I'm okay.' But you weren't. And I remember thinking, 'God, she's already learning to hold it in.' You don't have to do that anymore, Y/N. Not with me."

I broke.

I completely broke.

And he let me.

He held me through the shaking, the gasps for breath, the whispered apologies I kept mumbling like I had done something wrong.

He didn't let go.

Not once.

Later, he tucked a blanket around me and made tea with hands that still shook with rage. But he didn't leave my side. Not for a second. He didn't press. Didn't lecture.

He just sat beside me, a hand resting protectively on my back, his presence quiet and grounding like a lighthouse in a storm.

That night, Reiner reminded me of something I forgot:

I was loved.

Not for what I gave.
Not for what I looked like.
Not for who I could be in someone else's fantasy.

But because I was me.

And he was my brother.

And that would always, always be enough.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

(Reiner's POV):

She's asleep now.

Curled up on my couch, buried beneath two thick blankets like she's trying to hide from the world. Her cheeks were still damp when she finally stopped crying. Her hands had clutched at my shirt like a child begging not to be alone. I hadn't seen her like that in years, not since she was little, when she had just hit puberty, getting bullied by boys in her class, or when thunderstorms scared her more than monsters ever could

But tonight, the monster wore a familiar face.

I sat beside her for a while. Brushed her hair back. Watched her chest rise and fall.

And then I stood up, slowly. Quietly. Like a fuse burning toward a bomb.

I grabbed my keys.

Slipped on my jacket.

Locked the door behind me.

Because she needed to rest.

But I needed to ruin someone.

When I got to Armin's dorm, I didn't knock. I didn't hesitate.

I pounded my fist on the door, loud and deliberate, not caring if I'd wake any neighbours up.

It opened almost immediately. Armin stood there, shirtless, his hair messy, eyes hollow. He looked like a ghost.

Good.

But before I could move, Eren stepped into view from behind him, wearing a scowl and looking at me with confusion. "Reiner?" he grunted. "What the hell-"

I didn't care.

I shoved past Eren like he wasn't even there and slammed Armin up against the wall, my forearm pressed to his collarbone. His eyes widened in shock, mouth parting to speak.

"Don't," I snapped.

"Oi- Reiner-" Eren raised his voice, grabbing my arm. "Chill the fuck out- What are you doing?!"

"Let go of me," I growled without taking my eyes off Armin.

Eren didn't.

So I turned and stared him down, voice low, dangerous. "Unless you want to be next, Yeager, I suggest you back the fuck off."

That gave him pause.

Because I wasn't bluffing.

Eren's jaw tensed. His hand dropped.

"Reiner," Armin croaked, still pinned. "Please. I didn't mean to hurt her. It got out of hand. I just- I panicked. She wasn't supposed to hear-"

"She did," I said through clenched teeth. "She heard every disgusting, humiliating word you said."

Armin flinched.

"She came to me, Armin. Me. Her big brother. Sobbing like her heart had been ripped out of her chest. Because you played with her, made her feel something, just to throw her away like garbage because everything in your stupid mind is revenge."

Eren let out a shaky breath behind me. "Fuck-"

"I trusted you," I said, my voice quieter now. "I watched you stare at her when you thought no one was looking. I saw you break when she was gone. I believed you changed."

"I did!" Armin choked. "I swear to god, Reiner, I didn't mean any of it-"

"Then you should've said that when it mattered," I snapped. "Instead of gloating about how you made her beg."

Armin's eyes were wet. Red-rimmed. But I didn't care. He deserved to feel the sting.

"She finally let someone in. You. And you made her regret it."

Silence fell like a guillotine.

I slowly let go of him, watching him slide down the wall, breath trembling.

Eren watched too, face tight with something between guilt and discomfort. "Is she alright?" he asked, quieter now.

I turned to him.

"She cried herself to sleep in my arms," I said. "Does that answer your question?"

Eren had no comeback.

Good.

I headed for the door, but paused before opening it. Didn't look back.

"She won't come back to you," I said to Armin. "Even if she wants, I won't let her."

And then I left, letting the door slam behind me like a final judgment.

Let him sit in that silence.

Let him live in the ashes of what he burned.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

(Back to Armin's POV):

The second the door slammed shut behind Reiner, it was like the last thread holding me together snapped.

He hadn't even raised his voice, that was what gutted me the most. He didn't scream or threaten to break my nose for what I did to his sister. No. He looked at me like I wasn't even worth the breath it would take to tell me how much he hated me. Like he already knew I hated myself enough for the both of us.

I didn't look at Eren. Couldn't.

My throat burned. My eyes were stinging. I couldn't breathe in that room.

I walked past him in silence, barely seeing the blur of his figure in my peripheral vision. I heard him say my name, quiet, uncertain, but I didn't respond. I just walked. Straight into my room. Closed the door. Locked it. Like that would somehow keep the guilt out.

It didn't.

The second the lock clicked into place, something inside me collapsed.

I leaned against the door, breathing hard, heart pounding like it was trying to break free from my chest. I slid down slowly, the cold wood digging into my spine, until I hit the floor. My knees came to my chest. My hands clutched at my hair.

And I broke.

The tears came fast, hot, unstoppable, the kind that didn't make noise at first, just left your face wet and your soul hollow.

I didn't even know what I was crying for at first. The shame? The guilt? The way she had looked at me, like I had stabbed her in the heart?, like she wished she'd never met me? The way her voice cracked when she said "fuck you", like I'd shattered something deep inside her?

Or maybe I was crying for the part of me that had felt real with her. The one night where nothing else existed, where I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, she could see me as more than the boy she once hated. The night I convinced myself I was enough.

I looked over at the bed.

The blankets were still rumpled where she had been. The hoodie, my hoodie, lay crumpled at the edge of the mattress, like it had tried to hold onto her warmth. The pillow where her head had rested was slightly indented, a perfect imprint of her. She'd only been gone for a couple hours. The air still smelled faintly of her perfume.

It wrecked me.

I crawled toward the bed like a man starved, dragging my body across the floor until I could reach up and grab the pillow. My fingers shook as I brought it to my face.

The moment her scent hit me, that warm vanilla smell, I crumbled completely.

I hugged it to my chest, clutching it like it was the only thing anchoring me to the earth. My arms wrapped around it desperately, face buried deep into the fabric. Her scent was fading already. I wanted to scream. I wanted to go back in time. I wanted to rip myself open and pull the truth out of my fucking chest and hand it to her before I could ever lie.

"I didn't mean it," I whispered into the pillow, voice hoarse. "I didn't mean any of it. I'm so sorry, Y/N."

I rocked back and forth, clutching the pillow tighter, wishing it would hold me back. Wishing it was her.

"I didn't want revenge," I sobbed. "I just wanted you to see me. I just wanted you to fucking see me."

The weight of everything I'd said, everything I'd done, crushed me like a tidal wave. I remembered the sound of her fists on my chest. Her voice breaking. Her telling me I was disgusting. And I knew she was right.

I was disgusting.

I had everything I ever wanted for a moment, her in my arms, her in my bed, her trusting me with her body and I threw it away. Out of fear. Out of shame. Out of pride.

A knock came at the door. Soft. Hesitant.

"...Armin?" Eren's voice was low, careful.

I couldn't answer. I couldn't let him see me like this.

"Do you... want me to come in?" he asked gently.

"No," I croaked. My voice didn't even sound like mine. "Just... no."

Silence.

Then a sigh. Footsteps walking away.

I was alone again.

I dragged myself up onto the bed and curled into her side, still clutching the pillow like a lifeline. My back throbbed with the marks she'd left, but it wasn't pain that haunted me.

It was her silence.

And the door she'd walked out of.

And the way she hadn't looked back.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

(Back to Y/Ns POV):

The dorm was quiet when I got back. Too quiet.

Not like Reiner's place, where the air had been filled with quiet music humming from his speakers, the soft clink of mugs on counters, the warmth of his voice grounding me when everything else felt like it was caving in. He hadn't pried. He hadn't tried to fix me. He'd just been there. Let me talk. Let me cry. Let me be small and angry and shattered.

Now, I was back in my own space, the familiar silence pressing in like a weight I wasn't ready for. I was all alone. No roommate. No brother.

Just me.

I changed into a hoodie. Not his. Mine. The fabric was stiffer, the smell was laundry detergent, not warm cinnamon and whatever cologne clung to Armin's skin. I curled up on the couch, tucking my knees to my chest as I opened a book I wasn't really in the mood to read.

But I had to do something. I had to fill the silence, distract my mind. If I let it wander, I'd go back. Back to that room. That bed. His arms. The tremble in his voice when he said my name.

Don't Y/N.

He used you.

It was all a game.

I turned the page even though I hadn't read the last one. The clock ticked somewhere behind me. I focused on that. Let the rhythm lull me into something that felt like calm. Let the book become a blur of words. Let my body forget the ache sitting in my chest.

That's when it happened.

A knock.

Soft. Hesitant.

I froze.

My fingers stiffened around the book. The air in my lungs stilled.

I didn't move. Didn't breathe.

Then came another knock. A little firmer. A pause. Then a third. Slower. Like whoever it was didn't know if they should be knocking at all.

My heart dropped into my stomach.

I knew exactly who was standing behind my door.

Armin.

I stared at the door like it might disappear. Like I could will him away with silence. My throat tightened, my hands clutching the book like it was a shield.

He was out there.

Just on the other side.

And I didn't know if I was ready to face him after everything that had happened.
︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

A/N: Man... Armin really fucked up, didn't he?

Also, for my fellow TVD fans... I hope you caught that little Delena moment between Armin and Y/N 👀🫣

Sorry for all the perspective switches and if this chapter felt a bit slower than usual, but I swear it's all building up to something. Trust the process.

Thank you so much for reading this far and for all the love and support. Your comments genuinely mean the world to me, so don't forget to leave one! I read every single one of them with a huge smile on my face <3

Stay tuned!

Chapter Text

(Armin's POV):

I hate myself.
I hate myself.
I hate myself.
I hate myself.
I hate myself.
I hate myself.
I hate myself.
I hate myself.
I hate myself.
I hate myself.

The same words looped in my mind like a broken record, relentless and sharp, stabbing deeper every time they echoed. I'd been lying here, curled on my bed for what felt like hours, wrapped in nothing but guilt, shame, and the faint scent of her still lingering in the air.

My face was buried in the hoodie she left behind, my hoodie. The one she wore that morning like it belonged to her. Now it sat crumpled in my arms, soaked in regret and that soft, familiar vanilla scent that used to calm me, but now tore me apart.

God, I missed her. And I hated myself more with every breath I took without her.

Eren had tried knocking a few times. His voice had gone from quiet concern to frustration to flat-out yelling. I heard it all.

"You're weak, Armin!" he shouted through the door earlier. "You're just gonna lie in there and rot? You think she's gonna wait around for you to grow a pair?"

I didn't respond. I couldn't.

I deserved every word.

But then...

I heard her voice.

Not in the hallway. Not outside my door.

In my head.

Soft. Loving. Warm. The way she used to say my name when she wasn't spitting venom. The way she said it that night.

"Armin."

I sat up like I'd been yanked out of drowning water, my chest heaving, lips parted, eyes wide.

It wasn't real.
But it felt real.
Real enough to jolt me back into my own body. To make me think straight again.

Because for the first time in hours, I remembered how it felt to be wanted by her. To be touched by her. To have her look at me like I mattered.

And I knew, if I didn't do something now, I would lose that forever.

I stood on shaky legs, wiping my eyes with the back of my sleeve. My heart raced with a kind of desperation I hadn't felt since the day she walked out of my life the first time.

I couldn't go back in time.
I couldn't unsay what I said.
But I could try to show her that I knew I'd hurt her. That I knew her better than anyone. That I remembered.

Vanilla.
She always smelled like vanilla. It wasn't just perfume, it was her. Her shampoo, her lotion, the way her pillow smelled when she leaned close.

Her aura screamed vanilla.

She was vanilla.

I needed something.
Something that would speak for me when my words couldn't.

I pulled on a hoodie, my real one this time, threw on some jeans, and grabbed my wallet. The cold air hit my face like punishment the second I stepped outside, but I welcomed it. It sobered me. Reminded me that the world was still spinning, even if mine had completely fallen apart.

I headed toward the part of town with the quiet boutique shops. I didn't know exactly what I was looking for, I just knew I'd know it when I saw it.

I passed shelves of candles, displays of plush keychains, racks of earrings, and pastel stationery until I finally saw it.

A small vanilla-scented gift box.

Inside was a soft cream-colored blanket, a jar of vanilla chai tea, a vanilla-sugar candle in a frosted glass jar, and a small notebook with golden lettering across the front: "You are loved."

It wasn't perfect.
It wasn't even close to enough.

But it reminded me of her.

Warm. Gentle. Soft. Home.

I stood there in front of the display for a long moment, my fingers tracing the edge of the ribbon before I picked it up and held it like it was something sacred.

Like maybe it could carry the message my broken voice couldn't say.

I bought it and left with the bag pressed to my chest, the cold biting at my skin, but I barely felt it.

All I could think about was her.
Her voice.
Her scent.
The look in her eyes when she left.

And the terrifying thought that next time, she might not just walk out.

She might never come back.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

The sky was painted in soft lavender and faded gold, like the world itself had dulled with my mood. Every step up the stairs felt heavier than the last, the bag in my hand suddenly weighing more than it should, maybe because it carried more than just a gift.

It carried an apology. A silent confession. A plea for forgiveness.

I stood in front of her door for a long time, just staring. My heart was hammering against my ribs so violently it hurt. I could hear voices inside my head, her screaming, crying, telling me to let go. And then her voice, soft again, echoing like a dream.

"Armin."

I inhaled slowly, gripping the bag tighter. The vanilla candle inside had filled the air around me with her scent. My throat clenched. I had no idea if she'd even open the door, no idea if she'd throw this in my face, or slam the door shut without a word.

But I had to try.

Because not trying would mean accepting that I lost her.

I raised my hand, hesitated, just for a moment, then knocked.

Soft. Once.
Twice.
Three times.

And then I waited.

The hallway was quiet, painfully so. I could hear the faint hum of the heater, the distant sounds of other students laughing, living.

But I wasn't living.
Not without her.

I shifted from one foot to the other, eyes on the door, heart in my throat.

And then-

I heard movement on the other side.

Light footsteps.

A pause.

My breath hitched.

She was there.

She was right behind that door.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

(Back to Y/Ns POV):

My blanket slipped from my shoulders, pooling around my ankles as I stepped toward the door like it was something sacred. My fingers trembled, hovering over the handle, like the brass might burn me.

Then, his voice.

"I brought you something..."

So quiet I almost thought I imagined it. So gentle it barely reached the crack beneath the door.

"I don't know if you'll open the door. Or if you even should. But I'm sorry." A shaky inhale, like the words themselves had cut him open. "God, I'm so sorry."

My knuckles whitened against the wood.

"And I know that's not enough. I know that. But it's all I have right now. That- and this." A soft rustle. "I saw it and I thought of you. Vanilla. You always smell like vanilla."

Something inside me buckled.

The latch clicked before I could stop myself.

And there he was.

Standing in the doorway like a ghost who never thought he'd be seen again. His hair was a mess, his eyes red and puffy. No glasses. No armor. Just Armin. Raw and exposed. Holding a small white gift bag with both hands like it was something holy.

"Hi," he breathed. Like it was a prayer. Like it hurt.

I didn't say anything. I couldn't.

He looked at me like I was both the punishment and the cure.

"I- uh, there's a candle inside," he said, barely managing a whisper. "Vanilla sugar. It reminded me of you. I didn't know what else to get. I just... wanted to give you something soft. Like you. And when I saw the box I thought... this is her. It's you."

His fingers twitched, hesitant, offering it, unsure if I'd take it.

I reached out and brushed against him.

His breath hitched like he'd been underwater for days and had finally broken the surface.

"I couldn't focus," he confessed, his voice shaking. "Not since... everything. I can't stop thinking about what I said. What I did. The way you looked at me, like I broke something I had no right touching. You didn't deserve that. You didn't deserve me to say those cruel words about you."

The silence that followed wasn't heavy. It was... thick with everything we hadn't said.

I stepped back.

Just once.

Just far enough to leave the door open.

His eyes flicked up.

"Can I...?"

I didn't answer.

But I didn't close the door either.

That was enough.

He stepped inside like he was afraid the floor might reject him. Then stopped, hovering near the entrance, shoulders tense, hands unsure.

I padded back to the couch, placed the gift carefully on the table. The candle was beautiful. Housed in frosted glass like something you'd keep safe. Like something fragile.

"Can I sit?" he asked, barely audible.

I nodded.

He joined me, quiet, knees bouncing with nervous energy. And then I saw it, the slow collapse. He folded forward, elbows on his thighs, burying his face in his hands.

"I ruined it," he choked out. "I ruined you. And that's the part I can't live with."

I reached out and tugged his sleeve.

He looked up.

Just once.

And that was all it took.

He sank from the couch to the floor, knees pressed into the rug, hands reaching toward me like he didn't know if he was allowed. Then, gently, he placed his head in my lap.

I froze.

And then my hands found his hair.

Soft. Gentle. Like I was brushing dust off something sacred.

He broke.

Right there.

Into me.

He didn't sob loudly, there was no theatrics in the way he wept. Just this fragile, breathless unraveling. His arms clung to my waist like he didn't believe he was real. His face was pressed into my lap, and he held on like he was scared I'd dissolve if he let go.

I kept combing through his hair, over and over, like I was trying to tell him: You're safe. You're okay. I forgive you.

"I don't know when it happened," he whispered. "But somewhere between the hate and the hurt and the late-night overthinking, I started to... need you. To crave you."

His grip tightened. My shirt balled in his fists.

"I hated that I cared. I hated that you made me care. And I hated myself for being too scared to admit it until I already lost you."

He inhaled sharply, trying to gather his breath. "I thought if I pushed you away, it wouldn't kill me when you left, when you'd reject me. But that night... when I woke up and you were there, it felt like the best feeling in the world. You softly sleeping in my arms as if you felt safe with me."

I said nothing.

Because what could I say?

That I'd felt it too?

That I'd walked away with my heart still lying next to him on the pillow?

I ran my fingers down the nape of his neck, letting them pause there, light, tender, grounding.

"You're talking around it, Armin," I murmured. "What are you actually trying to say?"

He looked up.

Eyes glassy. Lips trembling. Face flushed like he was about to confess to something forbidden.

And then, like it cracked out of him, he whispered:

"I love you."

Soft.

Small.

Shattering.

"I know I don't deserve to say it," he rushed, panicked now. "I know it's messed up, and wrong, and we were enemies, and I should hate you just like how you hate me, but I do. I do. I love you."

He looked away. "It's okay if you don't love me ba-"

I didn't let him finish.

I leaned in and pressed my lips to his.

It wasn't perfect.

But it was everything.

It was trembling hands and silent forgiveness and hearts too bruised to say the words properly but beating anyway, hoping maybe that would be enough.

And when we pulled apart, his forehead rested against mine, our breaths tangled.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "For everything."

My hand found his chest, just above his heart. I could feel it beating like it was trying to reach me.

"You're here, you tried." I whispered back. "That's enough."

He leaned into my palm.

And then, so soft I barely heard it, I whispered:

"I've fallen too."

His breath caught.

"I don't know when. I don't even know how. But I have. And it's terrifying. Because I didn't want it to be you."

He let out a quiet, almost-broken laugh. "Yeah. Same."

I smiled.

And that was it.

No grand declarations.

No dramatic music.

Just this:

Him, still on the floor.

Me, still holding his face like I could stitch him back together with my hands.

Two broken kids who had found softness in each other. Two innocent kids that were ruined in early age, destroyed by words that wounded them forever. Two hurt kids who are always treated badly.

And for the first time in forever-

We weren't running anymore.

We were just here.

Together.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

The room was still. So still it felt like time had stopped just for us. Just long enough for him to breathe again. Just long enough for me to find the courage to hold him like this, like he wasn't the boy who broke me, but the boy who came back.

Armin stayed there in my lap, head bowed, arms looped around my waist like I was something worth clinging to. I felt the warmth of him against me, the way his breath softened, steadied. I kept brushing my fingers through his hair, slow and rhythmic, until I felt the tension in his shoulders finally give way.

"You always do that," he murmured after a moment, not lifting his head from my lap. His voice was muffled, almost sleepy. "You touch me like you're not afraid of what I've done."

