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Eren entered the church between his grandparents, already regretting every decision that had delivered him there.
The vestibule was oppressively warm after the cold outside. Parishioners crowded beneath strings of yellow Christmas lights, brushing snow from their coats and calling greetings across the room. Red velvet bows hung beneath clusters of holly along the banisters, and a wreath large enough to conceal a body had been mounted above the oak doors leading into the sanctuary.
Children darted between adults holding paper cups, their dress shoes squeaking against the tile. Somewhere nearby, a baby was crying. The air smelled faintly of candle wax, damp wool, old wood, and incense that had soaked so deeply into the walls that Eren suspected the building would continue smelling holy long after humanity went extinct.
He had barely pulled off his gloves before his grandmother reached up and straightened the collar of his sweater. “No trouble tonight.”
Eren leaned his head away from her hands. “I just got here.”
“That has never stopped you before.”
His grandfather stamped the snow from his shoes and gave him a stern look over the rim of his glasses. “It’s Christmas Eve. Surely you can sit through one service without causing a scene.”
“I wasn’t planning on causing one.”
“That’s what you always say.”
“It’s true. Trouble just finds me.”
His grandparents exchanged the tired look of two people who had heard that excuse many times and had never once believed it.
“Trouble finds you,” his grandmother said, smoothing down a piece of his hair, “because you keep giving it your address.”
Eren opened his mouth to defend himself, but her attention had already shifted elsewhere.
“Oh, Armin!”
A blond boy standing across the vestibule turned toward them. He had been talking with several other choir members near the sanctuary doors, a dark green music folder tucked against his chest. Their robes were white, with curling gold embroidery around the high collars and sleeves. Against the red bows and glowing Christmas lights, they looked like decorations someone had arranged for the evening.
Armin said something to the others before separating from the group and approaching. Eren recognized him vaguely from previous Christmas and Easter services, although his own attendance was inconsistent enough that recognizing anyone from church felt like an accusation. Armin usually stood near the front of the choir, his pale hair visible among the taller boys around him.
Eren had never paid much attention before. That appeared to have been an oversight.
The Christmas lights reflected in Armin’s glasses as he crossed the vestibule. His long, pale hair had been combed neatly around his face, though a few pieces had already fallen loose. He smiled warmly at Eren’s grandmother.
“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Yeager.”
“Merry Christmas, sweetheart.” She took his arm affectionately. “Are you ready for tonight?”
“I think so. We’ve only been rehearsing the same songs since October.”
“You’ll sound wonderful.”
Armin greeted Eren’s grandfather with the same easy familiarity before turning toward Eren. His grandmother brightened as if she had only just remembered that her troublesome grandson was standing beside her.
“Armin, this is our grandson, Eren. Eren, this is Armin Arlert.”
Armin looked directly at him. Their eyes lingered for a moment longer than the introduction required. Up close, Armin was prettier than he had appeared from the pews, his eyes bright blue behind rectangular glasses. His gaze moved briefly over Eren before returning to his face.
“You’re both eighteen,” his grandmother continued. “I’ve been saying for years that Eren should meet more young people from the church.”
Eren had no memory of her ever saying that, but contradicting her would only make the conversation longer.
Armin offered his hand. “Nice to finally meet you.”
Finally.
Eren looked at him more carefully before accepting it. Armin’s grip was warm and unexpectedly firm, and neither of them released the other immediately. It lasted only an extra second, but it was enough to make Eren conscious of the contact. Something watchful lived beneath Armin’s pleasant expression.
Eren let go first.
“You might be a good influence on him,” his grandmother said, resting a hopeful hand on Armin’s shoulder.
“Grandma.”
“What? Armin is responsible. He does well in school, sings in the choir, helps around the church—”
She listed his virtues as though presenting the qualifications of a private tutor. Armin smiled politely, but Eren caught the brief spark of amusement in his eyes. When Eren gave him a suspicious look, Armin answered with an expression so innocent that it felt rehearsed.
His grandfather nodded toward the robe. “Armin is Father Arlert’s grandson.”
Eren looked toward the sanctuary, where an elderly priest was greeting a family beneath a stained-glass window, then back at Armin. The priest’s grandson. Of course. That explained the choir robe, the polished manners, and his apparent ability to make grandparents adore him within seconds.
“You’re still doing well in school, I hope?” Eren’s grandmother asked.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Have you decided where you’ll be going next year?”
“I’ve applied to a few colleges. I’m still waiting to hear back.”
“And what are you planning to study?”
“Maybe history or education. I haven’t decided.”
