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In retrospect, it was probably a bad idea to play keep-away with Jean’s boot.
The fact that Connie and Sasha chose to begin their game indoors probably didn’t help matters. Projectiles in enclosed spaces increasing the odds of accidents happening and all.
It wasn’t Connie’s fault. Well, not exactly. When the game began, there was no way he could have foreseen the outcome and all its unintended consequences.
“Go long!” Sasha shouts, lobbing Jean’s newly repaired boot over his head.
Jogging backwards and grinning, Connie does as directed, Jean’s animalistic noises of frustration only fueling his drive to maintain control of the other boy’s property.
The boot really does go long. Connie tips his chin up towards the ceiling, watching with glee as the thing begins to sail over his head. Facing forward again he laughs, eyes on Jean as he turns away from Sasha and charges. At the last second, Connie executes a blind leap in order to make the catch, which he does flawlessly in his opinion.
Though he doesn’t quite manage to stick the landing.
He crashes into something solid on his way down and lands on top of it in a crumpled heap, still clutching his prize. The solid thing squeaks in confusion as Connie struggles, pushing his weight back onto the figure beneath him in an attempt to escape. Jean sets upon him, upper lip curled in anger, wrenching his footwear from Connie’s grip.
“Sorry, Armin,” Jean huffs, pink cheeked and out of breath. He rises back up to his feet and spins on one socked heel, striding away, Sasha trailing in his wake. “Fucking idiots, the both of them,” he supplies by way of explanation, voice fading as he makes his way down the dimly lit hall.
Connie hears Sasha’s boisterous laugh as the pair round the corner and drift out of sight. “Jeany, c’mon, don’t be like that!”
Connie takes a moment to get his bearings. He’s bummed. Only a little bit, but he is. He feels somewhat cheated by the fall. The scouts have so few opportunities to enjoy themselves that when a chance presents itself, Connie likes to make the most of it.
Sure, many of his and Sasha’s opportunities for fun come at Jean’s expense, but it’s not that big of a deal. Connie knows Jean secretly wouldn’t have it any other way. He’d be bored to tears otherwise. Or worse, confronted with the reality of their lives.
Something shifting beneath his spine interrupts Connie’s meditation. He’s still lying half atop another scout. His comrade and kind-of friend, Armin Arlert.
They work together fine. It’s just. Connie’s pretty sure Armin doesn’t much care for him.
“Oh shit, sorry man,” Connie says, pitching forward onto his hands and knees, turning and kneeling to face the other boy, beginning to assess the situation.
Propped on his forearms, Armin shakes his head and rolls from his stomach onto his back, staring vacantly up at the ceiling. “It’s fine,” he says with a sigh. “These things happen.”
Do they?
Connie ponders the veracity of Armin’s statement as he pops back up to stand, extending a hand down to assist his comrade. Are scenarios like this happening to Armin often? How many times has someone crashed into him without seeing him?
That must suck, Connie thinks, taking stock of the other boy’s appearance. Other than being a little flushed, he seems no worse for wear, though he still hasn’t moved.
What if he hit his head?
Connie’s on the verge of panicking before he remembers that he landed on his front. If he had hit his head, surely Connie would be able to tell immediately. There would be a red mark on his face or something to that effect. His eyes travel lower, scanning for any other damage he might have missed.
The blond-haired boy sucks in a hissing breath through his teeth as he lifts his jacket away from his chest. The material has darkened at the pocket and it looks damp.
“What—”
“A serum,” Armin replies curtly, patting his shirt underneath where an equally large wet patch blooms, sticking the white fabric to his skin and turning it nearly translucent. “It’s… fine. I’ll just…” he trails off and closes his eyes, a deep sigh issuing from his chest. “Ask Commander for ah- another.”
Connie cocks his head in confusion, tries to ignore the sneaking suspicion that Armin’s talking down to him.
Is he supposed to have a serum too? Did he miss the memo? Did everyone get one but Connie?