My heart twisted.

"I'm not afraid of you," I said, just above a whisper.

He let out a breath that was almost a sob, but not quite. Like something inside him was unraveling and being rewoven at the same time.

Slowly, he shifted. His head still rested against my lap, but his arms unwrapped from my waist. He reached for my hand, hesitating like he didn't know if he was allowed, and then gently laced our fingers together. The way he did it, tender, reverent, like holding my hand meant something sacred.

And it did.

It did.

The candle sat quietly on the coffee table in front of us. He followed my gaze.

"I know it's stupid," he said softly. "It's just a candle. But when I saw it, I thought... I wish I could wrap myself in you the way this scent does. Gentle. Familiar. Safe."

I looked down at him. At the boy I once couldn't stand. The boy I'd pushed and taunted and fought with. And now here he was, tangled in my lap like some fragile, beautiful mess.

"You make it really hard to stay mad at you," I whispered, half-laughing, half-aching.

He looked up, eyes a little clearer now. A faint smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, tired but real. "Good," he whispered. "Because if you shut me out again, I think I'll break."

And somehow, I believed him.

I leaned down just a little, pressing a kiss to his forehead. He closed his eyes at the touch, like it was more than he thought he deserved.

We stayed like that. Quiet. Wrapped in each other's warmth. The world outside could wait.

Minutes passed. Or maybe hours. I didn't know.

Eventually, I whispered, "Do you want to stay?"

His eyes opened.

He sat up slowly, reluctantly, like leaving the safety of my lap would take a piece of him with it. His eyes searched mine, cautious.

"Stay... like on the couch? Or...?" His voice faltered, suddenly unsure.

I smiled softly. "Stay here. With me."

His breath caught.

He nodded. Too quickly. "Yeah. I'd... I'd really like that."

So I stood, quietly, reaching out a hand. He took it without hesitation, and I led him to my room. The blanket I'd dropped was still there, crumpled and forgotten. The softest one I had.

I pulled it up over us as we lay down on the bed. He stayed on his side at first, respectful of space. But I reached for him, carefully, gently and tugged him closer. He melted into me like he was meant to fit there, like all the space between us had just been waiting to be filled.

His head nestled into the crook of my neck. His fingers gripped the edge of the blanket. And when I pressed a final kiss to his temple, I felt him sigh. Like the storm had finally passed.

"I never thought I'd end up here, cuddling with my enemy" he whispered sleepily, voice muffled against my skin.

"Me neither," I whispered back, curling closer.

"But I'm glad I did."

And then silence.

But not the heavy kind. Not the sad kind.

This silence was soft. Like a song that didn't need words. Like the calm after chaos.

I held him a little tighter.

And in the quiet of that night, hearts pressed close, with vanilla still lingering in the air, I finally felt safe.

Not because everything was fixed.

Not because the pain was gone.

But because he stayed.

And so did I.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

The scent of vanilla sugar and sharp cologne was already threading through the air, soft and calming. Like him. Like me.

We didn't speak for a long time.

Just... lay there.

Armin's breathing had evened out against my collarbone. His arms wrapped around my waist, not tight, just steady. Like he'd finally found something he wasn't afraid to hold.

Outside, the world had gone still. Not silent, but hushed, like even the wind didn't want to disturb us. My fingers had stopped moving through his hair a while ago, but one hand still rested at the nape of his neck, thumb idly brushing the edge of his skin. It felt like he might fall asleep just like that, tangled in my arms, breathing steady, face soft.

And for the first time in forever... I didn't feel angry. I didn't feel hollow.

I felt here.

It was hours later, maybe already midnight, when the peace was finally interrupted.

Three knocks. Sharp. Firm. At the front door.

Armin stirred instantly, body tensing like he'd been yanked from a dream. "What was that?" he whispered, voice thick with sleep, he was sleepy.

I blinked, disoriented. The knocks came again. Louder this time.

My heart flipped.

"I'll get it," I said, sliding out from under the blanket. His hand instinctively reached out, catching my wrist. "Be careful," he murmured.

I nodded.

I crept to the front door in the dark, the floorboards cool under my feet. The living room was dim, the only light coming from the moon spilling in through the curtains. My fingers wrapped around the handle, hesitating for just a second.

Then I opened it.

And stopped breathing.

There, standing in the doorway, was someone I hadn't seen in years.

His coat was half-zipped. His hair grayer than I remembered. And his eyes-

His eyes were locked on mine, already filled with too many unspoken things.

"...Dad?"
︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

A/N: Armin crying on Y/N's lap had me SOBBING.

Like... soft Armin >>>>>>>

AND THEY FINALLY ADMITTED IT. After all the angst. All the pain. MY HEART.

But wait...
Y/N's dad...? After all these years?

I smell pure chaos.

It's like the universe said, "Oh? You thought you could be happy? NAHHH."

Because let's be real, peace is never permanent in this story.

What do you think is gonna happen? Let me know your theories! I love your comments!

Stay tuned!!

Chapter Text

"...Dad?" I breathed, the word barely escaping my lips.

His face was older, colder. Lines cut deeper into his skin than I remembered. The graying hair didn't soften him, if anything, it sharpened the harsh edge of his presence.

"Well, it is you," he muttered, eyes scanning me up and down with something that felt like disappointment. "You look... different."

I didn't know what to say. I hadn't seen him in years, not since he walked out on Mom for his new wife who was almost 20 years younger than him. Not since the screaming matches. Not since Reiner stood between us, practically shoving him out the front door.

"What are you doing here?" I finally asked, my voice shaky but steady enough.

"I came to take you home," he said simply, as if it were obvious. "Pack your things. You're coming with me."

"...What?"

"You shouldn't be living like this. Dorms? Public university? Do you think this is a real future? You need structure, Y/N. You've been running wild under your mother's chaos for too long."

Something in my jaw clenched. "She's done more for me than you ever did."

He scoffed. Loudly. "Please. That whore of a woman's never been stable. And don't even start with Reiner, that boy was too busy playing bodyguard to learn any real responsibility."

Before I could respond, before the pressure in my chest could explode, a voice interrupted from the hallway behind me.

"...Is everything alright?"

I turned.

Armin.

He was standing in the hallway, sleep still in his eyes, sweater sleeves tugged over his hands. His voice was calm. Light. Polite.

But his gaze?

His gaze was locked on my father with an intensity I'd never seen before. Sharp. Calculating. Like a blade behind glass.

"And who the hell is this?" my dad asked, already bristling.

Armin smiled. Sweetly. "I'm her boyfriend."

My breath caught. Boyfriend?

Armin stepped closer, unbothered, relaxed. But behind that softness was something cold. Dangerous.

"My name's Armin," he said, extending a hand. "I've heard so little about you."

The sarcasm was invisible. Perfectly veiled.

My father didn't take his hand. "Boyfriend," he repeated. "So this is what she's been wasting her time on. Of course."

Armin's smile never wavered. "Funny. I was thinking the same thing about this visit."

My dad narrowed his eyes.

Armin tilted his head, innocent. "You show up unannounced, late at night, demand she abandon her education and life to come with you, I mean, forgive me, I just assumed kidnappers were more subtle."

The tension in the room shifted.

"I'm her father," he snapped.

"Oh, I don't doubt that," Armin said with a soft chuckle. "The emotional manipulation gave it away."

His voice was still warm. Friendly. But his words stung like acid.

"You have no idea what kind of damage you've done, do you?" Armin continued, tone like velvet. "You leave. You stay gone. And now you think you can just walk back into her life like some white knight? After years of silence?"

"Watch your mouth, boy."

"I'd rather you watch your tone," Armin said, eyes flashing. "Especially when talking to the woman you used to scream at. Or the daughter you abandoned. Or the son who had to grow up overnight because you weren't man enough to be a father. Pussy behaviour if you'd ask me."

The air froze.

My father stared at him, stunned, speechless for the first time.

"And you know what really gets me?" Armin said, softly stepping between me and my father, fully shielding me. "You didn't even come here to apologize. You came to control. And that's where I draw the line."

I felt my heart thudding in my chest. Armin's voice was still gentle, but his words hit like sniper shots.

He leaned forward slightly. Still smiling.

"Y/N doesn't need you," he whispered. "She built a life in spite of you. She learned to be kind when you gave her every reason not to. And trust me... the only thing she'd gain by going with you is more trauma."

My dad's face twisted, with confusion, with rage, with something he couldn't quite put words to. But he didn't speak. Couldn't.

"Leave," Armin said finally. "While you still think you're the one with power, because now I'm the man in her life who protects her. You're a no one."

And slowly, incredibly, my father did.

He stepped back. Hesitated. Like his own foundation had been cracked open.

Then turned and walked off down the hallway without another word.

Silence.

I stood frozen.

Armin turned to me, his expression unreadable now. Like the mask had dropped. Like the storm had passed.

I stared at him, at this boy who had just demolished a man with nothing but a smile and a few words. Who had protected me without even knowing the weight of what he was protecting me from.

"...Armin," I whispered.

He looked at me. His eyes softened instantly. "Are you okay?"

And that was it. That was all it took.

I melted.

I stumbled forward and into his chest, arms wrapping around him like I might fall apart otherwise. He held me. Tight. Like he knew. Like he felt it all through me.

"I didn't know," he whispered into my hair. "I'm so sorry."

And I cried.

For what could've happened. For what didn't. For the fact that for the first time... someone stood between me and that monster and didn't flinch.

Armin did.

And he didn't even hesitate.

Armin's arms didn't let go.

He didn't ask questions. Didn't try to fix it. Didn't offer hollow words like "it's okay" or "he's gone now." He just held me.

One hand on the back of my head. The other wrapped firmly around my waist. And I realised, he wasn't holding me like I was fragile.

He was holding me like I was real. Like I mattered. Like someone had finally seen me and decided I was worth protecting.

I buried my face in his chest, the front of his hoodie soaking with tears before I could stop them. And I felt his heartbeat, steady, warm, anchoring me when everything else inside felt like a storm.

He didn't say anything for a while. Just ran his fingers slowly through my hair, letting me cry. Letting me be.

When I finally pulled back, eyes swollen and throat raw, he looked down at me like I'd hung the stars.

His hands came up to gently cup my face, thumbs brushing beneath my eyes to wipe the tear stains away. "You don't ever have to see him again," he said softly. "You hear me? Not while I'm around."

I nodded, lips trembling.

"You didn't deserve any of that. None of it."

"I never told anyone about him," I said, voice cracking. "I didn't think you'd- I didn't know you'd..."

He smiled. Just a little. "I didn't need to know everything to recognize something ugly."

I blinked up at him, my chest tightening in ways I didn't expect.

He leaned his forehead against mine. "You deserve better than what he gave you. And if you ever forget that, I'll remind you. As many times as it takes."

"Armin..."

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

He smiled wider now. "You don't have to thank me."

"But I want to," I said, brushing his hoodie sleeve where my fingers clung. "No one's ever... stood up for me like that before. Not in front of him."

He let out a slow breath. "Then they were idiots."

I laughed wetly, and he laughed too, soft and quiet, like we were both surprised it was still possible to laugh after all that.

Then he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, eyes impossibly gentle. "You wanna sit down? Maybe lie down for a bit?"

I nodded, and he guided me gently back to the bed, like I was glass, only this time not because I was breakable... but because I was precious.

We curled up again, the same blanket around us, the world outside sealed out, but it felt different now.

I fit into his side like a puzzle piece, and this time, his hand stayed cradled at the back of my neck. My face pressed into the curve of his shoulder. His cheek rested on the top of my head.

"Sleep," he murmured. "I've got you."

And maybe for the first time in my life...

...I believed it.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

The dorm was still wrapped in silence, dipped in the dusky blue light of dawn. The city hadn't quite woken yet, no cars, no voices, just the occasional rustle of leaves brushing the window. Time felt suspended.

Armin was behind me, one arm under my head, the other wrapped around my waist. His breath was warm against the back of my neck. Gentle. Slow.

Neither of us had slept much after last night.

He shifted slightly, pressing a featherlight kiss to my shoulder. "You're awake, aren't you?"

I smiled sleepily. "Barely."

"Good," he murmured. "Because I've been thinking about you all night."

I rolled to face him, the blanket sliding down to our waists. His hair was messy, falling over one eye, and his gaze, god, his gaze- looked at me like I was made of constellations.

"You always think about me," I whispered.

"I do," he said without hesitation. "Constantly. Pathetically."

I laughed under my breath, but the sound caught when I saw the way his brows knit, like he was trying to say something deeper, something that had been clawing at his ribs for too long.

"I love you," he said suddenly, voice thick. "And not just in a passing way. Not like a crush. I'm in love with you in every terrifying, irreversible, universe-shifting way."

My breath hitched.

He swallowed hard, then kept going, like if he didn't say it now, he'd implode.

"I love the way you smell like vanilla and safety. I love your laugh when it's real and unfiltered, the one you try to hide when you're embarrassed. I love the way your eyes roll when you're pretending not to care, but you do. You care so much. And you're so strong. And you're so- god- beautiful, it actually hurts sometimes."

I blinked, stunned. Armin had always been articulate, but this? This was soul-baring.

He reached out, brushing his thumb along my cheekbone. "You're brave, Y/N. Braver than me. You stand up for people. You protect what you love, even when no one does the same for you. And still, you keep going."

His voice cracked. "How could I not love you? God- how stupid I was for even thinking about getting revenge on you-"

I cupped his face in my hands. He leaned into my touch like it was oxygen. "I love you too," I whispered. "So much it scares me."

He let out a breath, half-laugh, half-sob, and kissed me.

It was slow and aching, the kind of kiss that promised forever without saying it out loud. His hand slid into my hair, my fingers fisting the hem of his hoodie. The world narrowed down to just this: two hearts beating into each other in a quiet dorm room at sunrise.

And then-

CRASH.

The door slammed open.

"Y/N?!"

I flinched so hard I nearly rolled off the bed. Armin yelped and instinctively pulled the blanket up over both of us.

Sasha stood in the doorway, mouth wide open.

Behind her, Jean and Connie stumbled in, equally stunned.

"BROOOOO," Connie practically screamed, pointing. "Are you NAKED?!"

"WHAT IS HAPPENING," Jean said, hands flying into the air. "You guys HATED each other! Sorry I'm trying to act surprised."

"Enemies to lovers in real life!" Sasha gasped.

"You were supposed to be enemies!" Connie cried. "This is, like, forbidden Romeo and Juliet dorm edition!"

"We're clothed!" Armin snapped, face bright red. "Mostly!"

I was frozen, curled against Armin with the blanket up to my nose.

"Why are you even in my dorm?!?-" my brows furrowed

"Wait, wait-" Connie stepped closer, squinting.

Sasha shrieked.

Connie gasped like he was watching a murder mystery. "DID YOU- OH MY GOD- DID YOU GUYS FUCK?!"

"Sasha. Jean. Connie." I growled. "Get. Out."

"But this is HISTORY-" Sasha whined.

"OUT!"

They scrambled backward with chaotic apologies, still shrieking and whispering like gossip gremlins.

And as soon as the door shut again with a slam...

Silence.

Then:

Armin burst out laughing. "Well," he said, voice muffled by his hands, "I think that went really well."

I smacked his arm. "You're the worst."

"You love me," he grinned.

"...Unfortunately."

And despite everything, the chaos, the dad, the interruption, I couldn't stop smiling. Because for once, after everything, this felt right.

Like home.

It all felt real.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

Group Chat – "Fake Parisians 🥖🍷"

Connie: YOU GUYS WON'T BELIEVE WHAT I MANAGED TO TAKE!!!

Porco: ???

Pieck: just speak already

Connie: *imagine a picture of Y/N and Armin cuddling while sleeping*

Connie: GUESS WHO

Ymir: AIN'T NO WAY

Historia: they're so cute together!!!

Y/N: Connie.

Connie: yeah?

Y/N: fuck you.

Connie: 🙏❤️

Eren: I knew it before you all, lmfao

Armin: this is really weird...

Jean: I wasn't even surprised tbh

Reiner: seen

Mikasa: dating?

Armin: not yet.

Connie: okay but you didn't answer, did you guys fuck?

Sasha: CONNIE!

Ymir: that's my boy 😮‍💨

Historia: Ymir!!!

Y/N: no we haven't.

Eren: she's lying, I saw Armin's back ripped open 💀

Connie: DAYUMMMMMM
Connie: I know a baddie when I see one 😍

Armin: ???

Porco: all girls are wild in bed tho

Y/N: can we change the fucking subject?

Connie: how big was it?

Y/N: omg Connie stfu-

Sasha: OMG GUYS

Jean: ?

Pieck: yess?

Ymir: preach queen

Sasha: let's go on a camping trip! my dad has cabins near a lake, it'll be fun ☹️

Connie: FUCK YEAH I'M DOWN

Armin: what about college?

Jean: here he goes again...

Eren: godddd Armin

Connie: stfu nerd

Y/N: only I can call him that bald ahh bastard

Connie: hey Y/N?

Y/N: what

Connie: kiss my ass 🥰

I rolled my eyes and tossed my phone onto the bed with a huff.
"They're so weird," I muttered.

Armin chuckled, shaking his head from where he sat beside me. "You're so right," he agreed, letting out a dramatic sigh as he flopped back onto the pillows, one hand over his face.

For a moment, the room fell into that easy kind of silence, the kind that only comes when you're comfortable with someone. The faint hum of the dorm heater filled the space, the slight slanting through the blinds and casting lines across the floor.

I glanced over at him.

He was still smiling to himself, soft and boyish and a little dazed, like the air between us had finally become breathable again.

I watched him in the silence, watched how he fiddled with the hem of the blanket, how his thumb rubbed nervous little circles into the fabric. Always thinking. Always spiraling. And yet he looked... lighter. Like maybe he wasn't carrying the world on his shoulders for once.

Then he turned toward me, all golden in the dying light.

"Hey," he said quietly, voice softer now. Hesitant. "Can I ask you something?"

I hummed. "Yeah. What is it?"

He straightened a little, the blanket slipping from his lap as he pulled his knees in. He looked like he wanted to ask this earlier but kept chickening out.

"I know we're not like... together together," he said, his voice dipping on the last words, "but... would you maybe want to go out sometime? Like... a real date. Just us."

I looked at him, really looked. And something twisted in my chest.

Because it wasn't just Armin, the stupid nerd I used to hate. It was him. The one who'd kissed me like the world was ending. The one who'd whispered my name into my neck like a confession. The one I let see me, really see me, on that night we never talk about but never forget.

I smiled. "Yeah," I murmured. "I'd like that."

His eyes lit up like I'd handed him the moon. "Really?"

"Really."

He breathed out like he'd been holding it for years, cheeks pink and eyes wide, but then-

"...I mean, I know I should plan something good," he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck, "but it's getting late and the sky looks insane right now and-" He blinked at me. "Wanna do something now? Just something stupid and simple. Not a date-date. Just... us."

"Where?"

"There's this hill outside of town. You can see the sunset from up there. And there's a gas station on the way. We could grab snacks. Make it ours."

I stared at him for a beat.

"You are actually a softie, aren't you?"

His mouth parted. "...Maybe."

I laughed. "Fine. Let's go."

⸻

The car ride was quiet. Comfortable.

I rolled the window down and let the breeze tousle my hair. He kept glancing at me, not subtly. And when we pulled into the gas station, he fumbled for his wallet like he'd never bought snacks before.

"Okay, but if you take fifteen years choosing between peach tea and lemon, I'm leaving you here," I warned.

"I just don't wanna mess it up," he grumbled, scanning the shelves like it was the SATs.

"You literally ate me out a few nights ago," I deadpanned. "I think the stakes are lower now."

He choked. Audibly.

"Y/N!"

"What?" I grinned, leaning in, lips near his ear. "You didn't seem that shy with your mouth then."

He turned bright red. Practically glowed.

"I- can you not say that so loud?"

"There's like two people here, and one of them's ninety. Relax."

"You are so evil," he muttered, grabbing a bag of sour candy without looking. His face was slightly red but I caught him hiding the tiniest smirk.

⸻

By the time we reached the hill, the sun was slipping low, casting the sky in streaks of orange, pink, and molten gold. We spread the blanket over the back trunk and flopped down, our snacks forgotten beside us.

For a while, we just laid there. Close, not touching.

Until he pulled out the small silver tin.

"You brought the good stuff?" I asked, arching a brow.