“You have plenty of time.” She smiled. “What about a special young lady? Surely someone as handsome as you has a girlfriend.”
Eren almost groaned on Armin’s behalf.
Armin appeared unsurprised. He glanced briefly toward Eren before answering, “No special lady.”
The words were perfectly ordinary. The look accompanying them was neither.
“Probably too busy with school and the choir,” Eren’s grandfather said.
“Mostly,” Armin agreed.
“Father Arlert must be proud,” his grandmother continued. “You’ve always been such a good boy.”
The corner of Armin’s mouth moved again. Eren had the distinct impression that Armin found the congregation’s opinion of him deeply entertaining.
Eren folded his arms. “I’m surprised I don’t burst into flames every time they drag me through the doors.”
His grandmother slapped the back of his arm. “Eren.”
“What? I said I was surprised.”
Armin lowered his head to hide a smile.
“Do not encourage him,” she warned.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Eren heard the amusement beneath the answer.
Armin looked at him. “You wouldn’t burn alone.”
Eren studied the white robe, gold embroidery, and angelic blond hair. “You?”
Armin raised his eyebrows.
“Aren’t you the priest’s grandson?”
“Unfortunately, that doesn’t provide hereditary protection.”
His grandparents laughed as though Armin had made a harmless joke. Eren continued watching him.
“So you’re admitting you belong in hell too?”
“I said I’d burn.” Armin adjusted his glasses. “You made the rest of that assumption yourself.”
His voice remained light, but something shifted between them. His expression stayed pleasant; his eyes did not. Eren felt the first faint pull of curiosity.
Before he could test it, a bell rang beyond the sanctuary doors. Choir members began moving, and one of the older boys called Armin’s name.
“I have to go,” Armin said.
“Of course, sweetheart. We’ll see you after the service.”
“I’ll be around.”
Armin stepped backward before looking directly at Eren. “See you later.”
There was just enough emphasis to make Eren wonder whether it was a promise.
Armin rejoined the choir, and Eren watched the white robe disappear into the crowd. When he turned back, his grandmother was smiling at him.
“What?”
“Nothing. I’m simply glad you’ve met someone your age.”
“I shook his hand. We’re not planning a future together.”
“No one said you were.”
Her smile widened. Eren regretted speaking.
His grandparents guided him through the sanctuary doors before she could begin asking whether he thought Armin was handsome. The church opened around them in dark wood and candlelight. Oak pews stretched toward the altar, their seats fitted with red cushions dulled by decades of Sunday clothes. Cracked-spine Bibles and hymnals rested in narrow racks, some held together with clear tape, their pages softened and yellowed by years of hands.
They selected a pew near the front so his grandmother would have easy access to the organ. Eren slid onto the cushion beside his grandfather while the wood creaked beneath them. A padded kneeler had been folded beneath the seat ahead, its red velvet worn pale at the center.
Eren looked toward the sanctuary doors. Armin had already disappeared behind them.
For someone who had claimed he wasn’t looking for trouble, Eren found himself strangely disappointed.
Another bell sounded beyond the sanctuary, and the conversations filling the church quieted in pieces. Programs folded. Pages turned. Parents collected restless children from the aisle and pulled them into the pews.
Eren’s grandmother rose and pointed a warning finger at him. “One hour. Surely you can behave for one hour.”
“I still haven’t done anything.”
“Let’s keep it that way.”
She squeezed past him and made her way toward the organ along the left wall. Eren watched her settle onto the bench, arrange the sheets of music across the stand, and press one of the lower keys. The note rolled beneath the last whispers in the church, deep enough that he felt it through the soles of his shoes.
His grandfather opened a hymnal between them. “Here.”
“I know the song.”
“Then this should be easy.”
The sanctuary lights dimmed. Darkness collected high among the wooden rafters, leaving the altar and the great candle chandelier suspended above the nave in warm gold. Electric candles glowed beneath the stained-glass windows, though most of the glass had gone dark against the winter night. The colors remained only in dim pools around the painted saints—blue robes, red halos, violet skies.
The congregation stood.
Eren pushed himself to his feet with considerably less enthusiasm.
A door opened at the back of the church. His grandmother began to play the first low notes of “O Come, All Ye Faithful,” and the procession entered behind a wooden cross held above the congregation. Two altar servers followed with tall candles, their flames trembling whenever the vestibule doors opened. The choir came next in pairs, each boy carrying a glass votive cupped carefully in both hands.
White robes drifted around their ankles as they walked, gold thread catching the light before fading again.
Eren found Armin immediately.