Finally, Armin sits up. He whimpers quietly and Connie’s heart sinks. He must’ve been more hurt by the impact than he was letting on. He watches warily as Armin snaps open his jacket pocket, gingerly removing pieces of broken glass from within, setting them off to the side between the wall and himself.
What if he was cut? Connie’s adrenaline spikes unpleasantly before he remembers with relief that he hasn’t seen any blood. He takes a calming breath and waits, still semi-hunched over Armin’s seated form with his hand extended.
“You don’t have to stay,” Armin insists quietly, his head cast down, avoiding Connie’s gaze. Connie watches the other boy as he grits his teeth, dedicating himself to the task at hand, trembling fingers operating on his pocket until he deems it free of glass.
“What’s the serum for?” Connie asks, curiosity getting the better of him.
“H-healing,” Armin says, his wide blue eyes going heavy lidded. “Although I think… huh. It doesn’t matter. Really.”
“Why don’t I have one then?” Connie asks, lower lip jutting into a pout before he can stop it from happening. It hardly seems fair. They should all have the same opportunities out there, shouldn’t they?
“It’s a titan thing,” Armin replies, his breath coming out in a labored rush. “I’m thinking for shifters who… aren’t hurt— there’s hahh- unintended consequences… though. But Hange said it worked on Eren just fine.”
A titan thing. Connie rolls his eyes. A club in which he expressly doesn’t belong, though he’s been lobbying Eren pretty hard to inherit the attack titan lately. He sits back down beside Armin and folds his hands in his lap, ducking his head in an attempt to force Armin to look at him.
Armin does. He draws in another shaky breath, his chest heaving with the movement.
“A sample size of one doesn’t exactly seem very reliable, does it?” Connie asks. Armin’s eyes widen and he looks at Connie like he doesn’t recognize him. It’s clear he’s surprised. “Wow,” Connie says dryly, “you really don’t think all that much of me, do you?”
Armin winces, has the decency to look embarrassed. “I just didn’t realize… that uh. That research was your thing is- is all.”
“I know a little about a lot of things,” Connie grouses, puffing out his cheeks, ego inflamed. “Shadis even said I was well rounded as a cadet. Look, do you want help up or not, because it’s weird that we’re just sitting here and–”
“Connie, please stop,” Armin whispers, his voice nearly lost to the sound of his breath. “Just go. I’m good, I’m hah- I’m okay.”
“Yeah, you sound real great,” Connie remarks, now more than a little irritated. “Alright, see you, Armin.” He stands again and turns to leave. He even begins to walk away.
When he doesn’t sense any movement behind him, he groans. His conscience getting the better of him, he turns to glance over his shoulder. Armin is as he left him, still on the floor, his head bowed to his chest, trembling hands clasped tight together in his lap.
“Okay, Arlert,” Connie says, stalking back to the spot where Armin remains, seemingly frozen in place. “Time to go to the infirmary.” He bends and slips his arm beneath the other boy’s, bracing around Armin’s back, hauling him up and grunting softly with the effort it takes. Armin whines and tucks his face into Connie’s neck.
“Can’t… don’t do that,” he mumbles, his lips wet and hot at Connie’s pulse point. Dumbstruck, Connie stalls. Surely Arlert isn’t coming on to him… Is he?
“Why?” Connie asks, nonchalantly as he can, though it’s getting difficult to hide his surprise the more the other boy melts into his side.
“Something’s wrong with me,” Armin replies, muffling a moan against Connie’s skin.
“Yeah,” Connie says gruffly. He wonders when his jaw got so tight. “That’s why I said infirmary, Armin. We gotta–”
“My room… please. If- if I’m not better soon I swear I’ll go, okay?”
Well. Connie supposes that should be fine. Armin’s really smart, and he seems to be good for his word. Connie figures it should be fine to trust him.
After all, he would hate to take an unnecessary trip down to the infirmary to be poked at and prodded by the doctor and nurses if he wasn’t actually sick. It’s a waste of time and, somehow, they manage to make the food taste even worse over there. He’s thinking about how he might be able to sneak Armin a roll from the mess hall if he does end up having to go after all when Armin moans again, this time a little louder, and sags his weight entirely against Connie’s.