He hesitated. "Just a little. I thought it might help. You know. Take the edge off."

I leaned closer, smiling. "You're nervous around me, still? What's gotten into you!?"

His breath hitched. "I'm not nervous."

"Liar."

He avoided my gaze as he lit it, passing it to me without a word. His fingers brushed mine, warm, tentative, and I watched his throat bob as he swallowed.

He looked angelic under the light.

We passed it back and forth until the sky turned purple and the air got a little hazy. The wind felt like silk against my skin. The world went soft.

I laid down on my side, propping my head up with my hand. Armin was on his back, eyes half-lidded, lips parted.

He looked dazed. Vulnerable.

And very, very high.

"Hey," I said, drawing out the word like honey.

His eyes flicked to me, slow, glassy. "Mhm?"

"You okay?"

He nodded.

"You look flushed," I teased, trailing a finger across his cheek, down to his jaw. "You're not overheating, are you?"

"N-No," he stammered. His voice cracked.

"You sure?" I leaned over him, letting my hand trail lazily down the center of his chest, feeling his heartbeat through the fabric. "You're breathing so fast."

His breath hitched. His hands clenched the blanket.

"Y/N." He said seriously.

"You're so cute when you get like this," I whispered. "All pink and shy. You weren't shy that night, though...can you always stay like this?"

He whined. Whined.

My hand wandered lower, just resting against the waistband of his jeans, my fingers splayed against his stomach.

"I still remember the way you sounded," I murmured against his ear. "All those little whimpers and gasps..."

He shuddered violently, his hips twitching just slightly under my hand.

"Please..." he whispered.

I pulled back a little to look at him, his lips were parted, his pupils blown, cheeks flushed deep. He looked desperate. A little overwhelmed. And completely wrecked.

"What do you want, Armin?" I asked softly, tilting my head.

"I- I don't know," he breathed. "You- when you touch me like that- my brain just-"

"Shuts off?"

He nodded, eyes pleading.

I leaned in and kissed him, soft at first, just enough to make him sigh against my lips. His breath caught, warm and unsteady, and I could feel it fan against my cheek.

Then I kissed him again, slower this time, but deeper. With intention.

My hand slipped beneath the hem of his shirt, fingers splaying across the warm skin of his stomach. He twitched beneath me, breath hitching, and kissed back like he was a starving lion.

And then he whimpered.

Quiet. Broken. Barely there.

Like it clawed out of his throat before he could stop it.

"God," I breathed against his mouth, lips brushing his, "you're so sensitive like this. I've barely touched you."

Another muffled moan slipped from him, swallowed into my mouth as I deepened the kiss, our lips moving with a rhythm that was too familiar, too dangerous. It was the kind of kiss that made my spine arch and my fingers curl, not just because of the way he responded to me, but because of the way I responded to him.

His hands rose slowly, shakily, and found their place at my waist. Hesitant. Like he was afraid to hold me too tightly, to ask for too much.

He was blushing, red creeping up his neck to the tips of his ears, eyes fluttering shut every time my fingers grazed his skin. He looked like he was trying to survive it, like my touch was unraveling him inch by inch. By now I couldn't tell if it was his true emotions or just because of the weed.

"You like this?" I whispered between kisses, letting my lips ghost along his jaw. I shifted my hips against his just slightly, not enough to push him, just enough to remind him how close we were.

He gasped. "Y-Yes-"

"You like when I kiss you, don't you?" I murmured.

His head nodded helplessly, his bottom lip trembling like he could barely speak.

"You like being touched like this," I continued, voice low and silken. "Made to blush. Made to look at me with those pretty, pleading eyes of yours..."

My hand curled around the side of his face, thumb brushing his cheek, and I smiled.

"God, Armin," I whispered, "you drive me insane."

And then he made that sound again, high and soft and wrecked, like I'd just knocked the air out of him. His eyes opened, dazed and glassy, lips parted in disbelief like he couldn't believe the words coming out of my mouth.

And I couldn't believe the boy beneath me.

The same one who had broken me once, carved confusion into my heart, twisted me in ways I didn't understand.

And now?

He was under me, shaking. Whispering my name like a prayer. Kissing me like he didn't know where his skin ended and mine began.

And God, it made me feel powerful. Like I had him in the palm of my hand, and he wanted to be there.

But it also made me feel something else.

Something deeper.

Something scarier.

Because I liked seeing him like this, undone, open, trembling from a single touch but I loved the way he made me feel when I wasn't trying to break him.

Safe.

Wanted.

Understood.

And that scared the hell out of me.

Because this wasn't just teasing anymore.

Not really.

This was something else.

Something more.

And I wasn't ready to admit what that meant, not again. Not yet.

So I kissed him one more time. Slow. Deep. Like I could anchor myself to the sound of his soft little gasps, to the way his hands tightened ever so slightly at my waist, to the flutter of his lashes against my cheek.

Then I pulled away, breath still caught in my throat, and rested my head on his chest, laying across him like we were just two kids lying in the grass.

I could hear his heartbeat. Wild and frantic beneath my ear.

He didn't say anything for a moment. He just let his fingers trail gently through my hair, brushing it back from my face in slow, careful strokes. The air was quiet, save for the soft wind and the occasional rustle of the grass around us.

And then, softly, suddenly, he said:

"You're the prettiest woman I've ever seen in my entire life."

My lips parted.

I lifted my head slightly, eyes wide. "What?"

He looked down at me, pink still painted across his cheeks. "I said," he murmured, voice shy but unwavering, "you're the prettiest woman I've ever seen."

There was no smirk. No teasing edge. Just truth, raw and honest, spoken like it had been sitting heavy in his chest for a while now.

My heart twisted.

I could've kissed him again.

But instead, I laid my head back down over his heart, letting it say what neither of us could.

And for the first time in a long, long time...
I let myself feel it.
︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

A/N: I’m sorry for not updating for the past few days but I’m back!

I know this chapter wasn’t much, it’s just a closer connection between Armin and Y/N but I promise it’ll get better and more fun in the future.

Thank you so much for reading until now and again I apologise if this chapter isn’t good, I need to get back to writing😭

Stay tuned for future plans!

Chapter Text

"So... are we actually listening to Sasha and going camping?" Connie asked, though he said it like he was walking himself into a funeral.

I looked up from picking at my food just in time to catch Jean's annoyed glare from across the table.

"Connie, speak up. We're in a cafeteria, not a morgue," Jean groaned, stabbing his pasta like it had personally offended him.

Connie shrank back into his seat, muttering, "I just... I thought the whole sleeping-in-the-woods thing was a joke."

Across from him, Sasha froze mid-bite. Her sandwich hovered in the air as her eyes slowly narrowed in offense.

"A joke?" she repeated, her mouth still full. "Connie, we're gonna make s'mores. S'mores. And drink under the stars. This isn't a joke. This is a lifestyle."

Jean didn't even look up. "You say that like you didn't almost burn down the grill last semester."

"That was a controlled fire, thank you very much," Sasha huffed, squaring her shoulders. "And you weren't complaining when your marshmallow was golden perfection."

"She's got a point," Connie mumbled, defeated.

I bit back a smile behind my hand, watching the argument unravel like a familiar sitcom rerun. This was normal. The playful fights, the dumb banter, the ridiculous group dynamics. For once, it felt like everything was okay again.

What wasn't normal was how quiet Armin was.

He sat at the far end of the table, his fork aimlessly circling untouched food, eyes half-focused on some thought I wasn't invited into. I tried not to stare. I tried not to remember the weight of his body against mine. The way he'd whimpered my name. The way he'd kissed me like he wanted to tear something out of himself. The way he called me beautiful.

But I could still feel the echo of his touch on my skin like it hadn't left.

And I hated how much I wanted more of it.

"We're not just going out into the woods to suffer," Mikasa said, calm and collected as ever. She sat beside Eren, who looked half-asleep already. "We're planning this one."

"Wait," I asked, glancing up. "You guys have done this before?"

"Attempted it," Jean muttered. "Sasha dragged us into the woods with a half-dead speaker and a stove that blew up."

"It didn't blow up," Sasha snapped, dramatically offended. "It flared. There's a difference. And you all had fun."

"Yeah, watching Jean get chased by a raccoon," Eren added with a smirk.

Jean groaned, leaning back in his chair. "That thing came at me like it had a personal grudge."

"It was probably attracted to you," I said casually, smirking.

"You weren't even there!"

"I wish I had been," I murmured under my breath.

At the end of the table, Armin's head lifted slightly. Just a subtle shift, barely noticeable, but I caught it. Like a reflex he couldn't help.

He still didn't look at me.

But I could feel him.

And somehow, that was worse.

"Alright, let's focus," Sasha clapped, startling everyone. "A long weekend's coming up. We go somewhere real this time. Actual cabins. Firewood. Stargazing. The whole aesthetic. Who's in?"

"I'm not sharing a cabin with Connie," Jean said immediately, leaning forward. "Sharing a dorm is already a nightmare. He talks in his sleep."

"And you snore like a dying wildebeest," Connie fired back.

"Both of you can sleep under the stars with the raccoons for all I care," Sasha muttered. "It's one cabin. Big enough for all of us. One weekend. Minimal trauma. Maximum vibes. Deal?"

"Sharing one cabin?" Porco rolled his eyes. "I don't wanna listen to people fucking all night."

"So you mean yourself and your sleeping beauty?" Connie grinned.

Ymir burst into laughter while Pieck rolled her eyes, cheeks slightly pink.

"Guys! Focus!" Sasha whined, borderline feral at this point. "Can we all just say yes so I can start building the shopping list?"

Mikasa gave a small nod. Eren shrugged, his version of a verbal contract. Jean looked like he wanted to say no, but grumbled something that sounded like consent. Connie looked ready to cry but raised his hand. Porco and Pieck exchanged a glance and sighed before nodding. Ymir, Historia, and even Reiner followed suit.

And Armin-

He finally looked up.

Right at me.

Our eyes locked for a breathless second, like the cafeteria noise dulled into a hum in the background. I didn't blink. Didn't breathe.

And then he said, soft and careful, "I'll go."

My heart hiccuped in my chest.

"I mean-" he added quickly, his voice catching, "if everyone else is going."

Sasha beamed, glowing like she'd just won the lottery. "Perfect. This weekend just got so much better and it hasn't even started yet!"

And me?

I just nodded along, pretending the knot in my stomach wasn't tightening.

Because Sasha had no idea how messy this was going to get.

And truthfully?

Neither did I but I had a bad feeling about it.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

An hour later, we'd somehow migrated to the campus library, which felt illegal considering how loud we were being.

We'd claimed an entire table on the second floor, laptops open, half-empty iced coffees scattered around like debris, Sasha's giant-ass binder labeled "Cabin Weekend MASTER PLAN" in pink glitter pen sitting at the center like it was the Constitution.

"This is why group projects fail," Jean muttered, clicking around on his laptop like he was doing anything useful. "Too many people. Too many opinions. Too much Sasha."

"Excuse me," Sasha said without looking up, "but this group project includes hot cocoa, firelight, and potentially matching flannel pajamas, so shut up and let me work my magic."

"Wait, are we actually bringing matching pajamas?" Connie asked, half-serious.

"Don't encourage her," Mikasa warned flatly, flipping through a camping checklist Sasha had printed and annotated in five different highlighters.

Across from me, Armin sat quietly, typing something into his Notes app. His glasses kept slipping down his nose. Every now and then, he'd glance up, never at me, always just past me, and then look down again, like he couldn't decide if he was supposed to be invisible or available.

I tried not to notice. Tried not to wonder if he was thinking about that night. About what we did. About me.

"So," Sasha said brightly, clapping her hands like a kindergarten teacher. "Let's talk logistics. The cabin belongs to my dad, shocker, and yes, it's real, not haunted, not falling apart, and it has actual beds and a working stove. We're not roughing it."

"Thank God," Pieck mumbled, barely awake, her head resting on Porco's shoulder. "I don't camp. I glamp."

"Of course you do," Ymir snorted.

"How far is it?" Reiner asked, leaning over the map Sasha had drawn on lined paper like it was a battlefield strategy.

"Two and a half hours," Sasha replied. "I'll drive one car, my dad's letting me borrow the Jeep."

"We're gonna need more than one," Mikasa said, her voice calm but pointed. "There's too many of us."

"I can take mine," Eren offered, not looking up from his phone. "It fits four. Five if Connie sits in the trunk again."

"I have trauma from that ride," Connie muttered. "You hit every speed bump like it owed you money."

"I have a van," Jean said, reluctantly. "But only if someone else drives it. I'm not spending my weekend getting screamed at by Sasha for taking the wrong exit."

"I'll drive," I said before I could stop myself.

Everyone turned toward me for a beat too long.

Jean blinked. "You'll- wait, you drive?"

"Yes," I said slowly, "I have a license. How else do you think I get to Eren's parties Jean?"

"No offense, you just give passenger princess vibes," Ymir grinned.

"She gives make Armin drive while she paints her nails in the passenger seat vibes," Connie added.

Armin choked on his drink.

"I never-" he started, but the sentence died as we accidentally made eye contact.

And everything went silent for half a second too long.

I looked away first.

"Anyway," Sasha jumped in, voice louder than necessary, "that gives us three cars. We'll group up depending on space, but first, packing lists!"

"Let me guess," Jean sighed. "S'mores stuff. Pajamas. Cameras for Sasha's Instagram."

"Don't forget the Bluetooth speaker," Historia added, flipping her hair. "I'm not falling asleep to bird noises."

"Oh my god," Sasha whispered dramatically. "This is going to be perfect."

"You're unwell," Porco muttered.

"Organized," she corrected.

"You've already made a mood board for this trip, haven't you?" Mikasa asked without even looking up.

Sasha didn't answer.

Because yes. Yes, she had.

As the group started bickering again, this time about sleeping arrangements and whether or not we were allowed to bring alcohol, I felt my phone buzz.

A message.

Armin: Can we talk later? Just you and me.

My throat tightened.

I didn't answer.

Not yet.

Because part of me wanted to say yes.

And the other part?

The other part was terrified I already knew what he'd say.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

The sun wasn't even properly up when I pulled into the college parking lot, windows cracked, music low, coffee in hand.

The group was already gathered near Sasha's Jeep, bundled in hoodies and puffer jackets, half-asleep but buzzing with chaotic energy. Luggage, coolers, and suspiciously large duffel bags were being shoved into trunks like we were prepping for the apocalypse.

"Okay!" Sasha shouted, standing on the curb like a cruise director high on caffeine. "Let's figure out cars before someone gets murdered over trunk space!"

Jean grumbled something about needing another coffee. Connie was eating dry cereal out of the box. Reiner looked like he hadn't slept in a week. Typical.

I leaned against my car and watched it unfold, arms crossed, letting the chaos happen.

"Alright," Sasha said, pulling out a color-coded chart she absolutely did not need. "Three cars. Jeep: me, Pieck, Porco, Historia and Ymir. Because none of them trust anyone else to pick road trip music."

"Because we shouldn't," Historia muttered, already slipping on sunglasses. "Last time Eren played an anime opening for forty minutes."

"It was one opening," Eren said. "And it slapped."

"You looped it like it was a religious chant."

"Anyway!" Sasha cut in. "Eren's car: him, Mikasa and Connie. Jean will come with his van just in case."

"What about your car?" Mikasa asked, turning to me.

I shrugged. "I'm still driving. Got space for three."

Sasha grinned. "Perfect. That leaves Y/N, Reiner and-" she glanced down at the chart, and something wicked sparked in her eyes, "Armin."

My body tensed.

I didn't even get the chance to speak before Armin coughed, awkwardly clutching the strap of his backpack. "Wait- are you sure-?"

"Very," Sasha beamed innocently.

Porco raised an eyebrow. "Didn't you say something earlier about how your chart was flexible?"

"Oh, did I?" she said sweetly. "I lied."

I shot her a look. She winked at me like the devil in designer boots.

Reiner gave me a questioning glance, older brother mode activated, but I just shook my head. It's fine. Armin and I survived worse. Like shared trauma. And trauma-bonded kisses.

"It's fine," I said aloud, heading toward my car. "Let's just get there before sunset."

Armin followed behind me in silence, Reiner dragging his suitcase like he was preparing for war. I opened the trunk, and they started loading bags while the others trickled off to their cars.

The tension?

Palpable.

The silence?

Louder than Sasha's playlist.

By the time we were all seated, Reiner in the back, Armin in the passenger seat, and me behind the wheel, it felt like the air was waiting to snap.

I adjusted the mirror. Started the car.

And pretended like my heart wasn't beating too fast.
—————
Twenty Minutes In

Reiner had been asleep for the last thirty minutes after trying so hard not to snap at Armin, slumped in the backseat with his hoodie pulled over his face and one earbud hanging out. His soft snoring was the only background noise, aside from the soft hum of tires and the soft playlist I'd let Armin pick when we got on the highway.

He was in the passenger seat, curled slightly toward the window, legs drawn in, hands fiddling with the hem of his sleeves. His jaw was clenched like he was thinking too hard, like he wanted to say something but couldn't get the words past his teeth.

I didn't know what to do with the silence anymore.

Especially not with him.

Not after that night.

Not after the golden-pink sky, the quiet between us, the way he held my face like I was something precious. The way he kissed me like he meant it.

The way he called me beautiful.

And ever since then?

He'd been different.

Careful.

Distant.

I glanced over again, caught the way his fingers tightened on his hoodie strings.

"You've been weird," I said finally, not bothering to sugarcoat it.

Armin blinked, startled. "What?"

"Ever since that night," I continued, eyes still on the road. "You've been... different. Not in a bad way. Just-" I exhaled. "Quieter. Like you're trying not to get too close again."

He didn't say anything at first. Just shifted in his seat, like the question made his clothes too tight.

Then, softly: "I didn't mean to make things weird."

"You didn't," I said quickly. "You just made it confusing."

A beat.

"I guess I thought..." I trailed off, shaking my head, lips twitching humorlessly. "I thought that night meant something. You kissed me like it did. You spoke to me like it did."

He turned to face me then, really face me, and for a second his eyes looked like they were swallowing all the light in the car.

"It did," he whispered. "Of course it did."

I kept my hands on the wheel, but my heart was racing.

"Then why are you acting like you regret it?"

Armin's jaw worked for a second, like he was chewing through words too big to say.

"I don't regret it," he said, voice tight. "I'm just- trying to be careful."

"Careful?"

"With you."

That shut me up.

The song changed. Something softer. A female voice, Lana Del Rey. It felt like the soundtrack to something we weren't brave enough to say out loud.

"You don't have to be careful," I said after a moment, not looking at him. "Not with me."

He didn't respond.

So I added, quieter, "I liked that night, Armin."

His breath hitched.

"I know," he said. "I did too."

Silence again.

But this time, it wasn't cold.

It was heavy. Fragile.

Like the moment right before a first kiss.

Or the moment right after you realize you're falling and there's no going back.

I finally looked at him, and found him already staring.

Our eyes met. And stayed.

"Why do you always look at me like that?" I asked before I could stop myself.

His voice was a whisper. "Like what?"

"Like I scare you."

Armin swallowed. "Because you do."

I didn't say anything.

I didn't know what to say.

But then....

"Your beauty scares me," Armin said, barely louder than the music. His voice shook like he wasn't sure if he was supposed to say it out loud. "It scares me how you... hypnotize me. You made me fall for you so intensely, so completely, that I don't know what to do with it."

My breath caught.

He wasn't looking at me anymore.

He was looking down at his lap, hands clenched into fists on top of his jeans like he was ashamed of the words. Like he wanted to take them back and bury them somewhere they could never touch either of us.

I didn't respond right away.

Because what was I supposed to say to that?

Because hearing it, actually hearing it, from him... it was like being hit with the truth I had been tiptoeing around for weeks. Although we had confessed to each other before I always thought it was because we were both emotional but now this, this was real.

"Armin..." I said softly, my fingers tightening slightly around the steering wheel. "You make it sound like falling for me is a bad thing."

He looked at me then. Slowly. Hesitantly.

His eyes were glassy in the passing sunlight, lips parted like he wanted to argue, but couldn't.

"It's not bad," he said after a beat. "It's terrifying."

I swallowed.

"Why?"

He laughed under his breath, but it wasn't a happy sound. It was broken. Honest. "Because I've never wanted someone this badly before. And not just like, physically. I mean you. I want to understand you. I want to memorize the way you smile, the way you get quiet when you're thinking. I want to protect you. I want to fix every single thing I ever did to hurt you, and then I want to earn the right to be near you after that."