He walked near the front, likely because he was one of the shortest. His head was slightly bowed over the candle he carried, its flame reflecting across his glasses and turning the edges of his pale hair nearly white. He looked painfully wholesome.
Eren remembered his knowing smile in the vestibule.
The robe was false advertising.
The congregation joined the hymn, some parishioners singing confidently while others mumbled until the familiar refrain. Eren barely moved his lips. When his grandfather nudged the hymnal closer, he looked down long enough to pretend he had found his place before returning his attention to Armin.
Armin carried his candle solemnly against his chest. He could have belonged in one of the stained-glass windows around them.
Saint Armin, Eren thought. Patron of misleading first impressions.
As the choir passed their pew, Armin lifted his eyes. Their gazes met, and the corner of his mouth rose without disturbing the hymn.
Eren missed an entire line.
At the front, the boys placed their votives on a stand near the sanctuary steps. Dozens of flames gathered beneath the crucifix, illuminating the carved figure of Jesus hanging above them with his head bowed in permanent sorrow.
Eren couldn’t blame him.
The altar servers moved into position around Father Arlert while the choir arranged itself near the organ. Armin stood in the front row, his white robe falling neatly around his smaller frame. He opened his music folder and glanced toward Eren’s grandmother.
She raised her hands. The organ swelled.
Eren had been dragged into this church for enough Christmases, Easters, baptisms, and funerals to know when to stand, when to sit, and when to pretend he was listening. He had never cared much about the choir.
Tonight, the organ softened, leaving a pocket of silence beneath the rafters. Armin lifted his head from the music folder and sang the opening verse and chorus alone.
His voice was clear and startlingly beautiful, carrying through the church without anything else to hide inside. It climbed into the wooden rafters and returned softened by the height of the sanctuary, lingering among the candles as though the church had been built specifically to hold it. Eren’s attention settled on the shape of Armin’s mouth as it curved around each word.
Then the rest of the choir joined him. Their voices rose around his in warm layers, but Eren could still distinguish Armin at the center of them now that he knew exactly what to listen for.
It was too beautiful a voice for someone who had admitted he might burst into flames at the door.
Armin looked over the congregation while he sang. His gaze passed across old couples, restless children, and families crowded shoulder to shoulder before finding Eren near the front.
Recognition brightened his face.
Armin smiled without missing a word. Anyone else might have mistaken it for Christmas joy directed toward the whole congregation. The look landed too precisely for that.
His grandfather pushed the hymnal closer again. Eren lowered his eyes, sang half a line badly, and looked up to find Armin still smiling.
A baby began crying behind them. Another child laughed at the wrong moment and was hurriedly shushed. The organ filled the church, joined by the choir and a hundred uneven voices while candlelight quivered across the oak pews and faded red cushions.
For the first time in his life, Eren felt disappointed when a church song ended.
The final note faded beneath the rafters, and Father Arlert approached the altar.
“In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”
“Amen,” the congregation answered. Eren responded half a second later than everyone else.
Father Arlert smiled over the crowd. “Merry Christmas.”
The greeting returned from every corner of the church. A few children shouted it enthusiastically enough to make the adults around them laugh. Father Arlert welcomed the visitors and families gathered for Mass before thanking the choir, the altar servers, and Eren’s grandmother at the organ.
She sat straighter at the mention, visibly pleased.
Father Arlert invited the congregation to acknowledge their sins.
“Lord, have mercy.”
“Lord, have mercy,” the congregation repeated.
“Christ, have mercy.”
“Christ, have mercy.”
“Lord, have mercy.”
“Lord, have mercy.”
The choir answered with everyone else, their voices quieter without the organ beneath them. Eren watched Armin solemnly ask for mercy while remembering that he had admitted he would burn too.
He lowered his head to hide a smile.
The opening rites continued in a blur of practiced responses. Father Arlert spoke; the congregation answered. Pages turned around Eren. Someone dropped a hymnal two pews behind them, the book striking the floor hard enough to make several heads turn.
A little girl in a red dress whispered to her mother that Jesus looked sad.
“He’s tired,” her brother informed her confidently.
Eren bit the inside of his cheek.
His grandfather responded to each prayer from memory. Eren followed along only well enough to avoid standing alone when everyone else sat.
After the opening prayer, the congregation settled into the pews for the Liturgy of the Word. The choir dispersed into reserved seats near the front until they were needed again. Armin followed the others down the sanctuary steps but paused beside Eren’s row.
An open place remained between Eren and his grandmother’s abandoned seat. Armin looked at it, then at him.
“Taken?”