“Okay, let’s go,” Connie says tersely, dragging the blond down the hall.
Once inside Armin’s room, it’s apparent that whatever’s going on with him is getting worse, not better. Connie leans back against the door and watches as Armin goes liquid, collapsing in a heap on the ground moments after he stopped supporting him.
Wordlessly, Armin gestures vaguely in the direction of his bed. After a bit of a struggle, Connie loads the scout into his arms and carries him bridal style, dumping him down onto the mattress. Armin gasps, his eyes squeeze shut, and a small noise slips between his teeth.
Connie frowns. He runs a hand through the back of his hair and hesitates, unsure of what he should do next.
“I’m… It’s so hot in here,” Armin says, breath puffing out in little hitching pants. Connie swallows hard. He shakes his head. He shouldn’t be thinking about his friend like… He shouldn’t be thinking about Armin like that. The way he is right now. It’s not right, he’s not well. It’s just that the sounds he’s making are the same as when–
Armin interrupts his spiraling thoughts with a strangled cry, hips canting off the mattress minutely as he does. He’s hard, Connie notices then. The outline of his dick straining against the front of his pants as he squirms, little noises of pleasure falling from his lips and pitching higher as he seems to give up, giving in to whatever it is that he's experiencing.
“What– Uh. The infirmary…” Connie tries again. Armin thrashes and shakes his head, reaching out for Connie with an unsteady hand.
“And Eren was fine after taking this?” Connie wonders aloud to himself as he climbs onto Armin’s bed, crawling up the mattress and drawing level with the other boy before leaning over, bracketing his hands beside Armin’s face. It's time to get real, Connie thinks. He has to level with him.
“What should I do, Armin? If I can’t take you anywhere, what am I–”
Armin’s eyes snap open then, bright blue ringed around blown black pupils as he hooks a finger beneath Connie’s chest harness and tugs him down into an open mouthed and messy kiss. Much more desperation than technique, Armin’s teeth click hard against Connie’s and he freezes, body tensing beneath him as he cries out into the sliver of space between them.
“I’m sorry,” he mutters against Connie’s lips, his hips moving in aborted little thrusts against Connie’s thigh. “I’m– ahh– Fuck!”
And Connie knows he shouldn’t let this continue, that he needs to stop Armin from kissing him, but he smiles into the next one. Then initiates another.
It’s just that he’s never heard Armin talk like that. It’s something he thinks he wouldn’t mind hearing more of. Might do him some good to loosen up a little, Connie thinks.
“Did you just come?” He asks, dazed, the next time they part. Armin’s eyelashes flutter as he looks up at Connie before his gaze slides away.
“I did, I–” He shudders, rolling his hips up to meet Connie’s. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean–”
“It’s okay,” Connie says quickly. “Armin, it’s fine. I won’t say anything. I swear. I don’t mind.”
“You don’t mind?” Armin breathes, looping his arms around Connie’s neck, drawing him in for another kiss more frenzied than the last. And while that wasn’t the way he meant it initially, Connie’s finding it hard to disagree with the sentiment. He groans into Armin’s mouth, feeling his own cock filling out fast within the confines of his pants.
“Fuck no,” Connie gasps, rocking down to meet Armin’s movements. “If you’re fine with it, I’m–” he trails off, moaning in tandem as their hips connect harshly. It doesn’t matter what he was going to say, probably, he thinks, liquid pleasure surging down to the base of his spine. Armin’s too far gone and he’s likely not all that far behind.
“‘Cause I don’t think I can stop–”
“Hahh...” Connie's forehead falls to rest against Armin's and he shivers through a particularly nice grind, little warm sparks of something urgent—something insistent—prickling in the recesses of his brain.
“Yeah,” Armin sighs, pink, kiss-bitten lips curving into a relieved smile. “Do you mind if— hnn- if I take off my clothes?”
Connie shakes his head no, pushing up on his palms, coming to a kneel between Armin’s legs. Armin shimmies back towards the head of his bed and rises to a seat, panting, his hairline darkening with sweat. He fumbles over the buttons on his shirt and curses quietly. Connie smiles again.