My chest ached.

Because God.

I wanted to be angry at him still.

I wanted to remind myself of the pain, of everything he'd done to unravel me.

But all I could feel was how sincere he sounded. How completely exposed he looked sitting there in my passenger seat, telling me I scared him not because I was cruel, but because I was everything.

"I don't know if I can do this right," he added. "But I swear, I'm trying."

The silence between us was soft now.

Like snowfall.

Like breath.

I reached over and placed my hand on top of his.

He flinched slightly, then relaxed.

I didn't squeeze.

I didn't pull away.

I just let it stay there.

Skin against skin.

Grounding both of us.

"I'm scared too," I admitted quietly. "But I still want to see where this goes."

He looked up, his face unreadable at first. But then...

He smiled.

Small. Shy. Devastating.

And he turned his hand over slowly, so our fingers could lace together.

"I don't want to run anymore," he whispered. "Not from you."

I didn't say anything back.

Because I didn't need to.

The way I gripped his hand tighter?

That said enough.
︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

A/N: Godddd... they're so insufferably soft.

Like- why won't they just get together already??
Why won't they admit they're in love??

WHY ARE THEY LIKE THIS???

Also: was Reiner actually asleep... or just pretending to listen to their conversation?

Anyway. Stay tuned for the next chapter where the group heads off for a "wholesome" weekend getaway in the woods. Expect chaotic games, heartwarming memories...

...and maybe a little trauma.

Chapter Text

The ride fell into a heavy silence the moment Reiner stirred awake. Reflexively, I let go of Armin's hand, pulling back like the contact might set off some silent alarm.

While Reiner had been asleep, Armin had told me everything, how Reiner had yelled at him, threatened him, demanded he stay away. That was part of the reason Armin had distanced himself all this time.

But I didn't believe that.

I didn't want that.

I wanted him.

If he wanted me too...

Why hadn't he ever asked me to be his?

I stole a glance at the rearview mirror and caught Reiner's sharp glare fixed on Armin. I sighed, trying to shake off the tension suffocating the car. Thankfully, Sasha, who'd been driving ahead, finally pulled over and climbed out.

We had arrived.

"I missed this place!" Sasha groaned, stretching with an exaggerated yawn.

The cabin wasn't visible yet. We were at the end of the road, which meant the rest of the journey was on foot, deep into the woods where the cabin lay hidden.

I unbuckled my seatbelt and opened the trunk, reaching for my bag. Before I could grab it, Armin silently took my things from me and walked toward the others. Reiner scoffed beside me and slammed the trunk shut with a sharp thud.

"We seriously have to walk?" Pieck groaned, already sounding drained.

Porco shook his head, bending low with a smirk, silently beckoning Pieck to hop onto his back. She didn't hesitate, climbing up without a word.

"Ew- I hate couples," Connie grumbled, sticking his tongue out at them. Without warning, he lunged for Jean's back, but both of them tumbled to the ground in a heap.

"Stop fooling around, idiots," Eren muttered, shaking his head as he helped them up.

One by one, the group started following Sasha down the narrow dirt path, their footsteps crunching softly on the dry leaves. The forest around us was dense and shadowed, the tall trees standing like silent guardians over the winding trail. The air smelled of pine and earth, fresh but heavy with the unknown.

The cabin was far deeper in the woods than I'd expected.

Armin fell into step beside me, still carrying my bag, but the distance between us felt charged with unsaid words. Every now and then, his hand brushed mine, fleeting and tentative, but I didn't dare reach out again.

Not yet.

Not when Reiner was around.

Ahead, the others' voices faded into the rustling of branches, and the soft crunch of footsteps was all that kept me tethered to the moment.

Somewhere in the heart of these trees, the cabin waited.

And so did whatever memories we were going to make.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

The walk was longer than any of us had anticipated. The path narrowed, weaving deeper through the trees like some forgotten trail carved out by years of memory. With each step, the canopy above thickened, sunlight filtering through the leaves in golden fragments that danced on our skin. The air grew quieter too, still and sacred, like even the forest held its breath in anticipation of what came next.

Up ahead, Sasha, ever the fearless trailblazer, was already calling out over her shoulder. "Almost there! I swear, I remember this bend!"

"Didn't you say that three bends ago?" Jean groaned, swatting a bug from his neck.

"I'm trusting you less with every step," Mikasa added flatly, her eyes scanning the trees like she half-expected a bear to emerge from them.

"Hey," Sasha turned around and walked backwards for a few steps, grinning like a child. "Just wait 'til you see it. You're gonna thank me."

My legs ached from the hike, and Reiner's tense presence behind me wasn't helping. He hadn't said a word the entire walk, just occasionally sighed or stepped a little too hard, like he wanted Armin to hear him.

But Armin stayed quiet too. His hand brushed mine again.

And again.

And again.

And every time, my chest pulled tighter. He was carrying my stuff as well as his, walking beside me, pretending not to look at me while doing exactly that whenever I glanced away. I could see it in his face. He wanted to speak, but the words were stuck behind his teeth because of the pressure of Reiner's presence.

I hated how badly I wanted to hold his hand again.

Finally, Sasha came to a stop just beyond a thick line of trees. She stepped aside, flinging her arms out like she was unveiling a masterpiece.

"There she is!"

We emerged behind her, one by one, and I had to admit, it was beautiful.

The cabin stood in a small clearing like a secret tucked away from the world. Made of rich, honey-colored wood and framed by ivy crawling up one side, it looked like something out of a storybook.

"Oh my god," Historia breathed, hands on her hips as she stared up at the cabin with something close to awe. It was big enough for the all of us and had enough windows to catch the sunlight. Outside the cabin there was an area to rest and enjoy the nature. But the thing that surprised us the most was the lake a few feet away from it.

"Alright, now this is a vibe," Connie grinned, his earlier whining completely forgotten.

"I call the room with the biggest window!" Ymir shouted, bolting up the porch steps like it was a race.

Armin set our bags down gently on the edge of the porch, brushing the hair from his forehead with the back of his hand. He looked at me for a moment, really looked. Like he was trying to memorize my face.

"You okay?" he asked quietly, his voice barely above the breeze rustling the trees.

I nodded. "Are you?"

He smiled, soft and tired. "I think I will be. If you are."

I wanted to ask him what that meant. I wanted to grab his face and kiss him until I forgot every ounce of pain in my body.

Instead, I turned to head inside, because Reiner was only a few steps behind us, watching everything.

But as I reached the front steps, I felt Armin's fingers graze my wrist. Not enough to stop me. Just enough to say he was still there. But then Sasha opened the door and let us all in.

The wooden floorboards creaked softly beneath our feet as we stepped into the cabin. It smelled like cedar and dust, like something untouched for months but still alive with warmth. Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, painting golden lines across the floor and casting faint shadows that danced with every movement.

Everyone spilled in at once, voices echoing through the open space as we explored the place like kids on a school trip. The main living area was open-concept, with a high, sloped ceiling, exposed beams, and an old stone fireplace nestled into one corner. There was a massive sectional sofa in the center, worn in but inviting, and shelves stacked with board games and books along one wall.

"Holy shit, this is way better than I expected," Jean muttered, tossing his bag down and immediately claiming the corner of the couch.

"I feel like I'm in a murder mystery," Sasha said, spinning in a slow circle, grinning. "And I better not die first."

"You absolutely are," Connie added, flopping beside Jean. "But don't worry, I'd avenge you."

"You'd trip over a rock and die five minutes later," Mikasa said, walking past them toward the back hallway, her hand trailing across the smooth banister.

"I wanna see the rooms!" Historia tugged Ymir toward the stairs, already halfway up.

Everyone began breaking off, some heading upstairs to start unpacking, claiming beds, bickering over who gets what. Reiner gave me a quick glance before moving toward the kitchen, mumbling something about checking the pantry. He didn't look at Armin. Not once.

I stood in the middle of the cabin, unsure where to go.

Armin hovered behind me, silent.

"I guess I should find my room," I said, turning toward the stairs.

"Do you... want help unpacking?" he asked, quietly, carefully. Like he wasn't sure if it was allowed.

I hesitated.

But then I nodded.

His face barely changed, but I caught the flicker of relief in his eyes. He picked up my bag without a word and followed me up the stairs.

We passed by Sasha and Connie fighting over a room with a king sized bed, Pieck was already curled up on one of the mattresses like she'd been there for days, obviously she shared a room with Porco and Jean standing in a hallway looking utterly lost. I pushed open the last door on the right and stepped into a room with soft wooded walls, a tall window that overlooked the trees, and a bed that looked ten times comfier than it had any right to be.

"This one's mine," I said simply, stepping inside.

Armin set my bag down at the foot of the bed and lingered, his hands still resting on the handles like he didn't want to let go.

For a moment, the buzz of the others downstairs faded. It was just us, standing there in a room that felt too quiet and too close.

I turned to him. "Armin..."

He looked up.

"Stay," I said. "I mean- you don't have to but you can share a room with me."

His lips parted, like he wanted to say something, but he didn't. He just stared at me, breathing slow, chest rising and falling like he was fighting some kind of internal war.

I walked up to him slowly, gently reaching for the collar of his hoodie, brushing my fingers against the fabric.

"Would you rather share one with Jean?"

His breath hitched. His eyes dropped to my mouth, then back to my eyes. His voice was barely a whisper when it came out.

"How could I when you are offering me to stay."

And for a second, neither of us moved.

The tension between us felt electric, buzzing, quiet, desperate. We were both standing on the edge of something.

And all I could think was: Kiss him.

But before I could do anything someone cleared their throat.

Reiner.

He stood in the doorway, arms crossed, his eyes scanning the room, scanning us. His expression wasn't angry. That would've been easier. It was worse.

It was disappointment.

Like he'd walked in and found a version of me he didn't recognize.

Armin immediately stepped back. His posture shifted, retreating. Guarded. He picked up the corner of my bag and adjusted it unnecessarily, like he needed to busy his hands.

"I was just helping her unpack," he said, voice low, neutral.

I didn't move. I didn't look away.

Because I wasn't scared.

Not anymore.

Reiner's jaw tensed. He said nothing at first, just studied me like he was waiting for me to explain. Waiting for me to lie. To backtrack. To fix the picture he had in his head of who his little sister was supposed to be.

But I didn't give him that.

"I asked him to stay," I said, evenly. Calm. Like it wasn't the most terrifying sentence I'd ever said in front of him. "I have already forgiven him about what happened and he's sharing the room with me."

Silence.

A thick, hot silence that clung to the walls.

Reiner looked between us. Armin's face was unreadable now, distant, polite. But I could feel it, the tension rolling off him like a wave he was holding back with both hands. It's interesting how he dared to face my dad but not my brother.

Finally, Reiner exhaled through his nose and straightened his spine like he was pulling himself back from saying something reckless.

"We leave for the lake in twenty," he muttered.

And then, without another word, he turned and walked off, his footsteps creaking heavily down the hall.

I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding.

Armin rubbed the back of his neck and gave a quiet, shaky laugh. "Well. That went better than I expected."

"He's just..." I trailed off. "Protective. Overprotective."

"I know." Armin looked at me again, softer this time. "I don't blame him."

I did.

But I didn't say that.

Instead, I turned away and sat down on the edge of the bed, brushing my fingers over the soft linen. The weight of what almost happened hung in the air, still fresh, still pulsing.

Armin stayed quiet for a beat. Then, slowly, he sat beside me. Not close enough to touch, but close enough that I could feel the warmth of him, the space he occupied.

Close enough to wonder what would've happened if Reiner hadn't shown up.

I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. He was staring forward, jaw tight, fingers laced in his lap like he didn't trust them, like he didn't trust himself.

So I shifted.

Just slightly.

Letting my thigh brush against his.

He looked at me then, and something in his expression cracked, like he'd been holding his breath this whole time and I'd finally let him exhale.

"I would've kissed you," he said, voice low and rough.

I froze.

He kept looking at me. There was no stutter, no hesitation now, just heat simmering quietly under the surface.

"If he hadn't walked in..." Armin continued, "I would've kissed you."

The world tipped sideways. Everything else fell away, the creak of footsteps in the hall, the distant laughter downstairs, the looming memory of Reiner's disapproval. Gone.

It was just him.

Just me.

And the kind of tension you didn't come back from.

I reached for him, no flinching, no fear, no second-guessing, and slid my fingers through his, slow and deliberate, until our hands fit together like they were always meant to.

"Then kiss me now," I whispered. "Kiss me like you would've if Reiner hadn't interrupted."

And that was it.

That was the breaking point.

The moment the switch flipped.

Something behind Armin's eyes shifted, like I'd peeled back the careful, controlled version of him he'd been clinging to and uncovered something deeper. Something older. Sharper. Hotter.

Gone was the flustered boy with unsure hands and too much restraint.

In his place was the version of Armin I remembered from before. The one who cornered me in hallways with a look that made me forget my own name. The one who spoke in low, calculated tones when no one else was listening. The one who knew exactly what he was doing.

He leaned in slowly, not out of hesitation, but out of intent.

Like he wanted me to feel every second of the space shrinking between us.

And then his lips met mine.

Soft.

But not tentative.

His mouth moved against mine like he already knew the shape of it. Like he'd spent days, months, thinking about it. Dreaming of it. Planning this moment in the quiet parts of the night where no one could hear him.

His hand slid up, brushing the side of my face, thumb grazing my cheekbone. Gentle. Anchoring. His other arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me in until my knees bumped his thigh and there was no space left to pretend.

I let out a quiet gasp against his mouth, and he smiled, the kind of smile that made my stomach twist.

Like he had me now.

Like he'd always known he would.

When we finally pulled apart, his forehead rested against mine, breath ragged, lips red from kissing.

"I've wanted to do that since the car ride," he whispered, voice low and wrecked.

My fingers clutched his hoodie, grounding myself. "Then don't stop."

His eyes darkened, not with lust, not fully. It was something else. Something devoted. Possessive, almost. But not in a way that scared me.

In a way that made my chest ache.

He kissed me again.

Slower this time. Deeper. And it felt like everything I hadn't let myself hope for was suddenly real and in my hands.

Then, just as the kiss began to build again, a voice from downstairs tore through the moment.

"GUYS!" Connie shouted. "IF YOU'RE NOT COMING TO THE LAKE, I'M DRINKING ALL THE GOOD STUFF WITHOUT YOU."

We both broke into quiet laughter against each other's mouths, breathless and flushed.

Armin pulled back, just slightly, brushing his thumb over my bottom lip, like he was memorizing it.

"I guess we should go," he murmured.

I tilted my head. "Yeah... we should."

But neither of us moved.

Because that kiss had changed everything.

It had changed him.

And whatever happened next, at the lake, at the cabin, in the dark hours between, we weren't going back to before.

Not now.

Not ever.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

The sun had shifted lower in the sky, casting a honey-drenched glow over the clearing as we made our way to the lake, swimsuits clinging to damp skin, bare feet brushing over soft grass. The lake lay just a few feet from the cabin, tucked between tall trees like a secret the forest was keeping just for us. The surface was still and glassy, reflecting the trees, the clouds, the pieces of ourselves we were all trying not to show.

It was too perfect to feel real.

Sasha was the first to break the spell, sprinting ahead and shrieking as she dove straight in, no hesitation, no warning. A splash exploded across the surface, and she surfaced with a wild grin, hair slicked back and dripping.

"Holy shit, it's freezing!" she shouted, laughing. "But in a good way! Like a near-death-but-refreshing kind of way!"

Connie ran after her, yanking his shirt off mid-sprint. "If I die, I want it on record that I did it for the drama!"

Then- splash. Gone.

Their chaos was contagious.

Mikasa, already in a black high-cut bikini, walked toward the shore with quiet confidence, toeing the water like she was analyzing a battlefield. Eren trailed a few steps behind her in navy swim shorts, hands in his pockets, watching her with something unreadable in his eyes. He didn't say anything, just walked straight into the lake like it owed him something.

Historia stood under the shade of a tree, tying her hair up into a messy knot, the sun catching her bare shoulders. Ymir was at her side, shamelessly staring.

"If you drown, I'm not saving you," Ymir said lazily.

"You would, don't lie to yourself," Historia replied, grinning. "But you'd cry about it for the rest of your life even more."

"True."

Jean had ditched his shirt ages ago, lounging on the edge of the dock with his legs dangling over the water. His eyes followed the group, but every now and then they flicked toward me. And then toward Armin.

As if he knew.

As if he could see that we both carved each other but no one took the actual big step.

Pieck was already half-asleep on a towel by the shore, sunglasses slipping down her nose. Porco sat beside her, elbows on his knees, silent and watching her like she was the prettiest girl in the world.

Reiner lingered at the tree line, arms crossed, clearly uncomfortable seeing this many exposed limbs, especially mine but only because Armin was here. But he didn't say anything. He just hovered, protective and heavy, like always.

And Armin...

Armin stood beside me.

His swim shorts were plain black, his hair was open, and his glasses had been swapped out for contacts. But the thing that caught me wasn't what he was wearing, it was the way he looked at me like I was something he couldn't touch without burning.

I tugged my towel tighter around my waist.

"Are you going in?" I asked, careful not to sound breathless.

He looked out at the lake, at the splashing, the laughter, the echo of childhood we were all trying to grab onto.

"I'll go if you go," he said, eyes still on the water. But I could feel the way he was watching me from the corner of his vision. "But if you dunk me, I will start a war."

I grinned, already undoing the towel and dropping it onto the grass.

Armin looked over.

And froze.

His eyes dropped, checking me out and then snapped back to my face like he hadn't just done that.

Like he wasn't thinking things that were too unholy to speak out.

I pretended not to notice. "Come on, nerd. Let's see if you can survive some water without needing a rescue."

"You're never gonna let that go, huh?"

"Nope."

He ran a hand through his hair, sighed, and then pulled his shirt off in one smooth motion.

My brain short-circuited.

His chest was more toned than I remembered, like he'd been doing pull-ups in secret just to spite me. There were faint scratches on his back from that night, I had given him scars. I looked away before I got stuck staring.

I walked toward the lake, stepping into the shallows. The water was cold, biting, but I didn't flinch. Behind me, I could hear Armin following.

And then, splash- he stepped in beside me, waist-deep.

"It's not that bad," he said, his voice a little tight.

"You're shivering."

"I'm not shivering. I'm just... emotionally reacting to the temperature."

I laughed, full, real, chest-deep.

Further ahead, Connie yelled something about building a mud castle. Eren dunked him with zero hesitation. Historia squealed as Ymir lifted her over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes and threw her in. Mikasa watched it all with a small smile tugging at her mouth.

Jean stood chest-deep in the water now, glancing toward us. "You two lovebirds coming or what?"

I flipped him off. Armin stayed quiet, but his smile widened slightly.

I turned to him in the water.

We were close again.

And I didn't even realize how close until I could feel the heat of him under the cold.

"Bet you won't dunk me," I said, obviously challenging him.

His eyes darkened.

"Oh, you don't want to challenge me."

"Try me."

"Don't tempt me."

"Then what are you waiting f-" before I could finish he kicked my legs away under water and making me face plant the water.

He got me first.

I gasped, sputtering, hair clinging to my face as I surfaced, and before I could yell at him, he was already swimming away, laughing like a villain in an old cartoon.

"You fucker!"

I chased him, splashing mercilessly.

The sun dipped lower, turning the lake gold.

And for a little while, we weren't broken.

We weren't haunted.

We were some teens in swimwear again, laughing in the shallows, breathing in the kind of summer that felt like it would never end.

And beneath the surface, unspoken, quiet, waiting, the tension swam between us like something alive.

And it was only going to get deeper.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

The sun was low now, barely a smear of gold behind the trees. Shadows had crept across the lake, stretching long and cold over the water. The laughter had quieted into something softer, more content. Sasha leaned her head back against a floatie, eyes closed. Jean was chest-deep, splashing water lazily at Connie, who pretended to drown for dramatic effect.

The air buzzed with the sound of insects and the soft ripple of water, but something about it felt fragile. Like the moment was trying to last a little longer than it should.

"I forgot the damn speaker," Connie groaned suddenly. "The little box with the lights- remember? For the night swim."

Everyone ignored him, except Sasha, who cracked one eye open. "You mean your vibes machine?"