Eren moved his coat. “Unfortunately.”
Armin smiled and slipped into the pew.
Eren’s grandfather looked delighted. “You’re welcome to sit with us.”
“Thank you, Mr. Yeager.”
To him, the priest’s well-mannered grandson must’ve already taken responsibility for their troublemaker. Armin gathered his robe neatly beneath himself and placed a Bible across his lap. His knee settled close enough that the white fabric brushed Eren’s black pants.
Neither of them shifted away.
The first reading described people walking in darkness who had seen a great light. Eren absorbed fragments about joy, burdens, and a child being born while remaining acutely aware of Armin beside him.
Their knees were still touching beneath the edge of Armin’s robe. Eren shifted slightly, pressing back instead of making room. Armin glanced down at the point where the white fabric met Eren’s black pants, then turned another page of his Bible as though nothing had happened.
A few moments later, Armin rested his hand on the cushion between them. His fingers settled close to Eren’s thigh, near enough that the side of his little finger brushed Eren’s. The contact was so light Eren could have dismissed it as accidental.
Then Armin did it again.
Eren looked at him. Armin continued following the reading, one finger resting beneath the words while the other remained beside Eren’s hand. His expression was attentive and perfectly solemn.
Eren slid his hand closer until their knuckles touched.
The corner of Armin’s mouth moved.
His grandfather shifted beside them, and Armin immediately lifted his hand to turn the page. Eren almost laughed. The pastor’s grandson apparently had excellent reflexes when holiness was watching.
During the responsorial psalm, Armin answered without looking down, every phrase leaving his mouth at precisely the right moment. When Eren joined the response half a beat late, Armin leaned closer under the pretense of sharing the Bible. His shoulder pressed against Eren’s, warm through the layers of his robe.
“You’re supposed to answer with everyone else,” he whispered.
“I was distracted.”
Armin’s blue eyes flicked toward him. “I noticed.”
He drew back before Eren could respond, though his knee remained firmly against Eren’s for the rest of the reading.
When the congregation rose for the Gospel, their shoulders touched briefly in the narrow pew.
“The Lord be with you.”
“And with your spirit.”
“A reading from the holy Gospel according to Luke.”
“Glory to you, O Lord.”
Armin made a small cross over his forehead, then his lips, then the center of his chest. Eren watched his fingers. The gesture was practiced and effortless, repeated through years of Christmases, Easters, and ordinary Sundays beneath his grandfather’s watch.
Armin caught him staring and raised one eyebrow. Eren should have looked toward the altar. Instead, he held Armin’s gaze, letting the silence between them stretch until the question in Armin’s expression became something warmer. Armin’s eyes flicked briefly to Eren’s mouth before returning to his, so quickly anyone else might have missed it.
Their hands rested near each other on the cushion between them. When Armin shifted, the tips of his fingers brushed Eren’s. The contact was light enough to dismiss as accidental, but Armin didn’t pull away. Eren turned his hand slightly, allowing their little fingers to catch against each other beneath the shelter of Armin’s sleeve.
Eren leaned closer, keeping his voice beneath Father Arlert’s reading. “You put a lot of feeling into O Come, All Ye Faithful.”
Armin’s lips parted in silent surprise before he lowered his face toward the Bible, shoulders trembling with a laugh he was trying not to let escape. “That is a hymn,” he whispered, managing an expression of wounded piety. “I have no idea what you could possibly mean.”
“Of course you don’t.”
“I’m the priest’s grandson.”
“That isn’t the defense you think it is.”
Armin finally withdrew his hand to turn the page, though his fingertips dragged deliberately across Eren’s knuckles first. When he looked up again, his face was composed and attentive, every inch the reverent choir boy. The heat lingering in his eyes told a different story.
Father Arlert began the story of the Nativity: Caesar’s decree, Mary and Joseph’s journey to Bethlehem, the child wrapped in swaddling clothes, and the angels appearing to shepherds in the night. The church grew still, even the children quieting for a time.
Eren tried to listen, but his attention kept returning to the warmth of Armin’s shoulder and the soft sound of his breathing.
After the Gospel and homily, the congregation moved through the Creed and the Prayer of the Faithful. They prayed for the Church, for peace, for struggling families, for the sick, the lonely, and those spending Christmas without shelter.
Each intention ended the same way.
“Lord, hear our prayer.”
Eren answered half a beat late.
Armin’s knee had shifted against his.
It might have been accidental.
Then Armin left it there.
The congregation lowered itself onto the padded kneelers in a long, uneven rustle. Wood creaked. Coats shifted. Somewhere behind them, a child whispered too loudly and was immediately shushed.