“Here, let me,” he says, shuffling forward on his knees, lifting his hands to Armin’s shirt and methodically working his way down the buttons one by one. His knuckles brush over Armin’s bare abdomen as he nears the bottom and Armin gasps like he’s been hurt, the intake of breath loud and sharp in the quiet of his dim little room. “Sorry,” Connie mutters, drawing his hand away.
“No s’good,” Armin slurs, “s’your skin… It’s really- really…” He trails off on an airy moan and tosses his head back against the wooden headboard behind him with a muted smacking sound as Connie reconnects, sliding the flat of his palm up Armin’s stomach towards his chest. “Ahh –! Please keep going, I- I need–”
Connie nods, a gesture entirely lost on Armin. His friend's eyes are screwed shut, his chin tipped towards the ceiling. Connie peels away his shirt, pushing it gently down over his shoulders. Armin shivers. Shirt all but dispensed with, Connie makes his way south, trailing his fingers down the smooth expanse of Armin’s stomach.
He marvels at the skin beneath his fingers.
So soft.
Does skin normally feel like this?
Connie swallows hard, guesses it's time to work on his pants. He fumbles a bit with the ties, loosing them before urging Armin to lay back and lift his hips. Armin does as he’s asked and Connie gently tugs the coarse material down his thighs and over his knees, all the way down to his ankles, pulling them off and tossing them towards the end of the bed. Armin pushes up into a half reclined seat, watching Connie with lidded eyes as he makes his way back up the bed to sit beside him.
It’s now or never, and Connie’s already there. He sails easily past the point of no return and slips his hand beneath Armin’s underwear, wrapping his fingers around his leaking length in a loose grip. A guttural sob tears from Armin’s throat and he curls up into Connie’s chest as he comes again, releasing over Connie’s fingers.
Armin’s still hard, he notices after a minute. So Connie keeps going, gliding his hand up and down Armin’s shaft, not too slow, not too fast. Just how he himself likes it when he’s alone. Armin whimpers quietly, hot breath dampening the front of Connie’s shirt, where he muffles the same sentiment over and over, a choked off mess of syllables and sounds that Connie has to piece together to understand.
“Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop–” a shaking hand bunches in the fabric of Connie’s shirt over his bicep. Armin clings tight, as close to Connie as he can get as he shudders, soundlessly coming again.
“You okay?” Connie asks gruffly after a moment, easing his hand from Armin’s underwear, wiping the mess off on the side of his pants.
“I need to feel you,” Armin says, trapping his lower lip between his teeth. “Don’t stop touching me, I don’t think I can take it.”
That doesn’t sound like Armin. Not an Armin that Connie should be privy to, anyway. He squares his shoulders, he takes a deep breath. He shakes his head vigorously, hoping to clear away the fog clouding his mind. He’s let this go too far already.
“Armin, I can’t. You won't be happy about this, you don’t even like me.”
Armin’s big blue eyes fill at his reluctant rejection. A tear slips over the waterline on his right as he eases gingerly out of Connie’s lap.
“You don’t like me,” he mumbles. “You think I’m stuck up and… nhhh… you can leave. I’m fine,” he grits out, tugging his underwear down over his hips. He rolls onto his stomach and pushes his ass up invitingly into the air, reaching behind himself to insert a finger inside. Connie watches wide-eyed as Armin begins to stretch himself open, talking about him all the while. “—didn’t even see me. Why would you? I’m good, Connie, just go.”
But Connie can’t leave. They’re not done talking yet. This is good, he thinks, unbuckling his harness before unbuttoning his shirt and tossing both to the side. It’s time they got everything out in the open. With the war looming and all, they can’t afford not to understand one another.
“I see you,” Connie protests, folding down over Armin’s back, fingers wrapping around Armin’s wrist to still his movements. The renewed contact with Armin’s skin feels like someone pierced him in the gut with a hot poker. He gasps. Armin keens and thrashes in his grip. “Why would I think you hate me if I didn’t? Why does everyone think I’m not paying attention?”