"Yes!" he shouted. "My music! My ambiance! I left it in the trunk!"

"I'll go get it," I said, pulling myself out of the water and grabbing the towel off the rocks. "I'm already halfway dry anyway."

Armin stood, like he might stop me. "It's getting dark."

"I'll be fast," I promised, tying the towel loosely around my waist.

He didn't look convinced. But he didn't stop me either.

I started up the slope, leaving the lake behind, stepping into the cool hush of the forest trail.

At first, it was quiet in a peaceful way. Just the sound of cicadas, the soft crunch of my footsteps, and the rustle of trees overhead. The air was thicker here, shaded, the smell of moss and bark strong enough to sting.

But the deeper I walked, the quieter it got.

No birds.

No breeze.

Just breath.

Mine.

And then-

A snap.

I paused, turning sharply.

Nothing.

"Hello?" I called out.

Silence.

I quickened my pace.

Just a few more steps to the clearing. Just a few more-

Suddenly, something slammed into me from behind.

A strong arm hooked around my waist, yanking me back.

I gasped, tried to scream, but a second hand clamped down hard over my mouth.

Another person.

A second figure emerged from the trees.

I fought. Kicked. Scratched.

But they were stronger.

The one behind me held me in place, locking my arms down, his breath hot against the side of my face. The other stepped forward, slowly, calmly.

"A pretty girl you shouldn't have come alone," he said. His voice was low, unrecognizable. Masked. Measured. "Men are some evil creatures."

I tried to scream again, but it came out as a choked sob into the palm covering my mouth.

"Hold her still," the second one murmured.

"Already am," the one behind me growled, tightening his grip.

They pushed me back, hard, against the rough bark of a tree.

My head hit the trunk. Stars burst behind my eyes.

Hands, too many hands, pressing, grabbing, forcing stillness.

I thrashed anyway. Clawed at the arm over my mouth. Tears stung hot in my eyes.

"You're gonna be quiet now," one of them whispered, "or it gets worse."

Darkness pressed in from all sides. The forest was too thick. Too deep. No one could hear me.

And I realized, in a terrifying, frozen second-

They didn't want to rob me.

They came for me.

A girl in a bikini, walking through the woods, in the dark

Alone.
︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

A/N: Y'all really thought it was going to be fluff from now on, huh?

Well... let's just say, Reiner might not be as chill about Armin as some of you hope or think.

And as for what just happened... I hope someone comes in time to save her.
Because if not... well.

(Take care of yourselves, always. Stay alert, especially when you're alone. Fiction is fiction, but safety is real.)

Stay tuned
Things are about to get so much darker.

Chapter Text

(Armin's POV):

"It's been twenty minutes since she left."

My voice cut through the easy laughter and low hum of conversation, sharper than I meant it to be.

Connie glanced over, eyes half-lidded, and rolled his shoulders with a shrug. "Relax dude, the cars are far. She probably stopped to take a piss or something."

He tossed me a drink, but I didn't take it. I didn't even look at it.

Because I couldn't relax.

Not when the sun had dipped behind the trees and the forest around us had gone quieter than it should've. Not when the water felt colder than it had ten minutes ago. Not when my chest felt tight in a way I couldn't explain.

"She should've been back by now," I muttered, mostly to myself.

Mikasa looked up from where she was sitting at the edge of the lake, her brows knitting. "How long did she say she'd be gone?"

"She didn't." I stood. "Connie forgot the speaker in the car. She offered to go. That's all."

Jean sat up straighter. "That was a while ago."

Finally, they were listening.

Historia stopped mid-sentence. Sasha looked toward the treeline. The laughter faded. The group fell into silence like they all collectively realized what I'd been feeling since minute ten.

Something was off.

Way off.

"I'm going after her." I was already wading toward the shore, water lapping at my legs.

"No you aren't," Reiner snapped "I am."

"For once in your life Reiner," I glared at him "shut up."

"Wait- Armin, come on," Jean called after me, but I didn't stop.

I didn't answer, either. I just grabbed my shirt off of a nearby rock and threw it over my head in a quick motion as I jogged barefoot toward the woods.

The air changed the moment I stepped off the grass and into the trees.

It was darker here. Quieter. And the trail, still damp from earlier rain, was uneven beneath my feet.

I didn't call her name.

I didn't want to alert anyone to my presence.

Because deep down, something in me already knew.

And I was terrified of what I was going to find.

I moved faster.

Twigs cracked beneath my feet, branches clawing at my arms as I pushed deeper into the woods. The forest, which had felt peaceful earlier, now pressed in on all sides, watching, waiting, hiding things I couldn't see.

My pulse thundered in my ears.

I rounded a bend in the path where the canopy thickened, blotting out what little light was left. My breathing hitched.

That's when I saw it.

Her slipper.

Just one. Lying on its side like it had been yanked off in a struggle. The laces front was muddy and ripped. My throat closed up.

"Y/N?"

I didn't care who heard me now. I shouted her name again, louder. Desperate.

"Y/N!"

No answer. Just the eerie silence of the forest.

I dropped to my knees, grabbing the slipper and scanning the ground like my eyes could piece together what happened here. There were scuffed marks in the dirt, a dragged heel, something that looked like a partial footprint.

My stomach turned.

She didn't just wander off.

Someone took her.

My fingers curled tightly around the slipper as I stood and bolted, veering off the path and deeper into the woods, following instincts I didn't know I had.

And then, I heard it.

A muffled noise. Guttural. Pained.

It came from somewhere ahead, behind a dense wall of trees. I didn't stop to think. I didn't hesitate.

I ran.

I ran like something primal had taken over. Like if I didn't get to her in the next thirty seconds, something irreversible would happen.

As I broke through the brush, the sound became clearer, struggling, scuffling, and then-

Her voice.

Muffled. Panicked.

"Y/N!"

I exploded into the clearing-

And what I saw made my blood run cold.

Two men.

One had his hand clamped over her mouth, the other pinning her wrists above her head, shoving her roughly against a tree.

Her eyes met mine.

Terrified. Shaking. Pleading.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

(Y/Ns POV):

I couldn't scream.

A hand was pressed so tightly over my mouth it felt like I was choking on my own breath, my back crushed against rough bark as my wrists strained in the grip of someone I couldn't even fully see.

The forest was pitch black now, lit only by threads of moonlight. The air smelled like pine and damp soil. I could barely think. My heart slammed in my chest like it was trying to break free from my ribs.

One of them laughed. "Feisty little thing, huh?"

The other one leaned in closer, his breath hot and disgusting against my cheek. "She's shaking. You scared, sweetheart?"

I thrashed in their grip again, my nail scratching the side of one's hand. He cursed and shoved me harder against the tree.

"Let's just shut her up already-"

"Don't you dare."

The voice cracked through the trees like a whip. Firm. Sharp. Familiar.

Everything paused. My breath hitched.

"Let. Her. Go."

Their heads turned.

And there he was.

Armin.

At the edge of the clearing, chest heaving, eyes blazing. His golden hair clung to his forehead, sweat dripping down the side of his face, and his fists were clenched so tightly I thought they might draw blood.

The men laughed.

"Oh, great," the one holding my arms scoffed. "A little blonde nerd come to save his girlfriend?"

"Back off, kid," the other one warned, shoving me again like it was a warning shot. "Or we'll teach you how the world works."

Armin didn't flinch.

He didn't say another word.

He moved.

Fast.

I'd never seen him like that before. Not in all the seconds I'd known him. One moment he was ten feet away, the next he was slamming his shoulder into the guy pinning my wrists, knocking him off balance. The man stumbled back with a grunt, and then Armin's fist connected with his jaw so hard I heard something crack.

The second man shoved me aside, lunging for Armin. But Armin ducked, gripped his shirt collar, and dragged him to the ground like a storm. There was nothing hesitant about the way he fought, his hits were sharp, precise, fueled by something deeper than instinct.

Fury. Hate. Protection.

"Armin-" I gasped out, collapsing to my knees, still shaking.

One of them tried to crawl away, spitting blood. "You crazy son of a-"

Armin grabbed him by the collar and slammed him back against the dirt. "Don't talk."

He punched him again. And again.

"Don't. You. Ever. Touch. Her."

His voice was low, venomous. Each word was a strike, each punch a promise. By the time he stopped, both men were groaning on the ground, barely conscious, blood smeared across the leaves.

Armin stood there, chest heaving, eyes wild. His gaze darted to a thick piece of wood half-buried in the dirt nearby.

Without hesitation, he picked it up.

A sickening crack echoed through the clearing as he struck the first man across the head. The second barely had time to lift his arm before Armin swung again, harder. Both collapsed fully this time, unconscious, blood seeping into the earth beneath them.

He dropped the wood with a thud.

Then he turned to me.

"Y/N-" His voice cracked as he rushed to my side, falling to his knees like the ground had given out beneath him.

I didn't think. Couldn't.

I collapsed into him, wrapping my arms around his neck and clutching his hair like a lifeline as I sobbed into the crook of his shoulder. My body trembled violently, breaths shallow and broken.

He held me.

Held me like if he let go, I'd vanish.

"It's okay," he whispered, voice raw as he gently rocked us. His hands cradled the back of my head, brushing through my hair, placing soft, frantic kisses along my crown. "You're safe now. I've got you. I've got you."

"I was so scared-" I choked, the words tearing out between sobs. "They wanted to-"

"Shhh. It's over," he murmured, pulling me tighter against him. "I promise. It's over."

But then his voice dropped, low and serious.

"Y/N."

I pulled back slightly, blinking at him through blurred eyes.

His gaze locked with mine. Fierce. Dead serious.

"You're never going anywhere without me again. Do you understand?"

I nodded, tears slipping silently down my cheeks.

He cupped my face, brushing them away with his thumbs.

"I mean it," he said, softer now but no less firm. "I don't care if it's the car, the campus cafeteria, the edge of the earth, you don't go without me."

A small, broken laugh escaped my throat.

"Okay," I whispered, nodding again. "Okay."

He pulled me back into him, pressing another kiss to my hair. "Let's get out of here."

And with one arm around me, Armin helped me to my feet, steadying me like I was something fragile, precious. I leaned into him, still shaking, but I wasn't afraid anymore.

Not with him.

Not when he'd burn the whole world to keep me safe.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

The woods released us slowly.

Like they didn't want to let her go.

Branches scratched against our shoulders as we broke through the tree line. The sun had already dipped beneath the horizon, and the lake was cloaked in deep blue shadows. The last bits of golden light had drained from the sky, leaving only the soft echo of water lapping against the dock and the muffled laughter of the group still gathered near the shore.

At first, no one noticed us.

Armin didn't say a word.

He kept one arm tight around me, his other hand clenched at his side, knuckles scraped, dirt under his nails. His shirt was rumpled from the fight, stained at the collar with sweat and something darker. I was practically limp against him, one arm gripping his waist, the other dangling. My hair was tangled. My skin was scratched. My breathing was uneven.

I'd never felt so small.

So silent.

Then Sasha turned around. "Hey, finally! What took you guys so-"

She froze mid-sentence.

Everything after that moved in slow motion. Heads turned. Laughter died. Connie's soda slipped from his hand into the water.

Jean stood up from where he'd been lying on a towel. "What the fuck-"

"She was attacked," Armin said, voice flat but sharp.

Gasps. Swearing. Reiner shot to his feet, rage flashing across his face.

"What do you mean attacked?" he barked, storming toward us.

"Two men. In the woods. They tried to..." Armin stopped. His arm tightened around me. "I got there in time."

No one said anything for a beat.

Mikasa was already dialing her phone, voice clipped and calm as she stepped aside. "I'm calling the police."

Pieck pulled Porco toward her protectively. Ymir moved in front of Historia. Connie's mouth opened and closed like he didn't know what to say.

Reiner pushed forward, towering over Armin. "Where are they now?"

Armin met his eyes. His voice was quiet but dark.

"They're not going anywhere."

"I want to see them."

"You don't," Armin replied. "Trust me."

Reiner looked like he wanted to argue, but one glance at me, and the fight left him. His fists unclenched slowly. "Is she okay?"

"She's not talking," Armin said, then turned to me, brushing a strand of hair from my face. "I'm taking her inside."

I didn't protest. I couldn't.

He led me away without waiting for permission.

We left behind the murmurs and the shouts and the ringing of Mikasa's phone, the lake now forgotten. The only thing I focused on was the weight of Armin's arm, the warmth of his side pressed against mine, and the quiet way he kept glancing at me like he wasn't sure I was real.

The cabin lights were a dim yellow glow against the night. When we stepped inside, everything felt too big and too quiet. The world outside had become a nightmare. In here, it was too still.

We didn't speak as we made our way to the bedroom.

When the door closed behind us, I stood there, frozen in place.

Every nerve felt frayed. My skin buzzed with the phantom touch of hands I didn't want. My throat burned, but I couldn't cry anymore. I was empty and full at the same time.

"I don't know what you need right now," Armin said, voice low, as he moved around the room with careful urgency, grabbing one of his hoodies and a clean pair of sweatpants from his suitcase. "But if you want to change, I'll step out. Or stay. You just tell me, love."

My voice cracked. "Stay."

He paused, eyes searching my face like he was afraid I'd disappear.

"Alright," he whispered. "I'm staying."

I changed behind the closet door. My fingers were clumsy. I fumbled with the hoodie drawstrings, the fabric soft against skin that felt bruised all over. I could barely get my legs into the sweatpants without wobbling.

When I stepped out, Armin had already set water on the nightstand and dimmed the lights. The silence between us wasn't awkward. It was heavy.

Real.

I sat on the bed, legs curled to my chest.

He knelt in front of me slowly, like I was something sacred. "Can I touch you?"

I nodded.

He reached up and gently took my ankle, pulling the cuff of the sweatpants higher. His jaw clenched when he saw the red skin and faint bruise where the slipper had been yanked off.

"I should've gone with you," he muttered. "I should've known-"

"This isn't your fault."

Armin looked up at me, his eyes bloodshot but burning with something sharp. "I still wish I'd gotten there sooner."

I reached for him before I could stop myself. My fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt and I pulled him up, into the bed with me.

He hesitated for a heartbeat.

Then he climbed beside me.

I leaned into him, tucked my head under his chin. I didn't speak. Didn't move. I just breathed, slow, shallow breaths, as his arms wrapped around me like armor.

"Do you wanna sleep?" he murmured after a while.

"No." My voice was small. "I just want to feel safe for a minute."

"You are," he whispered. "You are, I swear."

The silence settled again. But this time, it was softer.

Then I said it. Not because I planned to, but because it slipped out, raw and real:
"I thought I was going to die."

Armin's arms tightened instantly.

"But you didn't." His voice broke just slightly. "Because I found you. I'll always find you."

And when I finally drifted off, cheek pressed against his chest, hand curled in the hem of his shirt, it was the first time I'd felt okay since the woods.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

When I woke, the room was darker than before, thicker, like the air itself had gone still to let me rest. My body was stiff, heavy, like it had finally given in to the weight it had carried all day. My cheek was warm against Armin's chest, rising and falling with each of his slow breaths.

He was still awake.

I could tell by the way his thumb traced the curve of my shoulder. Barely there. Gentle. Repeating over and over like a silent apology.

"You didn't sleep," I whispered, voice hoarse.

His chest rumbled beneath me. "Didn't want to."

"Why?"

Armin exhaled through his nose, the sound exhausted and quiet. "Because every time I close my eyes, I see you screaming in the trees."

I flinched. He noticed.

"I'm sorry." His fingers moved up, brushing my hair back, tucking it behind my ear. "I won't bring it up again."

I didn't want him to stop touching me. But I didn't want to think about it either.

Still, something in me cracked.

"I froze," I said. "They grabbed me, and I couldn't even scream. I just stood there."

Armin's arms tightened around me. "You didn't freeze. You survived. That's strength, Y/N."

"I felt weak."

"You're not." He shifted, just enough so I could see his face in the dim light, his jaw set, his eyes wet and furious. "You're the strongest person I've ever met."

I blinked back a fresh wave of tears. "I don't feel strong."

"Then I'll hold the weight for you." He cupped the back of my head again, his touch more confident now. "Until you can stand on your own. And even after that, if you want me to."

Something in the way he said it, low, certain, like a vow, made my chest ache.

"I left your towel behind," I murmured suddenly. "The one I ran off in."

"I don't care," he said instantly. "I care about you."

I buried my face in his chest again. "I'm scared it'll happen again."

"It won't."

"You can't promise that."

"No," he admitted, kissing the top of my head. "But I can promise I'll always be the one who gets there next time. And I'll be faster."

We stayed like that for a long time, no clock ticking, no world spinning outside the walls, just breath and heartbeat and warmth.

At one point, I whispered, "Do you hate them?"

Armin was quiet for a moment. Then he said, low and terrifyingly calm, "I wanted to kill them."

I looked up, startled by the rawness in his voice.

His eyes were distant now. Cold. Like he was remembering something he didn't want me to see.

"I didn't stop hitting the one that grabbed you until he stopped moving."

My heart twisted. "Armin-"

He blinked, as if snapping out of it. "I don't regret it." His gaze dropped to mine again. "If I could go back, I'd do it worse."

A part of me should've been afraid of that. But I wasn't.

Not even a little.

"I'm not sorry either," I whispered. "That it was you."

His brow creased. "What do you mean?"

"That it was you who found me. Who touched me after." I swallowed, fingers gripping his shirt tighter. "If it had been anyone else... I don't think I could've handled it."

He looked like he didn't know what to say. Then he leaned down and pressed his lips to my temple. His lips lingered on my temple like a prayer. Not desperate. Not rushed. Just reverent.

I closed my eyes, breathing him in, vanilla from the hoodie I wore, the faintest trace of his cologne, and something warmer. Something that only ever smelled like him.

"I don't know what I did to deserve this," he whispered against my skin. "You. Here. In my arms."

I pulled back just enough to look at him. His face was inches from mine, eyes impossibly blue in the dim light, lashes casting soft shadows down his cheeks.

"You found me," I said. "That's what you did."

Armin smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "I think I've been trying to, for a long time."

The way he looked at me then, like he was memorizing me, in case the world tried to steal me away again, made my throat tighten.

"Can I ask you something?" he said quietly.

I nodded.

His hands moved to hold mine, thumbs brushing over my knuckles, careful as if I might break.

"I know this might not be the right time," he began, voice barely above a breath, "and you don't have to answer tonight. Or ever, if you don't want to. But-"

I blinked. "Armin..."

"I love you," he said, like it was the only truth he'd ever known. "And not because I'm scared for you, or because of what happened. I love you because you are the first person who ever looked at me like I was more than just a brain. More than a project or a plan. You see me."

My chest cracked open like glass beneath pressure.

"I want to be the person who makes you feel safe. Who makes you feel whole again. Even when you're not okay, even when you're angry or hurting, I want all of it. I want you." He swallowed hard, eyes glassy now. "So I have to ask..."

His voice wavered.

"Will you allow me to be your boyfriend?"

The silence that followed wasn't heavy anymore. It was radiant. Sacred.

Tears spilled down my cheeks, quiet and endless, as I nodded.

"Yes," I breathed. "Yes, Armin. I will allow you."

He looked like he might cry too, except he didn't. He just smiled, wide and boyish, and the kind of pure that made something holy curl around my heart.

And when he kissed me, gentle, slow, his lips trembling just slightly, it didn't feel like a beginning or an ending.

It felt like coming home.

He pulled away only enough to rest his forehead against mine.

"You're safe now," he whispered again, softer this time. "Because I'm your boyfriend, and I won't let anyone hurt you. Not even yourself."

I believed him.

Because for the first time in my life, love didn't feel like a storm.

It felt like light.
︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

A/N: God... this chapter actually made me cry while writing it.

We all need an Armin in our lives, don't we?
Someone who holds us when we fall apart, who doesn't flinch at the mess, who chooses us, every version of us, even the broken one.

They're finally together. After everything. After pain, silence, fear, and healing... she said yes. He asked her like it meant the world and to him, it did.

But... this is just one calm in the storm.
What happens next?

Will Reiner finally accept Armin after today's events?

Will Y/N's mind stay steady, or will the weight of it all pull her under again?

Can love alone be enough to keep them whole?

So many questions. So many answers ahead.
Stay tuned, my angels, because it only gets deeper from here.

Thank you for reading and thank you so much for this many reads!

Chapter Text

TW: This chapter contains explicit sexual content. Reader discretion is advised.