Eren followed his grandfather down, his knees settling onto faded red velvet. The cushion did little to soften the wooden rail beneath it. A cracked Bible stared back from the rack ahead while Father Arlert bowed his head beneath the enormous cross.
Armin knelt beside him. His white robe pooled around his legs, the gold embroidery catching the trembling light from the chandelier. Up close, he smelled faintly of candle smoke and something clean beneath it. Soap, maybe.
Eren tried to focus on the prayer.
It became considerably harder when Armin leaned toward him.
“I’ve always liked this part,” he whispered, his breath touching the shell of Eren’s ear.
Eren kept his head bowed. “What, praying?”
Armin’s mouth hovered beside his ear for another second.
“Being on my knees.”
Eren looked at him.
Armin faced forward, hands folded neatly against the pew as though he hadn’t spoken. Candlelight rested innocently across his glasses. His expression belonged in a stained-glass window.
Then his eyes slid toward Eren.
There was no confusion in them, no nervous attempt to laugh the comment away. Armin watched him carefully, waiting to see whether he would retreat.
Eren’s pulse stumbled. “Your grandfather is standing ten feet away.”
“I know.”
“And you’re saying things like that to me?”
A small smile touched Armin’s mouth. “You keep staring at me.”
Eren should have denied it. Instead, his gaze dropped briefly to Armin’s lips.
When he looked up again, Armin had noticed.
The smile faded, but the heat beneath it didn’t. Armin’s fingers shifted along the kneeler until the side of his hand rested against Eren’s. Neither of them moved away. Eren found himself thinking that he was glad his grandfather was deaf in his right ear.
At the front of the church, Father Arlert continued asking God to guide the lost toward better choices. The two looked at each other briefly before smiling.
Eren had the uncomfortable feeling that God’s advice had arrived a little late.
When the prayer ended, the congregation rose. Eren pushed himself to his feet, his knees aching from the wooden rail. Armin stood beside him and smoothed the front of his robe, his expression returning effortlessly to innocence.
Eren was beginning to understand why nobody suspected him of anything.
Armin leaned closer as though he needed to move past. “Meet me in the vestibule after the last hymn.”
His lips nearly touched Eren’s ear. Then he smiled.
Heat climbed into Eren’s cheeks. He stared at Armin, struggling to act as though the pastor’s angelic grandson had not just propositioned him in the middle of Christmas Eve worship.
Armin might actually be the devil.
Before Eren could answer, Armin slipped out of the pew and joined the choir gathering near the sanctuary. Eren’s grandmother returned to the organ and opened her music book.
His grandfather looked at him. “What did he say?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re red.”
“It’s hot in here.”
His grandfather glanced toward the high ceiling and the draft creeping beneath the stained-glass windows. “Of course.”
Eren ignored him.
The organ sounded, its first chord vibrating through the oak beneath his hand. The choir began to sing, their voices rising into the rafters and returning layered over themselves. Candle flames trembled beneath the chandelier while the dark stained-glass figures seemed to lean inward and listen.
Armin sang from the front row with his eyes closed. The white robe nearly swallowed his small frame, leaving only his hands visible around the music folder. He barely looked at the page. The words seemed to live somewhere inside him, placed there by years of repetition.
Eren watched his mouth move.
He remembered those same lips beside his ear.
Being on my knees.
Meet me in the vestibule.
The invitation sounded even filthier hearing Armin’s singing voice. Eren tried to focus elsewhere—on the crucifix, the votives, his grandmother’s hands moving across the organ keys. His gaze returned to Armin every time.
Armin opened his eyes. They settled immediately on Eren. A coy smile appeared between the reverent words leaving his mouth. His face remained sweet and composed, but his eyes had darkened. Heat tightened low in Eren’s stomach. Whatever expression crossed his face made Armin’s smile widen. His voice never wavered.
Eren decided the congregation had trusted the wrong boy.
The final note faded beneath the rafters. For several seconds, the church remained quiet. Then the congregation began to move all at once. People collected coats, programs, handbags, and sleepy children. Pews creaked as families squeezed into the aisle. Conversations rose around Eren, cheerful and loud after the solemnity of the service.
The choir remained near the front long enough to set down their folders and collect the votives. Armin looked perfectly composed beneath the candlelight, as though he had never whispered anything improper in his life. Eren’s grandmother left the organ and was immediately intercepted by an elderly woman in a red coat.
“That was beautiful, Martha. Absolutely beautiful.”
His grandmother placed a hand against her chest. “Oh, thank you.”