“Hate?” Armin asks incredulously. He whines. “That’s a really strong claim…”
“You know what I mean,” Connie huffs, easing Armin’s finger out and replacing it with his own. He’s warm. So hot inside, he’s burning up. Slick too, more than he has any right to be given that Connie didn’t see him grab for oil at any point. How is he so pliant already? “You— you…” he presses his forehead to Armin’s shoulder blade, overwhelmed and tingling and dizzy.
Suddenly he’s on fire, alight everywhere his skin connects with Armin’s. He’s overcome by the all-consuming need to touch and be touched by Armin. Vaguely he wonders if this is what Armin’s been feeling. No matter, his mind discards the salvo. Thinking isn’t going to help him feel good any faster.
He wiggles another finger in beside the first and begins to pump them steadily in and out, watching rapt as Armin spasms around him, coming for—Connie doesn’t know how many times he’s up to. All Connie knows is he’s feeling on edge himself now.
“Fuck me,” Armin weeps, his face pressed down into his pillow, “fuck me and we can talk later, okay? Hah—”
Yeah. He has to. Connie can do that. He needs it.
He withdraws his fingers and backs away, shaking hands tugging at the ties on his own pants. He leaps off the bed, landing on unsteady legs to work at his harnesses, shoving his pants and underwear down and kicking them away. Turning back around, he notes that Armin’s picked up where he left off, working three fingers quickly in and out of his hole, his pretty pink cock leaking copiously down into the sheets.
Connie curses under his breath, climbing back onto the bed, situating himself between Armin’s legs and gently pushing at his arm in a bid to get him to move his fingers away.
“Hurry up,” Armin demands, twisting his head to glare back at Connie, his visible blue eye narrowed impatiently.
“You’re really bossy,” Connie gasps as his head catches on Armin’s rim, choking on a strangled sound as he begins to slide inside.
“Sorry—” Armin whispers, his eye squeezing shut tight.
“Don’t. Hng— don’t apologize for—”
“Who you are,” Connie was going to say. But he can’t. The feeling of Armin’s welcoming heat as he presses in overrides everything else on his mind. He can’t stop until he’s fully sheathed, his thighs sealed tight to the soft curve of Armin’s asscheeks.
“Armin—!” Someone cries.
Pinpricks of pleasant pain blossom at the back of Connie’s neck. He groans open mouthed against Armin’s sweat-slick skin, twitching and coming inside him. Armin’s nails dig harder into his nape, trapping him down against his back and holding him in place.
“Keep going,” Armin breathes, pushing back against Connie insistently. He grits his teeth against the stimulation and rocks forward, half pleased, half horrified to find he’s still hard.
He nods against Armin’s back and draws out slowly, snapping his hips back in fast.
“Yeah,” Connie mumbles under his breath, beneath the sound of his hips connecting hard with Armin’s ass.
“Wait—”
He can’t. He doesn’t want to. Connie whines, frustrated, and slows his pace, pulling out entirely to stop himself from continuing on without Armin’s say so. The room blurs and the ceiling spins into view as Connie lands flat on his back. Armin follows, seating himself astride his hips. Connie watches, mouth open in awe as Armin lines himself up and sinks back down to the base.
His eyes slam shut and he thrusts up roughly into the other boy’s inviting heat.
“Fucking— please—” he gasps, fingers digging hard into the outside of Armin’s thighs. Connie’s on fire. He’s itchy all over and the only way he can feel relief is if Armin moves. “I need—”
“Uh-huh,” Armin mumbles from somewhere up above, beginning to rock lazily in his lap, little hitching sighs letting Connie know he’s feeling nice.
Good, Connie thinks, somewhat sated by Armin’s easy pace. This is really good. Finally, he can breathe again.
Armin’s movements pick up quick, thighs working, bouncing up and down Connie’s length.
“Connie–!”
Connie opens his eyes at the sound of his name, wholly unprepared for the sight that greets him.