Feel free to skip the chapter when Y/N is back in her room.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

When I woke up, it felt like the world had paused.

No alarms. No shouting. No distant traffic. Just birdsong outside the fogged window and the whisper of pine trees swaying in the early breeze.

God how I loved this cabin.

The blanket was heavy, but his arms were heavier. Not in a bad way. In the way that made me feel anchored. Like even if the world cracked in half, I wouldn't go anywhere, because Armin was holding me like I was something sacred.

And he was already awake.

"Good morning," he whispered, the words brushing my forehead like a kiss before I even opened my eyes.

I smiled, slow and lazy. "You didn't sleep?"

He shifted, just slightly. "Didn't want to."

I peeked up, only to find him looking at me the way people look at old photographs they never stopped loving. Like I was something precious.

Like I was something real.

His thumb brushed under my eye, featherlight. "You had the softest look on your face while you slept. I didn't want to miss it."

My breath hitched.

"How are you so-" I blinked, choking on the warmth rising up my throat. "God, why are you like this?"

His grin was slow and shameless. "You love it."

I smacked his chest, though it sounded more like a gentle pat. "You're annoying."

"I'm your annoying boyfriend now," he said proudly. "Get used to it."

I laughed, but then it hit me all over again.

Boyfriend.

He was my boyfriend.

And somehow that word, something I'd once been terrified of, didn't feel heavy in my chest anymore. It felt safe. It felt like sunshine through wooden blinds and the faint smell of campfire smoke on his skin.

Armin reached up and tucked a piece of hair behind my ear, his touch careful like I was still healing, but he was proud of every scar.

"You slept through the sunrise," he murmured. "It was beautiful."

I blinked up at him. "Why didn't you wake me?"

"Because nothing beats the view I had right here." His voice cracked on the last word, just a little. "You, alive. Breathing. Peaceful."

Something in my chest caved.

Tears welled up before I could stop them. Stupid, warm, overflowing tears that blurred his smile.

"Y/N..." He sat up more, pulling me gently with him, cupping my cheeks with both hands. "No, no. Don't cry."

"I'm happy," I choked, a little breathless. "Is that okay?"

His eyes softened, like butter melting in warm sunlight, and he kissed the center of my forehead, then both cheeks, then the tip of my nose.

"It's more than okay," he whispered. "I've been waiting for you to feel safe enough to fall apart in peace."

And I did.

I buried myself in his chest, sobbing quietly, not because I was breaking, but because I was finally safe enough not to be strong. Safe enough to be loved without earning it.

"I didn't know it could feel like this," I whispered. "Love. I didn't know it could be this gentle."

His arms curled around me, one hand cradling the back of my head like I was the most delicate thing he'd ever touched.

"Of course it can," he said into my hair. "Because this is real."

We sat like that for a long time. No clock ticking. No one knocking. Just the occasional creak of the wooden cabin and the flutter of birds outside the glass.

Eventually, I lifted my head, eyes still glassy. "Are you always going to be like this? Sweet and soft and... annoyingly perfect?"

Armin smirked. "Don't get too comfortable. I'm still the guy who makes you go insane and argues like it's foreplay."

I gawked. "Armin!"

He just winked. "Balance."

I swatted him, but before I could launch into a fake lecture, he pulled me close again, sighing happily as he tucked my head under his chin.

"I've never been this happy," he murmured, so quietly I barely caught it. "And I swear, I'm going to spend the rest of my life making sure you never forget how loved you are."

My chest squeezed.

And that's when I knew:

This wasn't just a chapter.

This was the beginning of everything.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

The old stairs creaked under our weight, every step a quiet drumbeat in the sleepy stillness of the morning. My hand was tangled in Armin's, our fingers laced like we'd never spent a single day apart.

The warm scent of vanilla pancakes, cinnamon, and fresh coffee wafted up from the kitchen below, and the soft hum of conversation echoed faintly through the wooden cabin.

He looked over his shoulder at me, his expression boyish and smug. "You ready for everyone to start bombing you with questions?"

I groaned. "No. Can't we just climb out the window and run into the woods forever?"

He chuckled. "Tempting. But I want to show you off."

"Gross."

"You love it," he whispered, swinging our hands playfully between us as we reached the bottom step.

The moment we stepped into view, it was as if someone had pressed pause on the entire cabin.

Everyone froze.

Sasha stood by the stove, spatula mid-air, apron slightly crooked. Connie was crouched by the open fridge. Jean held a steaming mug, halfway to his lips. Eren and Mikasa sat on the worn couch in the living room, a deck of cards between them. Ymir was lounging against the counter beside Historia, who blinked in slow shock. Reiner, Pieck, and Porco sat around the long wooden dining table, halfway through their breakfast.

And every single one of them had turned to stare.

At us.

At our hands.

At him beside me.

At me, tucked in one of Armin's clothing which was big on me, barefaced and still sleepy-eyed, fingers visibly clutched in his.

"Good morning," Armin said, like this wasn't the most scandalous moment of the century.

Silence.

And then:

"AHHHHHHHHHH!"

Sasha screamed first. Jean let out a victorious, drawn-out "I knew it!" Connie dropped a jar of strawberry jam, which thankfully didn't shatter. Historia squealed so hard she spilled tea on herself. Ymir just burst into actual applause.

"Oh my god," Sasha gasped, eyes wide. "You guys are- Are you-? Did it finally-? WHEN?!"

"You owe me twenty bucks," Jean told Eren.

"Shut up," Eren muttered, though he looked mildly amused.

"I'm gonna throw up," Porco groaned.

Pieck tilted her head with a dreamy smile. "I think it's romantic. Also don't act like you aren't worse Porco!"

Reiner didn't say anything at first. He just stood, slowly, his gaze heavy on me. His brows knit together like he wasn't sure whether to hug me or interrogate Armin on the spot.

"You okay?" he asked quietly. "After everything in the woods... I just- I wanted to make sure."

I swallowed.

The room dimmed for a second with memory, trees, screams, fear I'd tried to forget for so long it rotted. But then I looked at Armin. He didn't squeeze my hand tighter. He didn't tell me to be strong. He just looked at me like I was allowed to be human.

"I'm okay," I said softly. "I really am."

Reiner nodded. "Good. That's all that matters."

"...I'm sorry," Sasha said, biting her lip. "We were all worried about you. We didn't know if we should bring it up-"

"No," I interrupted gently. "Thank you. Really. For caring."

"Group hug?" Jean offered sarcastically but Sasha took it personally...

She was already on her way to me, arms wide. "Too late!"

Within seconds, I was engulfed in bodies, Sasha clutching me like a life raft, Connie joining with no coordination whatsoever, Historia squeezing in beside us. Ymir wrapped one arm lazily around the entire bundle, while Pieck rested her chin on my shoulder with a sleepy hum.

Mikasa gave me the smallest, most subtle nod from behind everyone, her way of saying I'm here, too.

Jean hovered awkwardly before rolling his eyes and joining, muttering, "Fine, but I'm not making this a thing."

Porco stayed seated, grumbling to himself. "You guys are embarrassing."

Armin stood a little outside the chaos, watching me with that look again, like I was something delicate and divine.

"You're not joining?" I called over, smiling through the warmth and chaos of the moment.

He smirked. "I already had a private hug. This one's for the peasants."

The group groaned in unison.

"HE DID NOT-"

"Of course! Stupid boyfriend privileges!"

"Go Armin! Rooting for ya!"

"HE SAID PEASANTS?!"

Armin just shrugged, smug and unbothered, pulling out a chair for me at the table once I finally disentangled from the mass of affection. I sat beside him, and he pushed a plate toward me, warm pancakes shaped like little stars, syrup glistening.

"You made these?" I asked, touched.

"No," he said proudly. "Sasha did. But I plated them beautifully."

I laughed.

Breakfast resumed like nothing had changed, except it had. Everything had. The cabin glowed with warmth, with safety, with the feeling of belonging.

Under the table, Armin rested his hand gently on my thigh. Just enough to be there. Just enough to say I'm still here. I'll always be.

"I'm really happy," I said quietly.

He turned to me, eyes soft. "Good."

Then, with a flash of that cocky grin: "You're welcome."

"Armin-"

"I mean, obviously dating me would improve your quality of life."

I snorted into my cup.

"You're lucky you're pretty," I muttered. "I wanna punch you right now."

"I know," he whispered, leaning in just close enough for his nose to brush mine.

"You're impossible."

"And you're mine," he said, brushing a kiss to my temple. "Now eat your pancakes, love."
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

The fire crackled, spitting glowing embers into the air like stars on fast-forward. Someone had passed Sasha the aux cord, and now soft music pulsed in the background, a playlist made out of wave to earth, Clairo, Arctic Monkeys and Ariana Grande.

Laughter echoed through the trees. The circle had loosened, blankets thrown over laps, drinks in hand.

Sasha, Connie, Jean, Mikasa, Eren, Historia, Ymir, Reiner, Pieck, Porco... and Armin.

My Armin.

Sitting beside me with one arm lazily slung along the back of the bench behind me, his fingertips grazing my shoulder. Innocent enough for the others not to notice.

But he kept leaning in. Whispering things he knew would set me on fire.

"Cold?" he murmured, as his fingers traced the curve of my upper arm.

"No," I whispered.

He smirked. "Shame. I was hoping you'd ask me to warm you up."

"Armin?- are you insane?- what do you mean?"

"I could, you know," he said, voice low. "Easily."

Before I could respond, Jean called out, "Alright, new round! Let's spice it up. Truth or Dare."

Groans. Grins. The kind of dangerous energy that came when alcohol and fire mixed with unsupervised adults who behaved like teenagers.

It started off harmless. Historia dared Sasha to eat three burnt marshmallows in one bite. Connie was dared to do his worst pickup line on Pieck, and he almost got beat up by Porco. Ymir got dared to carry Reiner on her back. Everyone was laughing, cheeks flushed, voices rising.

But then it came to me.

Porco leaned forward, grinning like a cat.

An evil, disgusting cat.

"Truth or dare, Y/N?"

I hesitated.

Armin squeezed my shoulder, fingers ghosting down the side of my neck. "Pick dare," he whispered, lips brushing the shell of my ear.

My pulse spiked.

"Dare," I said, trying to sound brave.

Porco grinned wider. "I dare you to kiss the hottest person here."

The group exploded.

"Ohhh my god."

"Porco!"

"That's evil! She has a boyfriend!"

I wanted to crawl into the ground.

But Armin... didn't even flinch.

He leaned closer, voice lazy and smooth. "What's it gonna be, love?"

My hands were trembling. Why was Armin acting this way?

Or was soft Armin the act?

Was this the Armin who I had started dating?

I turned my face just slightly toward him and the look in his eyes ruined me. All slow-burning fire and arrogance. He knew exactly what I was going to do.

But I didn't give him the satisfaction of dragging it out.

I grabbed his jaw and kissed him, slow, deep, and possessive.

The group whooped. Connie fake-screamed like a fan girl. Sasha yelled something about "get a room!" and Pieck clinked her drink against Ymir's.

Armin? Didn't stop kissing me.

Even after the dare was technically over.

When we finally pulled away, he looked completely unaffected.

"You passed," he whispered smugly.

"You're insufferable."

"And you're in love with me."

I shoved him lightly, face flushed. "Shut up."

He smirked. "Make me."

God help me.

The game continued, but I barely heard it. Armin kept touching me. Not overtly, not enough to draw attention. But his fingers trailed the hem of my shirt. He brushed my waist. Let his knuckles graze my thigh. Dared to whisper little things in my ear when no one was watching.

"You look so good right now it's almost cruel."

"Your vanilla smell is driving me crazy."

"I've been thinking about the sounds you made when I kiss your neck all day."

"I want you so bad my love."

I was melting.

And he wasn't done.

He dared Sasha to prank call a bakery and ask for "emotional support bread." He made Jean answer a truth about his secret crush on Mikasa (spoiler: not so secret anymore), Eren obviously took that personally and left a hickey on mikasa's chest in front of everyone before sticking his tongue out at Jean like a child. He even took a dare himself, downing a shot with no chaser, licking salt off my neck first.

"You're evil," I hissed when he sat back down.

He only smiled. "You already knew that, gorgeous."

It was pure, slow, teasing torture.

And when the game fizzled out and everyone started dragging themselves inside, half-asleep and half-drunk, Armin stayed perfectly calm.

He leaned down near my ear and murmured, "Let's go to our room."

My breath hitched.

"You're not even trying to be subtle," I whispered.

He kissed the corner of my mouth. "I don't need to be."

The group barely noticed as we slipped away. Sasha was passed out across Connie and Jean. Historia and Ymir were making out against a tree. Eren was smoking something suspiciously herbal near the porch with Mikasa in his lap. Pieck and Porco were cuddling near the fire. Reiner was nowhere to be found. No one really cared about anything.

Armin dragged me upstairs by my wrist, not even glancing at me once as we made our way to our bedroom.

The air between us thickened the moment the door closed behind us. Silence stretched, not awkward, charged. Every step I took backward, Armin followed, slow, measured, like a lion cornering his prey, but softer. Warmer.

I could feel the question in his touch as his hands grazed my hips, the invitation behind his gaze. He bent to kiss me again, and I kissed him back, desperate, searching, but then I tensed.

His fingers slipped beneath the hem of my shirt.

I caught his wrist.

He stilled instantly.

My breath shook. "Wait."

Armin pulled back immediately, his eyes wide, concern bleeding into every line of his face. "What's wrong? Did I-?"

"No," I whispered. "No, you didn't do anything wrong. I just... I can't. Not yet. I'm not ready to... to be seen like that...after you know-"

He looked at me like I'd just cracked something inside him. But he didn't push. He nodded, slow and understanding, and let his hands fall away from my skin.

"You don't have to explain," he said gently. "I get it. I swear, my love."

I exhaled, part relief, part heartbreak. "I still want you. Just not like that...for some time."

Armin smiled softly, and cupped my cheek. "You don't owe me anything. I'll take whatever pieces you're ready to give me. Every single one."

My eyes burned.

I leaned into his touch. "But I do want to kiss you."

He huffed a shaky breath, the tension in his jaw softening. "Yeah?"

I nodded. "And I have an idea."

"Oh?" That teasing smirk slid across his face again, like the Armin from months ago had never left. "Should I be worried?"

"No," I said, stepping closer, hands against his chest. "But you should sit."

Armin blinked, surprised. "Sit?"

"On the bed."

"...You're serious."

"Completely."

And something in my tone, maybe the quiet confidence, maybe the trust, made his smirk falter into something gentler. Reverent. He sat slowly on the edge of the bed, looking up at me with a look I couldn't describe if I tried.

"Now what?" he asked, voice already breathless.

I climbed into his lap, knees on either side of his thighs, arms around his neck.

His breath hitched.

"I want to kiss you," I said, "but on my terms. I still want to make you feel good, especially after all the teasing."

He looked at me like I'd just offered him the universe.

"Go on beautiful," he said hoarsely. "Show me what you've got."

So I kissed him.

And I kissed him like I meant it. Like the world outside didn't exist. Like I'd been starving for this and only just remembered how to breathe. My fingers threaded into his hair, and his hands gripped my waist, not to guide me, but to feel. To hold.

I rolled my hips just once, teasing. He broke the kiss with a low groan, his head falling against my shoulder, his breath hot.

"Y/N..."

"Shh," I whispered, lips grazing his ear. "Just let me."

He looked up at me then, eyes blown wide, completely undone.

"Don't get used to this," he muttered, dazed. "I'm still the guy who makes you forget your name ."

"And I'm still the girl who calls your bluff," I whispered back, smirking.

His lips twitched. "God, I'm crazy over you."

"You are," I said. "But it's the other way too."

Armin blinked as I stepped back, the air between us taut with something hot and electric. "You serious?" he asked, the edge of a grin tugging at his lips. "You gonna make me sit here and behave while you crawl into my lap like that?"

I tilted my head. "Is that a complaint?"

He leaned back on his hands, the smug curve of his mouth returning. "Nah, just surprised. Usually I'm the one making you stutter."

I smirked, reaching down to tug at the waistband of his sweatpants. "Don't get cocky."

"Oh, love," he drawled, watching me from under his lashes, "I've been cocky since the second you accepted to be my girlfriend."

But when I sank to my knees between his thighs, the cockiness wavered.

Just a flicker.

I looked up at him as I hooked my fingers in his waistband. "You gonna keep talking shit, or you gonna enjoy what I wanna give you?"

Armin's mouth opened, but the words caught. His throat worked as I pulled his sweatpants and briefs down in one slow motion, freeing him. He was already hard, flushed, twitching against his stomach.

And suddenly, that smirk was gone.

He looked at me like he didn't know what to do with himself.

"Still got something to say?" I asked sweetly, wrapping one hand around him, just tight enough to make his hips jerk.

"F-fuck," he whispered, eyes wide.

That's what I thought.

I leaned in, breath warm against the head of his member, and he whimpered, soft, breathy, involuntary.

His hands clenched in the sheets. "Wait- Y/N, you can't just- oh shit-"

But I could. And I did.

I took him into my mouth, slow and deliberate, tongue circling the tip before sliding down, hollowing my cheeks as I sank deeper. His breath hitched hard. The cocky grin was long gone now, replaced by something messier. Raw.

"Fuck-," he gasped, head falling back. "Y/N- oh my god, your mouth-"

His voice was wrecked, already cracking, like he was barely holding on.

I pulled back just enough to speak, my breath ghosting over wet skin. "You said you were cocky?"

"Mmnhh- fuck-"

"Say it again."

He looked down at me, eyes glazed and desperate. "I- I'm sorry. Fuck. Just- don't stop-"

That was more like it.

I slid my mouth back over him, this time faster, rougher, letting the sounds of it echo in the space between us, wet, obscene. Armin whined, actually whined, his thighs trembling beneath my hands as he tried so hard not to thrust.

"Please," he breathed, broken. "fuck, I can't- Y/N, I'm gonna- shit-"

I pulled off suddenly, lips swollen, eyes sharp. "You don't come until I say so, got it?"

His whole body jolted, the sound he made somewhere between a sob and a groan. "Oh my god- please, please! I'll stop being cocky, I swear- just let me- fuck-"

I smirked, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

"Oh, baby," I said, voice low, "you're not even close to being allowed to finish yet."

"Y/N- stop it-" he cursed, his jaw clenching.

"Oh? I should stop?" I tried holding back my smirk, his reaction was priceless.

"No- you fucking know what I mean-" he cursed, his head falling back, he was dying and I could see it.

"You made me beg in the past, now it's your turn." I looked up at him, my voice serious "beg me to let you finish."

His brows furrowed and he looked down at me as if he couldn't believe it but when his member twitched he let out a loud whine.

"Fine- fuck! Please continue-" he begged quietly.

"Pardon me? Couldn't hear you." I asked innocently.

"Y/N-" he warned. "Yes babe?" I answered with a soft smile.

"Please continue giving me head- please!" He begged but it was obvious he was embarrassed, his cheeks were pink and he avoided eye contact.

I smirked and immediately went down again, moving my head faster than before which only made his whines get louder.

"Fuck- I'm so close-" he announced as he dug his nails into the mattress, trying so hard not to grab my hair.

I fastened my pace as well as adding a hand until I felt him twitch in my mouth. My smirk only grew as I pushed my head down all the way, gagging loudly.

His head fell back as he let out a loud whine, finishing inside of my mouth before falling back on the bed. His chest was falling up and down quickly, his arm resting over his eyes.

"Fuck, you're good at giving head," Armin cursed, breath rough and eyes dark with something between awe and amusement.

I chuckled, wiping the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand before hopping onto the bed to lie beside him. "Better than in the actual bed?"

He grinned, eyes sparkling mischievously. "Don't ask that. I love everything connected to you."

"You're adorable," I teased, holding back a laugh. "Especially when you're whiny."

He rolled his eyes, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Look who's talking, you scarred my back by sleeping with me once. And I wasn't even being rough or kinky."

"What will happen in the future? Am I dying?" he teased, mock-dramatic.

My cheeks flushed, heat rising fast, and I swatted at his chest, laughing.

We both exploded into laughter, the room filling with warmth as we traded jokes and flirted like we weren't even officially dating yet although we were.

In that moment, amid the teasing and the laughter, something crystal clear settled in my chest.

I love this man.

And he was all mine.
︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

A/N: My exam weeks are finally over! (Not gonna lie, they didn't exactly go well...)