Eren recognized the beginning of a conversation that would last at least fifteen minutes. His grandfather had become trapped near the end of the pew by a man asking about someone named Harold’s knee surgery. Neither of them was looking at Eren. He slipped into the aisle.
Most of the congregation fed through the vestibule toward the fellowship hall, where coffee, cider, and Christmas cookies waited. Eren followed the crowd without telling his grandparents where he was going. He told himself he was only checking whether Armin had been serious.
This was a lie, but it felt respectable enough to carry him through the sanctuary doors. The vestibule had become even warmer and louder. Christmas lights glowed around the doorframes. Red velvet bows hung beneath glossy clusters of holly. Wet boots squeaked over the tile as people removed coats or put them back on.
Children chased one another between adults holding paper cups. A little boy sprinted past Eren with two cookies clutched in each hand while his father called after him to slow down. The open doors of the fellowship hall released the smell of coffee, cinnamon, and something buttery. Everyone was talking loudly enough for Eren to disappear into the noise.
Armin waited beneath the Christmas lights. He still wore his white-and-gold robe. His music folder was gone, leaving his hands empty and folded neatly in front of him. Warm bulbs reflected across his glasses, and the holly arranged above his head gave him the appearance of someone posing for a particularly aggressive Christmas card.
He looked irritatingly innocent. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The crowd moved around them while their eyes remained fixed on each other. The exchange beside the kneeler had not been a joke. Eren glanced around.
“Do you usually lure people away from worship?”
“Only the ones who stare at me through the entire service.”
“You were staring too.”
Armin stepped closer, using the noise of the vestibule as an excuse. His shoulder brushed Eren’s. “I never said I wasn’t.”
The directness of it caught Eren off guard. Armin tilted his face toward him. “Do you still want to follow me?”
Eren shoved his hands into his pockets. “Depends where you’re taking me.”
“You came all the way out here without asking.”
“I was curious.”
“Of course.”
Eren leaned closer, his mouth hovering beside Armin’s ear. “You said you were going to burn.”
Armin’s smile faltered. Only slightly, but Eren caught it.
“Maybe we should make sure you do.”
A slow breath left Armin. When he turned his face toward Eren again, the sweetness had vanished from his expression, leaving something darker beneath it.
“That’s an extremely bold thing to say in my grandfather’s church.”
“You’re the one who invited me.”
Armin’s eyes dropped briefly to Eren’s mouth. “I know.”
The small smile on Armin’s face suggested he didn’t believe him. Before Eren could answer, Father Arlert appeared across the vestibule. He stood near the fellowship hall doors, greeting families as they passed. Children hugged him around the waist. Elderly women touched his arm while speaking. He seemed capable of holding three conversations at once.
Eren instinctively shifted away from Armin. Armin barely reacted. He lifted one hand and smiled sweetly at his grandfather. Father Arlert noticed him and waved back, looking pleased to see his grandson socializing with the Yeagers’ troubled boy. Armin waited until the priest turned toward another family. Then he looked at Eren.
“Come on,” he murmured. “Before your grandmother decides I’ve already failed.”
He moved toward the far side of the vestibule. A large Christmas tree stood in the corner, decorated with white lights, gold ribbon, and wooden ornaments painted by children. Beside it, a crowded coat rack concealed most of a narrow wooden door.
Armin slipped behind the hanging coats and opened it. Eren looked back once. His grandmother was still accepting compliments near the organ. His grandfather remained deep in conversation about Harold’s knee. Nobody was watching him. Trouble had found him. Again.
He followed Armin through the doorway. The noise of the vestibule dulled as the door closed behind them. The corridor beyond was dimmer and several degrees colder. Dark oak paneling covered the lower half of the walls. Framed photographs of past priests and church groups hung above it, their faces faded beneath dusty glass. Only every other wall sconce had been switched on.
Armin walked ahead of him, white robes whispering over the floor.
“Where are we going?” Eren asked. Armin glanced back. For the first time that evening, he made no attempt to hide the wickedness in his expression.
“Somewhere I can keep you out of trouble.”
Eren followed him deeper into the church, realizing that everyone in the vestibule had trusted exactly the wrong person to keep him in line.
The old confessional stood at the end of a side chapel that appeared to be used mostly for storage. Several folded tables leaned against one wall. Boxes of hymnals had been stacked beneath a statue of the Virgin Mary. A row of unlit votives sat before her feet, their glass holders dark and empty.
Armin approached the confessional as though he had led people there a hundred times. Eren stopped behind him.
“You have a key?”