His eyes alight first on where they connect then travel up the expanse of Armin’s pale skin. Armin’s body moves rhythmically up and down, his head thrown back, golden hair dark and matted with sweat. A blissed out smile curves Armin’s lips and Connie groans in response to the high sweet sounds pouring from his throat. He looks…
In that moment, Connie wants to say he looks otherworldly. He opens his mouth to tell him so and releases nothing more than an incoherent cry.
One of Armin’s hands drops to grip Connie’s where it twists in the sheets beside his hip, the other rises up, fingers brushing over his nipples, clawing harshly over his flesh.
That won’t do, Connie thinks, sluggishly pushing up into a seat, trapping Armin flush against his chest. Armin keens and crumples into his hold, sinks his teeth into Connie’s neck.
Better, Connie thinks, hooking his arms underneath Armin’s, dragging his nails down his back.
Armin screams and shakes.
Connie apologizes.
“S’fine,” Armin slurs, “I like it…”
“No,” Connie grits out lips pressed feverishly into the side of Armin’s face as he rocks up into Armin with his limited leverage. “I’m s- sorry it’s me.”
Because it shouldn’t be. Right? Armin has real friends. Eren, Mikasa. Even Jean, maybe. Connie is the last person who should be—
Armin grabs Connie by the chin and drags him into a kiss, moaning weakly onto his tongue as he grinds shallowly down onto Connie’s dick. Connie trembles, tongue sliding slick against Armin’s, the coil low in his gut twisting and tight and ready to snap.
“I don’t care about that,” Armin says fiercely, a glistening strand of saliva keeping them connected as he draws away. “Why shouldn't it be you?” He tenses, squeezing tight around Connie’s length and releasing, his cum coating warm and sticky across Connie’s stomach and chest.
“I—” and for the umpteenth time that day, it doesn’t matter what Connie was about to say. He pulls Armin down roughly, sheathing himself deep inside as his own orgasm hits, sinking his teeth into Armin’s lower lip to stifle a strained cry.
It takes Connie a while to come back to himself. When he does, Armin is still rocking weakly in his lap. He twitches and whines, drops his head to Armin’s shoulder.
“Armin. I can’t anymore.”
“Just touch me,” Armin murmurs beside his ear, “just touch me one more time.”
Connie shoves at the other boy’s sternum, pushing him off his lap and moving to lay beside him in his rumpled up mess of sheets. They trade hitching humid breaths as Connie reaches for Armin’s cock, lazily wrapping his fingers around the length. No sooner does he take Armin in hand does Armin come again, whimpering softly and shaking, his lips pressed lightly against Connie’s.
“Hey.”
Connie is the first to speak, his voice barely a grating whisper above the sounds of their collected breath. He pushes a hand through Armin’s sweat-soaked bangs and waits for him to open his eyes. A lucid blue Connie hasn’t seen in a while meets his gaze shyly then flits away.
“You okay?”
“I think so,” Armin replies quietly. “You?”
“Of course,” Connie says, forcing a laugh. “Never better.”
“Okay.”
Connie absently runs his hand down Armin’s shoulder to his side, tracing little patterns over the soft skin there, a little afraid of how he’s going to feel when he pulls away. As if putting some distance between them will make the experience somehow both more and less real. Armin sighs and leans into his touch. His eyes flutter closed and his chest rises and falls on deep, even breaths.
“Sorry I didn’t see you,” Connie says.
It could’ve been a minute later, it could've been hours. He’s not sure. He desperately wants to sleep. He feels like his brain has been dumped out and replaced with sackcloth and his tongue feels like lead in his mouth when he speaks.
“It’s alright,” Armin whispers. “I’m sorry for being kind of a dick.”
“Armin,” Connie starts, although he’d much rather address it later when he has time to sift through his thoughts on what just transpired and get some rest. “You don’t have to apologize, it’s–”
He’s interrupted by a series of loud and energetic knocks. The person on the other side of Armin’s door doesn’t wait for a response before pushing it wide open and bounding over the threshold.