I know I promised multiple chapters, but I spent 10 hours swimming today and I'm absolutely exhausted. So, as a little apology, here's this chapter ending for you 😜

Quick question- which Armin do you prefer: cocky Armin or shy Armin? Let me know!

Also, thank you so much for 4k reads! I'm beyond grateful.

Stay tuned for more chapters coming soon!

Chapter Text

I woke up to screaming.

It wasn't the kind that fizzled into silence, wasn't a startled yelp or someone calling for help.

It was agony. Ripped from the throat. Guttural and broken.

For a moment, I thought it was my own. A leftover echo from the forest. My trauma playing tricks on me again. But then came the sobbing, loud, heaving, and so painfully human it made my skin prickle.

This wasn't a dream.

It was real.

I bolted upright, heart ramming into my ribs, Armin blinking awake beside me.

"Was that... Pieck?" he mumbled, voice thick with sleep, but alert.

I didn't answer. I was already dragging on his hoodie, barely registering the warmth of it, my feet hitting the floor before my mind caught up.

Something was wrong.

Down the hallway, doors creaked open. Sasha stumbled out in a hoodie two sizes too big, eyes wide. Connie followed, hair messy, asking something I didn't hear. Jean emerged, rubbing at his face, squinting toward the noise. Even Eren and Mikasa appeared, unusually quiet.

We all moved like ghosts toward the staircase.

Then we saw her.

Pieck.

Crumbled in the middle of the living room floor, like her spine had given out. Her hair was wild, her face blotchy, tears pouring down her cheeks without stopping. Her chest heaved with every sob, like her lungs were full of water and she was drowning.

And she was screaming at him.

Porco stood across from her. Frozen. Pale. His fists clenched so tight they looked bloodless. His mouth hung slightly open, like he'd forgotten how to breathe. His eyes, God, his eyes didn't leave her once.

And they looked guilty.

"What did you do?" Pieck sobbed, every word a knife. "What the fuck did you do?!"

Silence. Tense. Suffocating.

"What the hell happened?" Reiner demanded, stepping forward, voice sharp, protective.

Pieck's hands shook as she pulled her phone from her pocket, her thumb trembling so badly it took her three tries to unlock the screen. She held it out like it was burning her.

"I saw the texts!" she screamed, her voice cracking. "I saw the name! The call history! You've been talking to her for months, Porco! Months!"

I couldn't breathe. The floor tilted under me.

Sasha gasped softly. Jean cursed. Mikasa pressed a hand over her mouth. Reiner stiffened like someone had struck him. Armin moved behind me, his hand on the small of my back, steadying.

"No," Porco whispered. "It's not- It's not what you-"

"You were cheating on me this whole time!" she shouted. Her voice broke on the last word like it physically hurt. "You looked me in the eye every fucking day and told me I was your everything and the whole time... was I just a convenience? A placeholder until you got bored?!"

Porco flinched.

"Pieck, just- please-"

"Was anything real?!" she screamed, voice hoarse from crying. "Or was this just something you needed to feel better about yourself?!"

It felt like the air was being sucked out of the room.

Pieck wasn't crying anymore. She was sobbing, violently, body shaking like she was cold. She looked like she might pass out.

Porco's jaw twitched. His throat bobbed.

Then something in him cracked.

"I didn't cheat on you," he said.

Dead silence.

"That woman," he rasped, "the texts, the calls- she's my doctor."

Pieck blinked.

"She's- she's my doctor, Pieck," he repeated, breath shaking now. "I wasn't having an affair. I was... trying to get help."

Pieck stared at him like he'd spoken in another language. "Help for what?"

Porco didn't answer immediately. His mouth opened once, then closed. His knuckles trembled. His eyes had turned glassy, glinting in the morning light.

"I'm sick," he finally said.

My blood ran cold.

Porco took a step forward. "I found out three months ago. My blood... there's something wrong with it. A degenerative disorder. Rare. Aggressive. It's... it's not curable."

The world stopped spinning.

"I've been getting treatments," he whispered. "Trying everything. I- I didn't tell you because I didn't want to scare you. I thought if I could just fix it before it got worse, before you noticed... before you started looking at me like I'm already dead."

Pieck didn't move. Didn't speak.

She just... stared.

"I didn't lie to hurt you," Porco said, voice cracking. "I lied to protect you from this. Because I didn't want you to carry it too. Because every time I thought about telling you, all I could see was you breaking like this. And I- I couldn't-"

Her knees gave out. Her legs simply stopped working. She dropped to the floor like gravity had doubled, her fingers scrambling for something, anything to hold onto.

Jean rushed forward and caught her just before her head hit the wooden floor.

Porco stepped forward, shaking, and sank to his knees in front of her. He looked like he was on the verge of collapse.

"I wasn't going to leave you," he whispered. "I was just trying to figure out how to stay longer. Like a fucking idiot."

Pieck was trembling. Her voice was barely a breath. "Are you going to- die?"

Porco hesitated.

"I don't know."

It was the most honest, terrifying thing I'd ever heard.

The sun was up now, golden light pouring through the cabin windows but it felt cold. Icy. Like hope had been bled out of the room.

Pieck's lips parted. Her voice came out small. "I thought you didn't love me."

Porco leaned forward, cupping her face with hands that wouldn't stop shaking. His forehead pressed against hers.

"I love you," he said, eyes shining. "I love you more than I've ever loved anything. That's why I was scared."

And she broke.

Pieck collapsed against him, sobbing into his chest as he held her, tighter than he ever had, like letting go might kill him faster. His lips pressed to the top of her head, and he just rocked her there on the floor, whispering things none of us could hear.

The room was silent except for the sound of her sobs. Sasha was crying quietly. Connie had tears on his cheeks and didn't even notice. Reiner had turned his back to us, shoulders shaking. Historia and Ymir stood completely still, arms wrapped around each other, eyes wide and wet. Even Eren looked down, hands stuffed into his hoodie pockets.

Armin slipped his fingers through mine.

I hadn't even realized I was crying until I felt his thumb wipe a tear from my cheek.

"Sometimes," he whispered, "people break things because they're scared of losing what matters most."

I nodded, unable to speak. I couldn't tear my eyes away.

This wasn't a breakup.

It wasn't infidelity.

This was grief before death.

This was the beginning of goodbye.

And it was worse than anything else in the world.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

We were in Pieck's room. Quiet, except for the sound of Pieck falling apart.

She sat on the floor, legs tucked underneath her like she'd forgotten how to move. She wasn't crying in that movie-perfect way, with pretty tears and soft sniffles. She was sobbing, full-body, ragged, ugly sobbing. Her shoulders trembled like she was freezing. Her breathing kept hitching like her chest was trying to cave in.

I'd never seen anyone cry like that before. Not like this. Like she was grieving someone who was still alive.

And maybe she was.

Mikasa sat behind her, arms around her like scaffolding, holding her up because she couldn't do it on her own. Sasha was kneeling beside her, crying so hard she could barely get words out. Historia had her hand pressed over her mouth, as if that would hold in the sound of her heartbreak.

And me?

I was in front of her. On my knees. My hands wrapped gently around hers like she was glass.

Like if I squeezed too tightly, she'd shatter completely.

"I don't know what to do," Pieck gasped suddenly, words wet and broken. "I don't know how to... be. I feel like I'm in someone else's body."

"Pieck," Mikasa whispered, her voice cracking.

"He's dying." Pieck cried, and the way she said it made my entire body freeze. Like the word was too heavy for her throat, too brutal for her heart. "And I can't stop it. I can't do anything."

Her hands were shaking now, fists clenching and unclenching. "I keep thinking if I scream loud enough, if I beg hard enough, the universe will hear me. That it'll change its mind. That this is a test, or a punishment, or a mistake-"

She broke.

Again.

Her whole body folded over. She pressed her face into her lap and wailed.

Not cried. Wailed.

Like something had been ripped from her body.

Sasha tried to touch her, to soothe her, but Pieck flinched back like even kindness hurt.

"I keep seeing him in the morning," she choked. "Brushing his teeth. Laughing at dumb TikToks. Lying in bed with his dumb little smirk, poking me until I smiled. And now I look at him and all I see is a fucking countdown."

"Pieck-" I whispered, but she wasn't done.

"He said it might not work," she gasped. "The treatment. He said there's no cure. Just- managing it. Managing it. Like he's a file in a cabinet or a mess to organize."

Her voice rose again. "And he hid it from me! He sat there for months! months! pretending everything was fine while he was getting worse and worse. While his blood was rotting him from the inside out!"

"Fuck," Historia whispered, turning away to cry silently into the crook of her arm.

"And you know what kills me?" Pieck's voice trembled, high and tight and shattered. "He thought I'd leave. He thought if he told me, I'd walk away."

She looked up, finally, eyes glassy and swollen and hollow. Her face was barely recognisable.

"I love him so much it hurts. It's been hurting since the beginning. He could've told me he had days left and I'd still beg for them. I'd sleep on the floor of a hospital room, I'd memorize every damn prescription, I'd watch him fall apart just so he didn't have to be alone."

She pulled her hands away from me, gripped her own shirt like she was holding herself together by threads.

"I just wanted a life with him," she whispered. "A normal, stupid life. An old house with old style wallpaper and antique dishes. A dumb little cat he pretends to hate. Kids! Fuck I wanted kids! I thought we had time."

Silence.

Pure, gutting silence.

Then Mikasa, voice low, finally said it:
"You still do."

Pieck let out a sound, a strangled, breathless laugh-sob, a sound that cracked down the middle. "But I don't know for how long. I don't know if I'll wake up one day and he's just... gone."

And then she screamed.

A raw, animalistic scream that came from her soul, not her throat. One that didn't care who heard it. One that said: I am in pain and I cannot escape it.

We all broke with her.

Sasha collapsed forward, face buried in the blankets as she cried. Mikasa's hands trembled on Pieck's shoulders. Historia crawled forward and pressed her forehead to Pieck's knee. And I-

I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her in, pressing my hand to the back of her head, cradling her like she was something precious and fragile and drowning.

And Pieck sobbed. Into my hoodie, into my chest, into the spaces between words and comfort and logic. She cried like she'd never stop.

"I'm scared," she whispered, voice cracked and empty. "I'm so fucking scared."

"I know," I whispered back, tears sliding down my cheeks. "We all are."

But none of us said it would be okay.

Because none of us knew if it would.

And that was the grief.
Not death.
Not loss.

But the knowing, the cruel, suffocating knowing, that the clock was ticking.

And we couldn't stop it.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

The cabin had fallen quiet, like the air itself was mourning.

Pieck was still in the room, curled between Sasha and Mikasa, breathing in broken little sobs. We weren't going to leave her alone, not for a second. But as I stepped out to grab water for her, I paused halfway down the stairs.

Voices.

Low, cracked, jagged voices, like glass under bare feet.

The boys. And Ymir.

They were in the den. I pressed my back to the wall near the banister, out of sight, but close enough to hear.

Porco was sitting on the edge of the fireplace. His back hunched. His eyes, I couldn't see them, but I knew they were empty.

Dead silence stretched between words, like even the air couldn't handle the weight of what was being said.

"She thinks I gave up," Porco muttered, and even from here I could hear the hollowness in his voice. "That I didn't tell her because I didn't care enough."

"You didn't tell any of us," Jean said quietly, voice low and cracked. "We could've helped. You could've let us- fuck, anything, man."

Porco didn't answer.

Reiner leaned forward, elbows on his knees, fists clenched like he was holding his own heartbreak in his palms. "When?" he asked, voice gravel. "When did you find out?"

"Almost four months ago." Porco let out a bitter laugh that wasn't really a laugh. "Happy anniversary to me."

"Jesus Christ." Connie's voice cracked. "And you were just... what? Gonna rot in silence while we all laughed around the fucking bonfire?"

"I didn't want it to change anything," Porco snapped suddenly, not loud, not angry, just desperate. "I didn't want you all to look at me like this. Like I was already dead."

No one spoke.

Ymir finally did. Her voice was sharp but shaking. "You should've told Pieck. She's not some fragile little flower, Porco. You think protecting her means lying to her?"

"I wasn't ready to watch her cry like that!" he shouted, and the words cracked on their way out. "Do you have any idea what it feels like to be the reason someone shatters?"

His voice broke. "Do you know what it's like to hold someone in your arms every night, knowing you might not be around for her next birthday?"

Silence again.

Reiner rubbed a hand down his face. "She loves you. Even now. Even after... all of it."

Porco dragged a hand through his hair, breathing hard like the grief was climbing out of his throat. "She thinks I'm brave, you know?" His voice was wet. "She always says that. But I'm not. I'm fucking terrified."

Eren finally spoke. His voice was quiet, unusually soft. "You should be. It's okay to be scared."

Porco looked up, and I caught a glimpse of him through the crack in the wall.

His eyes were ruined.

Red, rimmed, and hollowed out.

"I keep waking up thinking maybe I imagined it. That maybe I read the results wrong. That some doctor is gonna walk in and say, 'Oops, we messed up. You're fine.'" He laughed again, broken and ugly. "But then I look in the mirror, and my eyes are yellow again. My hands shake. My stomach's not keeping anything down. And I know-" He bit back a sob. "I know I'm not gonna get better."

Connie wiped his face with his sleeve. "Don't say that."

"I don't want her to watch me die." His voice was barely audible. "I don't want you to watch me die."

Ymir stood abruptly. "Then fucking live, Porco."

He blinked.

"Live like you're burning. Live like you've got minutes left. Make her laugh so hard she forgets why she's crying. Take the meds. Go to the appointments. Let us come with you. Let us help."

Porco stared at her like she was speaking another language.

"Do you think we'd just sit back and let you go?" she whispered. "We're not letting you disappear quietly, Porco. Not when you still have time."

Jean's voice wavered. "We didn't know how bad it was."

Porco nodded. "Now you do."

He looked up at them all, all of them broken in their own way, and finally said, "I don't want to die."

No one moved.

Not until Reiner stood and walked over to him. He pulled Porco into a hug, not a side clap or some manly bullshit, a real hug. Arms tight. Chin on shoulder. Like he was holding him together.

Porco didn't hug him back at first.

Then his arms wrapped around Reiner's waist, and he cried. No hiding. No gritting through it. He cried into his best friend's shirt like the world was ending.

And maybe, to him, it was.

"I don't want to die," he whispered again. "I still have shit to say. I still want to grow old. I want to see her wear that stupid green dress she keeps talking about. I want to argue with her about whether cats are evil."

"You will," Connie said, wiping his face. "You will. Because we're gonna fight for you."

Even Eren had tears in his eyes.

I pressed my hand to my mouth to keep from sobbing too loud.

And from the room behind me, I could still hear Pieck whispering his name like a prayer she didn't think anyone could answer.

God please.

Please let us all wake up from this nightmare.

Please.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

(3rd person POV):

Many hours passed and Pieck hadn't eaten. Hadn't slept. Hadn't moved, really, since the girls had held her. She'd cried until her body couldn't give her anything more. Now, she looked hollow, like someone who had wandered out of a dream and didn't recognize where she'd ended up.

And Porco...

He hadn't spoken since his voice broke throughout the conversation with his friends.

The boys had left him alone. Not out of cruelty, out of mercy. Even Reiner had no words, and Armin, for all his cleverness, had nothing to say to a man who was preparing to die without telling the woman he loved.

When Pieck finally stepped outside, barefoot and slow like she'd aged decades in an hour, Porco didn't even lift his head.

He sat on the back steps, hunched forward, eyes on the dirt like it owed him something. The air smelled of damp leaves and yesterday's fire. The trees whispered, but he didn't hear them.

Pieck's shadow fell over him.

He didn't flinch. Just whispered, "You should be with them."

"I'm not," she said quietly.

He swallowed. "I don't know how to look at you."

"Then don't."

She sat beside him. Not touching. Not quite breathing.

For a while, they said nothing. The world moved around them, a bird chirped, a breeze stirred the grass, but they didn't.

Then, softly:

"Are you really dying?"

Porco's jaw clenched. His fingers curled tighter around themselves. His voice, when it came, sounded like sandpaper against skin.

"Probably. Yeah."

Pieck didn't look at him. Her eyes were locked on the horizon, where the mountains cut the sky in half.

"I keep hearing you say it," she whispered. "Over and over. Like an echo I can't shake."

Porco nodded slowly. "I kept hearing it too. Every day. In the mirror. In the silence."

Pieck blinked, and fresh tears spilled over.

"I hate you," she breathed. "I hate you for trying to leave me before you even gave me the chance to stay."

Porco's throat worked around a lump too big to swallow. "I didn't want you to... watch me disappear."

"I would've held your hand through every second."

"I didn't want that."

She turned sharply to him, her voice cracking like thunder.

"You didn't want me."

He looked at her now. Really looked.

And what he saw nearly broke him again.

Her eyes were red-rimmed, lashes clumped from crying. Her cheeks blotched, her lips trembling. She looked like a painting left out in the rain, beautiful, but ruined in all the places that once felt safe.

"Don't you ever say that again," he said hoarsely. "I wanted you more than I've ever wanted anything in my life."

"Then why didn't you trust me with this?"

"Because I didn't want you to look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like a weak bastard who's accepted defeat."

Pieck's face twisted, some awful combination of rage and sorrow.

"I'm not looking at you like that," she whispered. "I'm looking at you like you're still alive. Like you're still mine."

His eyes burned. "I didn't know how to tell you."

"You weren't supposed to know how, you idiot," she sobbed. "You were just supposed to tell me."

The sound that tore from her throat wasn't human. She curled forward, chest heaving with the weight of every word she hadn't been able to scream until now.

"I had plans with you," she choked out. "We were going to move in together. I thought about what our kids would look like. I thought about what we'd name our cat, and where we'd hang the paintings I hate but you love. I thought I had decades, Porco."

"I wanted that too."

"Then why did you take it from me?!"

He reached for her, fingers trembling. "I was trying to protect you."

"I didn't want to be protected," she whispered, collapsing into his chest. "I wanted to hurt with you. I wanted to carry it with you. Don't you get it? You were never a burden."

Porco held her like she was the last thing tethering him to the world.

"I'm scared," he finally admitted. "Not just of dying. Of... the time in between. What if I lose everything about me before it happens? What if I'm just... a shell?"

Pieck pulled back, hands on either side of his face. She was shaking violently now, every inch of her aching.

"Then I'll remember for you," she said. "Every version of you. I'll carry every smile, every joke, every time you rolled your eyes when I stole your fries. I'll keep every piece of you in my fucking bones if I have to."

Porco broke.

He didn't cry. He wept. Gut-deep, rib-rattling sobs that cracked through the morning like thunder, until even the birds went quiet.

Pieck wrapped herself around him.

"I'm not going anywhere," she whispered into his hair. "Not until your last breath. And even then... I'll still find you. In every single universe."

Porco clung to her like he was already halfway gone.

And as the sun poured golden light over the two of them, shattered, sobbing, holding on for dear life, it finally felt honest.

The worst thing had already happened.

Both of them had accepted their fate.

Separation.

Death.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

(Back to Y/Ns POV):

The cabin had never felt this quiet.

Not even in the dead of night.

Not even in the forest.

It was afternoon now, but the sun streaming through the windows felt out of place, like it was mocking us. Too golden. Too warm. Too alive for a moment like this.

We were all gathered in the living room. The same place where Pieck's screams had torn the morning apart. The same place where we learned the truth, that Porco wasn't a cheater. He was sick. Dying. And he'd kept it from the one person who loved him most.

No one knew what to say. Every breath felt too loud. Every movement, like it might shatter the fragile air holding us together.

I sat curled up on one end of the couch, Armin's arm wrapped around me. He was silent, still. His thumb rubbed slow circles into my arm like he was trying to soothe me as much as himself.

Across the room, Pieck sat on the floor, back resting against the couch where Historia sat, fingers gently combing through her hair. Her eyes were red and swollen, her breathing uneven. She hadn't really stopped crying. Not since this morning.

Porco sat across from her, hands limp in his lap. He looked thinner. Paler. Like just saying the truth out loud had already drained something from him he'd never get back.

Ymir, Jean, Connie, Mikasa, Sasha, Reiner, Eren, everyone was there. Some on the floor, some sitting. All of us holding our breath.

Pieck finally looked up. Her voice was raw, but steady. "You're not going back to college."