Armin produced a small brass one from beneath his robe.
“You carry that around?”
“My grandfather trusts me.”
“That seems irresponsible.”
“It’s worked out well so far.”
Armin unlocked the narrow wooden door. The compartment inside was small, built from dark wood polished smooth by age. A carved screen separated it from the priest’s side. There was barely enough room for the padded bench, much less two people.
Eren stared into it.
“This is your idea of keeping me out of trouble?”
Armin stepped inside.
“No. This is my idea of somewhere private.”
That was difficult to argue with. Eren ducked into the booth after him. Armin closed the door and turned the lock.
The sounds from the church weakened to a distant murmur. Only a thin line of light entered beneath the door, leaving the compartment in warm shadow.
For a moment, they stood facing each other without speaking.
The space forced them close. The front of Armin’s robe brushed Eren’s legs. Eren could hear his breathing and the faint movement of fabric whenever he shifted.
“So,” Eren said. “Is this where I’m supposed to confess?”
Armin looked up at him.
“Do you have enough time?”
“Probably not.”
“I thought so.”
Armin placed one hand against Eren’s chest. He ran it slowly upward, over the front of his sweater and across his shoulder. The touch was light enough that Eren could have stepped away. He didn’t.
“You do this with everyone your grandfather introduces you to?” Eren asked.
“No.”
“Just the troublemakers?”
“Just you.”
Eren’s heartbeat struck harder beneath Armin’s palm. Armin noticed. His smile softened, losing some of its teasing edge.
“So you have noticed me before,” Eren said.
“You always sit in the same section.”
“My grandparents sit in the same section.”
“And you spend the entire service looking like you’re being held hostage.”
“I usually am.”
“You didn’t come last Easter.”
Eren stared at him.
“You noticed?”
“The service was less entertaining.”
That did it. Eren caught the front of Armin’s robe and pulled him closer. He dropped onto the narrow bench, and Armin climbed over his lap, knees settling on either side of his hips. White fabric and gold embroidery gathered awkwardly between them, filling what little space the confessional offered. For the first time that night, Armin looked slightly less composed. His glasses had slipped down his nose, and Eren pushed them back into place with one finger.
“You’re not what I expected.”
Armin’s mouth curved.
“What did you expect?”
“Something more innocent.”
“That sounds like your mistake.”
Armin kissed him. It began gently, almost cautiously, as though they both needed one final confirmation that this was real. Eren gave it to him, tightening his hand in Armin’s blond hair and deepening the kiss. A soft sound escaped Armin’s throat, warm against Eren’s mouth. The boy sang like an angel. Apparently, he moaned like one too. Armin’s hands slid over Eren’s shoulders as he shifted closer, his knees pressing tighter around Eren’s hips. The choir robe whispered around them as he moved against Eren’s lap, and Eren broke the kiss only long enough to drag in a breath.
Armin’s lips were flushed, and his carefully combed hair had already begun to come loose beneath Eren’s hand. Outside the booth, the church continued celebrating Christmas as though nothing remotely sinful was happening behind the old wooden door. Armin smiled down at him. The congregation believed Eren was the dangerous one. Eren was beginning to think Armin might truly be the devil.
Armin shifted against his lap. Eren thought it might have been an accident until he did it again, slower this time, a wicked little smile curling across his lips. Eren pulled him back in, the next kiss hungrier and needier than the first. Armin continued moving above him, grinding into his lap as though he had been waiting an eternity to do it. Eren brushed his tongue along Armin’s lower lip, asking permission, and Armin answered by parting his mouth. Eren slid his tongue inside, tasting him slowly while Armin’s arms wound around his neck and drew their bodies closer. A soft, breathy moan disappeared between their mouths.
Heat gathered low in Eren’s body with every roll of Armin’s hips, every deepening kiss, every painfully filthy sound slipping from the choir boy’s throat. Armin kept the rhythm achingly slow until Eren couldn’t stand it anymore. He wrapped both hands around Armin’s hips and pulled him down harder. Armin squeaked, his eyes widening behind his glasses as his face bloomed pink. Eren almost laughed, but the thought from earlier returned instead: what Armin might look like without the robe.
He broke the kiss and studied him. Armin’s blue eyes were half-lidded and startlingly bright even in the dim booth. His face was flushed, his lips swollen from kissing, blond hair falling messily across his forehead. Eren reached for the zipper of the robe and dragged it down slowly until it reached Armin’s hips. Armin worked one shoulder free, then the other, letting the heavy fabric collapse around his waist and expose his chest.