“Armin! I’ve been looking all over for you, I–! Oh!” Commander Hange stops short in their tracks, their remaining eye blinking owlishly behind their glasses. “Well, I guess I won’t be getting that serum back! I came to tell you I handed you the wrong one by mistake and–”
Shuffling sounds accompany Hange as they trail off, reaching into their pants pocket and producing a small glass vial. They lob it underhand towards the bed and Armin finally reacts, coloring bright red and diving beneath the covers, letting the vial land in the bedding in between himself and Connie. His sudden movement draws the commander’s eye down to Connie next.
“Springer!” Hange says jovially, digging around in their coat pocket and fishing out a small book and a pen. “While I’ve got you both here, let’s talk about the effects. What was it like? How did you feel? How strong were the transdermal effects or— wait, tell me, did you split it purposefully?” Hange works to take a breath before continuing on, “It’s proprietary, of course, something I was working on for. Personal use…” They laugh. “You know, even commanders have urges, though I suppose mine are more academic in nature.” Hange takes a beat and taps their finger to their chin. “However, I think your experience could be quite valuable to–”
“Commander,” Connie says slowly, struggling to keep his eyes open, sitting up and drawing the covers over his chest. “I’ll tell you everything I remember. But I— I’ll come to you. Later-ish, if that's okay?”
“Oh!” Hange blinks. “Absolutely! If you guys aren’t finished in here you should have said so! Keep up the good work and don’t forget any details! There’s no such thing as too much data!” With a whirl of their coat, Hange strides to the door, steps out into the hall and pulls it shut with a bang. The following silence feels all the louder for their exit.
“Thanks,” Armin says softly, the sheets falling away from his face as he emerges from his makeshift cave.
“Don’t mention it,” Connie replies, frowning as he realizes. The momentum changed. Things are really weird now, he thinks.
Aren’t they?
Forcing his aching joints to cooperate, he rolls over to his side and then sits, swinging his legs down off the mattress. His feet hit the cold stone floor and he whistles under his breath. He moves to grab his underwear and begins slowly to dress, feeling Armin’s eyes on his back all the while.
“I’ll hold Commander off as long as I can but you know they’re going to circle back to you,” Connie says in an attempt at casual conversation.
“I know,” Armin replies. Connie can hear the sheets shifting as Armin makes his way into a seat. He sighs. “These things happen.”
Do they, though?
“What is with that?” Connie asks, fingers fumbling over the buttons of his shirt. He risks a backwards glance and Armin raises an eyebrow. He waits. “You said that earlier too. Is that just something you say when something fucked up happens so that you don’t lose it?”
Armin’s second eyebrow joins the first on its way towards his hairline. Armin blinks and blushes. “No! I mean, yes, actually. But not the way you understood it, I think.”
Connie tenses, trying to discern whether or not Arlert’s being a dick. After all, how could someone like Connie possibly understand what he’s saying?
“Okay," he says slowly, "Where did I go wrong?” He turns to face Armin fully and crosses his arms over his chest.
“I meant Hange’s no doubt exhaustive list of questions about what just happened. Not that the situation was ideal,” he continues, his curious oceanic gaze locked on Connie’s face, “but… You made it bearable. So, thank you.”
Huh. Connie steps into his boots, throwing out an arm for balance and tipping over, landing into a seat at Armin’s side, mattress springs creaking in protest. “Yeah. Uh. You too.”
And then Connie does something without thinking.
He turns and inclines his head, leaning forward just enough to kiss Armin on the cheek. It feels ridiculous now, after everything, and Connie feels like an idiot for having done it. Armin remains mercifully motionless and quiet, saving them both the embarrassment of having to address the action. Connie rises once more and heads for the door, bending briefly to collect his discarded gear. His fingers move to grip the handle when Armin speaks.
“I’m probably not going out there tonight, but… if you want… maybe could we eat dinner together tomorrow?”
Connie stops and turns, a warm feeling worms its way through his chest and pulls at his lips, tugging them upwards into a hopeful grin. Having dinner next to Armin tomorrow night. That might be nice.
“Yeah, I’d like that.”
The warm feeling bursts into butterflies when Armin returns his smile.