Porco blinked. "Pieck-"

"I'm serious." Her voice cracked, but she didn't stop. "You're not going. You're not pretending everything is fine and pushing through like you're not..." Her words tangled in her throat, and she covered her mouth for a moment.

"Pieck..." he said softly, inching forward.

"No," she whispered, dropping her hand. "I already almost lost you once, Porco. I'm not doing it again. You're going to a hospital. Inpatient care. You're going to let them take care of you. You're going to fight this, and you're going to let us help you. You're not going to fucking pretend anymore."

His lips trembled. "This is exactly why I wanted to keep it a secret."

"Too late," she snapped, her voice breaking again. "You're gonna get worse and worse if you don't take care of it. You're gonna lose your hair, your strength, yourself! Do you think that that would be better?"

Silence.

"I get it," she whispered after a beat, her voice quieter now. "You didn't want to be a burden. You didn't want to make me hurt." Her voice cracked again. "But you did. You made me hurt more. Because I thought we shared everything with each other. You decided to accept your non-real faith without exchanging any words. You were going to die alone!"

Those last two words shattered something in all of us.

Dying alone.

Porco leaned forward, hands clasped together like he was holding his own soul in them. "I thought I was protecting you."

"You weren't," she whispered. "You were killing both of us."

Connie wiped his eyes. Sasha quietly sobbed into Mikasa's shoulder. Reiner looked like he was trying not to scream.

Jean finally broke the silence. "She's right, man. You're not doing this alone. Fuck whatever pride or fear you've got left. You're staying. You're getting help. You're living."

"Because we love you," Historia added quietly, still brushing Pieck's hair.

Porco looked around at all of us, eyes full of pain, guilt, fear. And something else. Something fragile. Hope, maybe.

"I don't know if I can," he whispered.

"You don't have to," Pieck said, standing now and kneeling in front of him. "We'll do it with you."

He looked up at her like she was a miracle.

And then he broke.

He didn't cry like Pieck had. He didn't scream. He just collapsed into her, arms around her waist, forehead buried in her stomach, sobbing like he hadn't let himself feel in months. She held him like he was everything. Like she could hold his sickness too.

I felt a tear slip down my cheek. Again.

Armin pulled me tighter, and I could feel the way his heart was racing against my back.

We weren't just a group of friends anymore.

We were a family. Hurting together. Holding each other through the storm.

And I knew then, nothing would ever be the same.

What a lovely way to spend our last day at the cabin.

The conversation didn't end any soon. We talked about the future and how things would change from now on but eventually we all went to our rooms to pack our stuff.

The sun was starting to dip low behind the trees when I opened my suitcase.

The golden light that spilled into the room was soft, warm... deceptive.

You wouldn't think anything had changed just by looking outside. But the air inside the cabin felt heavier. Fragile. Like the walls themselves had soaked up the weight of everything that had happened.

Everyone was packing.

The trip was over.

We were all leaving tonight, and no one had to say it out loud, but we all knew we were leaving different than we came.

I folded a hoodie, tucked it into the bag, then a pair of jeans, but my hands wouldn't stop shaking. I tried to ignore it. Swallowed it down. The tears had already come and gone today. So many of them. For Pieck. For Porco. For the way none of us knew what the hell came next.

But now... now that it was quiet, now that my door was shut and everyone was in their own rooms packing, it started to crash over me.

This trip, this twisted, beautiful, painful trip, had been so many things. Healing. Chaotic. Honest. Ugly. Eye-opening.

And now it was ending.

I sat down on the edge of the bed, tried to refold a T-shirt that didn't even need refolding, and that's when my hands stopped moving. My chest locked.

And I broke.

I don't even know what the trigger was, maybe it was the shirt Armin had lent me that night, the one I'd never returned. Maybe it was the sock with the tiny hole in the heel that Sasha had made fun of. Or maybe it was just the echo of Pieck's cries, still lingering in the walls.

All I know is that I suddenly couldn't breathe.

My hands were shaking so violently I dropped the shirt. My chest caved in. The tears came hard and fast, blurring my vision before I could stop them.

I buried my face in my hands.

I didn't want to make a sound. I didn't want anyone to hear. But grief is greedy, it doesn't care about pride. And before I knew it, I was sobbing.

Ugly, silent sobs that rattled my ribs and made my throat ache.

"Y/N?"

I froze.

The door creaked open gently, and I didn't even have time to turn away before I felt his arms wrap around me.

Armin.

He didn't say anything at first. He just sank to the floor with me, right there beside the bed, pulling me into his chest like he was trying to absorb all the pieces of me that were breaking.

"I didn't want to cry but I couldn't hold it in anymore," I whispered, my voice shaking. "I don't even know why I'm crying. Everyone else- Pieck, Porco- they're the ones who should be falling apart."

"No," he murmured, brushing his fingers through my hair. "You're allowed to feel this too. You held it in all day. You took care of everyone else. But who's been taking care of you?"

That cracked something even deeper.

"I hate that we're leaving," I choked out. "I hate that we have to go back to pretending everything's fine when it's not. I hate that I feel so helpless. Porco could die. Pieck's breaking. And I just... I don't know how to be okay."

Armin didn't flinch. He didn't try to hush me or tell me to look at the bright side. He just held me tighter. Let me cry.

"You don't have to be okay right now," he whispered against my temple. "You just have to let yourself feel. I've got you. I'm not going anywhere. I'm here my love."

I clenched my fists into his shirt, my tears soaking through the fabric.

"I'm scared," I whispered.

"I know," he said. "Me too."

We stayed like that on the floor, the suitcase still half-open beside us, the soft rustling of trees outside the only sound in the room.

And in that moment, despite everything, I felt held. Grounded.

Loved.

Not in the loud, dramatic way people expect. But in the quiet, unconditional kind of way that means more.

Armin kissed the top of my head.

"We'll get through this," he murmured. "All of us. One piece at a time."

And for the first time that day, I believed him.

Even through the heartbreak. Even through the fear.

We'd carry each other.
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ──

The cabin door creaked shut behind us for the last time.

We stood in a loose circle on the porch, bathed in the faint golden glow of the porch light, the forest stretching out around us like a curtain of shadows. No one said it, but we all felt it, like the air was heavier, harder to breathe.

The bags were packed. The rooms were empty. Everything that had happened here, all the laughter, all the pain, it was echoing in the stillness.

Someone sniffled behind me, Sasha, I think. Historia was holding Ymir's hand tightly, her thumb tracing soft circles over the skin. Connie kept wringing the strap of his backpack, shoulders tense. Jean stood a few steps ahead, scanning the dark woods as if bracing himself for the goodbye.

The walk to the cars was at least twenty minutes. Normally it was nothing. But tonight it felt endless.

"I guess... we should go," Armin said quietly beside me, breaking the silence.

I nodded, but my body didn't move. My feet felt anchored to the wood, like if I just stood still long enough, time might pause. That maybe this wouldn't be the last time we were all together like this.

But the forest didn't wait.

We moved in a slow procession, flashlights flicking on one by one. The beam from Sasha's phone lit the path ahead, while Jean's heavier flashlight swung low to the ground, catching tree roots and damp leaves.

The woods that had once felt magical now felt like a funeral march. Like hell.

Porco walked slowly, leaning a little more into Pieck than before. She didn't say a word. Her arm was wrapped around his waist, her jaw clenched, her eyes forward like she was using sheer willpower to keep it together. He looked pale under the moonlight, each step draining something from him, as if the disease was clinging to his legs, whispering in his ear.

I walked beside Armin, silent, holding his hand like it was the only thing keeping me upright. Every time I looked at Porco and Pieck I felt like sobbing.

No one talked. No jokes. No teasing. Just the soft rustle of shoes against leaves, the chirp of distant crickets, and the occasional broken breath from someone trying not to cry too loud.

When we finally reached the clearing, the cars looked colder than I remembered, lined up like soldiers, ready to take us back to real life, away from everything we had broken and rebuilt in that cabin.

I paused at the edge of the woods, staring at them. My chest ached.

This was really it.

Ymir and Historia loaded their bags into my trunk quietly. Sasha and Connie were already climbing into Sasha's car, Jean helping Reiner into the backseat. Eren leaned against Jean's van, waiting with the keys in hand while Mikasa helped Porco sit down inside. Pieck hovered beside him, adjusting his seatbelt with shaking fingers.

I didn't move. I couldn't.

Armin noticed.

"Y/N..." he said gently, brushing my hand with his.

"I just..." My throat tightened. "It feels wrong. Leaving him like this. Knowing what we know. After everything..."

"I know."

I looked back at the cabin, barely visible now between the trees. I remembered the laughter, the fights, the way the walls seemed to hold their breath when Porco collapsed into Pieck's arms that morning.

"I feel like we're all driving away from something we're not ready to let go of yet."

Armin pulled me into him, his hands soft on my back. "That's because we are."

I swallowed hard, burying my face in his hoodie. "He's really sick."

"Yeah."

"And he's scared."

"We all are."

I blinked tears onto his shirt. "What if this is the last time?"

He didn't answer right away. His silence said enough.

But then he leaned down and whispered, "Then let's make sure he never forgets how loved he is. Let's make sure Pieck never feels alone again. Let's not let go, even if we have to drive away."

I exhaled shakily and nodded, wiping my face with my sleeve.

We turned toward the car.

I opened the driver's side door and climbed in, glancing in the rearview mirror. Ymir and Historia were already buckled in, quiet and holding hands. Armin settled into the passenger seat beside me, watching me carefully.

In the next car over, Sasha turned the key in the ignition. Connie leaned his head against the window, eyes closed. Jean stared blankly ahead, his jaw tense.

And in the van, Pieck rested her forehead against Porco's shoulder as he stared silently out the window, the glow of the dashboard painting his face in sickly yellow light.

No one said it out loud.

But we were grieving something that hadn't even happened yet.

And that kind of grief?

It followed you.

Even after you drove away.
︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

A/N: Lord I cried writing this chapter, I’m not even joking.

I watched some sad edits of Porco x Pieck (my fav ship) and got this idea…I truly apologise.

I also apologise since this chapter was more focused on the others rather than Y/N and Armin.

The cabin time ended with Y/N being traumatised and Porco accepting his fate..but what is waiting for the group next?

Stay tuned.

Chapter Text

A whole week passed.

And somehow... everything got worse.

The day we got back, Pieck didn't even let Porco set foot in his dorm. She drove him straight to the hospital herself, her hand clenched around the steering wheel like it was the only thing holding her together. At first, they said he was stable "responding well to the medication", whatever that meant.

But after two nights, everything collapsed.

Porco couldn't walk.

Porco Galliard.

The guy who used to glare at me in class for mocking Armin. The one who never let anyone else lead a group project because he wanted it done right. The one who spun Pieck in his arms like she weighed nothing, danced like the world wasn't watching, and hated asking for help more than anything.

He was now... barely breathing.

Pieck hadn't left his bedside since. She stopped going to classes. Stopped sleeping. We got one update a day, short, vague, emotionless. As if saying more might break her.

And the rest of us?

We were ghosts.

Going through the motions. Faking smiles that no longer fit our faces. Sasha didn't tell jokes anymore. Jean hadn't slept or flirted with any girl. Eren didn't throw parties. Ymir and Historia didn't flirt. And Reiner? Reiner and I weren't even speaking, not since the fight.

Because he told me he didn't approve of Armin.

Said he didn't trust him. Said Armin wasn't right for me. That I was chasing something I didn't understand. I told him to mind his own business.

Now we only shared silence.

How poetic. My own brother, the one who used to hold my hand after nightmares, now pretended I wasn't there.

Lunch was quiet.

Too quiet.

Even Sasha pushed food around her plate like it was some impossible math problem.

"God," Connie groaned suddenly, letting his head fall back against the wall. "This is so fucking weird."

"I miss Pieck and Porco..." Sasha whispered, her voice trembling. Her eyes welled up before she could blink the tears back.

Jean slid an arm around her shoulders without hesitation. "It's going to be fine."

"No," Armin said, his voice cutting clean through the moment. "It won't."

We all turned to look at him.

His body was stiff, posture rigid. His jaw clenched so hard I could see it twitch. There was something volatile beneath his calm, like a storm cracking beneath glass.

"He's dying," Armin said, tone flat. "And we have to accept it."

The air stilled. My fork froze halfway to my mouth.

"Armin," I said, quietly, warningly. "Don't say that."

"It's better than lying to ourselves," he snapped. "We sit here pretending this is all going to get better, but it won't. He's not recovering. He's getting worse. Accept it, he's dead!"

He slammed his fist against the table so hard that Sasha flinched. Jean tensed. Mikasa narrowed her eyes, but didn't interrupt. Ymir covered Historia's ears.

I stood.

Something hot bubbled inside me, rage, heartbreak, grief, all tangled together until I couldn't tell them apart.

"Shut up if you're going to be weak," I said, voice low but shaking.

Armin's eyes snapped to me.

Cold. Detached. Dangerous.

"Weak?" he echoed, stepping closer. "Are we really going to talk about who's weak right now?"

His gaze dropped. Traced me up and down like I was something pitiful. Something soft.

And it fucking hurt.

"Wow," I laughed bitterly, my hands trembling as I grabbed my bag. "Alright."

I didn't wait for anyone to speak. Didn't look at Sasha's red eyes, or Jean's parted lips, or Connie's stunned silence. I didn't dare glance at Reiner.

I knew what his eyes would say.

"See? This is why I told you not to date him."

I walked away before the tears could fall.

I didn't go to class. I didn't want to be around anyone. I just needed silence, somewhere to breathe, even if it was a goddamn bathroom stall.

But apparently, the universe had other plans.

Because the second I stepped into the girls' bathroom, I froze.

Two familiar faces stared back at me in the mirror.

Hitch and Annie.

Hitch was reapplying lip gloss, leaning close to the mirror with that same smug smirk she always wore like a weapon. Annie stood nearby, arms crossed, weight leaned casually against the tiled wall.

They'd been talking.

But the second they saw me, they stopped.

For a heartbeat, no one said a word. The bathroom was filled with the hum of flickering lights and the echo of my uneven breath.

Hitch tilted her head. "Wow. You look like shit."

Annie said nothing. Just watched me.

I didn't respond. I didn't have a response.

Hitch clicked her tongue, tossing her lip gloss back into her purse. "I heard Galliard's dying. Sucks I guess. Always liked that dude."

Still, I said nothing.

"Oh, come on, don't act like you're the only one who's allowed to be dramatic," Hitch sighed, like she was bored already. "Everyone's going through something. You're not always the main character."

Annie finally spoke. "Why are you here?"

It wasn't said with malice.

But it hit like a slap anyway.

"I didn't realize this was your personal therapy office," I scoffed.

Annie shrugged. "I just think you've got enough people coddling you already."

And that was it.

The moment my heart finally cracked.

I clenched my fists, feeling my nails dig into my palms. "You don't know anything about me."

Annie raised a brow, unconvinced. Hitch smirked like she'd already won.

"I know enough," Annie said. "I know Armin's getting dragged down by all this."

I blinked, stunned. "What?"

"You think he's fine?" she asked. "He's breaking. And not because of Porco."

Silence.

"He's breaking because of you."

Something snapped in me.

I stepped forward so fast the air shifted.

And I slapped her.

The sound cracked through the room, skin on skin, sharp and violent.

Annie's head turned with the impact, but she didn't stumble. She didn't flinch. She just stood there, jaw tightening, cheek flushing red.

"Oh," she breathed, blinking slowly. "So we're doing that now?"

"Don't you dare talk about Armin like you know him," I hissed, my chest heaving. "Don't you dare come at me like I haven't bled to get back on my feet."

Hitch let out a sharp laugh, as if I'd just told a joke.

"Oh my God," she said, stepping closer. "This is rich."

"Stay out of it, Hitch."

"No, seriously," she smirked. "Y/N, you walk around like you're some tragic little heroine now. Like you're the victim in all of this. But let's not forget, princess, you chose Armin. You let yourself get manipulated. You let him crawl into your head, twist your thoughts, isolate you from everyone. Have you forgotten already?"

My hands trembled.

"You think you're some angel rising from the ashes, but everyone remembers what you were like last year," she continued, eyes narrowing. "You're not some misunderstood savior. You're just a washed-up version of your old self. Not scary. Not cool. Not even relevant."

"I don't care what you think of me," I spat.

"You should," Hitch snapped. "Because those people you cling to? Sasha, Connie, Jean, those lesbians, mr party and his goth girl friend- they're not your people. You don't belong with them. You never did."

I wanted to scream. I wanted to lunge.

But Annie spoke again, her voice quieter, but sharp enough to slice skin.

"You should've stayed in that asylum."

The words hit like a blade to the stomach.

My breath caught.

"You were safer there," Annie continued, emotionless. "We were all safer. You come back, play victim, turn your life into some tragic little fairytale, and drag him down with you."

"Armin loves me," I said, shaking.

Annie tilted her head. "Are you sure? Or did he just convince you he does so he could feel powerful and officially win the game?"

"Shut up," I whispered.

"You don't have friends, Y/N," Hitch added, arms crossed over her chest. "You have people tolerating you out of guilt."

My lip trembled, but I refused to look away.

"And you know what's funny?" she said, lips curling into a cruel little smile. "The old you? Would've agreed with us."

Annie pushed off the wall and leaned in, her tone low and razor-sharp. "Maybe it's time you stopped pretending. You're not one of them. Come back to where you belong. The trio."

My heart pounded against my ribs like it was trying to escape.

"You're not the main character there," Annie added with a small shrug. "But with us, you are."

I stared at them, two girls I once would've fought to the death for, and something inside me snapped clean in half.

I took a deep breath, then smiled bitterly.

"You bitches would've never been anything if I hadn't been your friend."

Hitch blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

I stepped forward until we were nearly nose-to-nose. "You, Hitch, were just an insecure girl with coke-bottle glasses and pimples you used to cry about in the locker room. Who gave you a makeover? Who taught you how to dress, how to flirt, how to walk into a room like you owned it?"

Her mouth opened, but no sound came.

"That's right. Me."

I turned to Annie.

"And you? You were afraid of your own feelings. You couldn't even say the word 'love' without flinching. Especially when it came to girls. Especially when it came to Hitch."

Annie's eyes flickered, just slightly.

"Who sat on the bathroom floor with you when you cried? Who told you it was okay to like her?"

Silence.

"You're both monsters," I whispered. "Not because you're evil. But because I raised you, and you turned around and threw me to the wolves."

I turned on my heel, but paused at the door. My voice was ice.

"And you're pathetic if you think I'm dumb enough to be manipulated by you when I survived Armin."

"You'll regret this!" Hitch snapped.

I stopped. Turned. Stepped back until I was inches from her face.

"I created you, Hitch," I whispered. "And just like that...I can destroy you."

She swallowed hard.

I smirked at the sight.

Then I turned back to the door, hand already on the handle, but paused one more time.

"Oh. And Annie?" I looked over my shoulder sweetly. "Hitch was the one who told the whole campus you were into girls. She made fun of you."

The sound of Hitch gasping and Annie spinning toward her was almost comedic.

The shouting started before I even shut the door behind me.

Checkmate.

The hallway outside was quiet, a sharp contrast to the chaos I'd just left. My adrenaline was still high, my hands trembling, but I felt lighter.
Stronger.

Until I turned the corner and slammed right into someone.

I stumbled back, looking up-

Armin.

His face was unreadable. Cold. Eyes narrowed, jaw tight.

"Watch it," he muttered.

I blinked. "Armin-"

He didn't stop walking.

I spun, catching up to him. "Wait, can we just-?"

"I don't really feel like talking to you right now."

His words were like ice down my spine.

"Armin, I just- what the hell was that at lunch? You humiliated me."

He turned around fast, anger flashing behind his glasses. "Oh, I'm sorry- did I embarrass you by pointing out the truth? That Porco's dying and we're all pretending like hope will magically cure terminal illness?"

"Don't," I snapped. "Don't act like being cruel makes you strong."

"Don't act like denial makes you brave."

I flinched. That one hit a little too hard.

"I thought you were supposed to be the one person who got it," I said, softer now. "But lately... I don't even recognize you."

He scoffed. "And you think I recognize you? You're still the same girl who plays hero until things get too real, then runs to cry in a bathroom."

Something cracked in me.

"Well at least I feel something. At least I'm not hiding behind fake logic just to protect myself from being human."

His expression shifted. For a second, I saw something, guilt? Hurt? But it was gone in a blink.