Eren’s mouth found his neck. He licked and sucked at the warm skin until a small moan escaped Armin, whose hand flew to his mouth in surprise as though he hadn’t expected the sound to be so loud. Eren continued downward, tracing the line of his throat to his collarbone and then his chest. He closed his mouth around one nipple while finding the other with his fingers, rolling it gently before pinching. Armin shuddered above him. Eren moved to the other side, teasing it with his tongue and catching it lightly between his teeth until another moan slipped out behind Armin’s hand.
Eren found that both amusing and deeply frustrating. On one hand, Armin was still trying to prevent the congregation from discovering exactly what their beloved choir boy was doing. On the other, Eren wanted to hear every sound he made. He caught Armin’s wrist and drew his hand away from his mouth.
“Don’t,” he whispered.
Armin stared down at him, breathing unevenly.
“Someone might hear.”
Eren tightened his hold around Armin’s waist.
“That’s the point.”
A visible shiver ran through him. His lips parted, but before he could answer, Eren returned to his neck, finding the sensitive place beneath Armin’s jaw and lingering there until Armin’s head tipped back against the wooden wall. The confessional gave a faint creak beneath their shifting weight. Armin bit down on his lower lip, determined to deny Eren the sound he wanted, so Eren pulled him closer until another breathless noise escaped before Armin could stop it.
“There,” Eren murmured against his skin. “You sing all night for everyone else, but suddenly you’re shy?”
Armin’s fingers tightened in his hair.
“Maybe I don’t want my grandfather to hear me.”
Distant voices drifted into the chapel, followed by footsteps approaching the confessional. Both of them froze. Armin pressed his forehead against Eren’s shoulder, his body shaking with silent laughter while Eren held him still. The footsteps passed close enough for the floorboards outside to creak, then slowly faded. Armin lifted his head, eyes bright behind his crooked glasses.
“Still think I’m innocent?”
Eren looked at the choir robe bunched around his hips, the marks beginning to darken along his neck, and the smug curve of his swollen lips.
“I think your grandfather needs better judgment.”
Armin smiled. “I’m very convincing.” His hand drifted down Eren’s chest until it reached his slacks. He curled one finger through a belt loop and tugged him closer. Eren glanced down at the hand.
“I’m starting to notice.”
Armin held Eren’s gaze as he hooked his fingers beneath the waistband and tugged lightly.
“Go ahead,” Eren whispered.
A coy smile curved across Armin’s mouth as he reached for the belt buckle. Eren kissed it away before he could finish, burying both hands in Armin’s hair. He tugged gently at the roots, drawing Armin’s head back far enough to expose his throat, then returned to the spot beneath his jaw that had already made him unravel once.
Armin let out a startled yelp when Eren caught the sensitive skin lightly between his teeth. He tried to regain his composure, but his fingers fumbled against the button of Eren’s pants. By the time he managed to free it and drag down the zipper, his breathing had turned uneven.
His hand slipped lower, pressing against Eren through the fabric of his boxers.
A quiet, breathless moan escaped Eren before he could stop it. Armin’s eyes widened. For one brief second, he looked genuinely surprised. Then his lips curled into an unbearably satisfied smile.
Eren panted, his hips lifting slightly into Armin’s hand. “What?”
“Oh, nothing,” Armin murmured, glancing down before meeting his eyes again. “It’s just that you’re… really big.”
Eren narrowed his eyes, trying to ignore how pleased Armin looked with himself. “You sound impressed.”
“I am.”
The blunt answer sent another rush of heat through him. Eren caught Armin by the back of the neck and pulled him into a kiss before that satisfied smile could grow any wider. Armin laughed softly against his mouth, the sound disappearing as Eren kissed him harder.
“You’re enjoying this way too much,” Eren muttered.
Armin’s lips brushed his again. “You’re the one making noises.”
Eren tightened his hand in Armin’s hair. “Keep talking and I’ll give you something louder to worry about.”
Armin’s eyes flashed behind his crooked glasses. “Is that a promise?”
Eren answered by kissing him again. Armin melted into it immediately, arms winding around his shoulders as the choir robe rustled between them. Their mouths moved together with less caution now, all the uncertainty burned away. Eren drew him closer until there was hardly any space left between them, and Armin’s breath hitched against his lips, hips bucking into Eren’s.
Outside the confessional, voices drifted through the chapel. Armin paused, listening, but Eren followed his mouth before he could pull away completely.
“Still worried someone might hear?” Eren whispered.
Armin’s smile returned, smaller and far more dangerous.
“Maybe I’m hoping they do.” He said as he removed the remaining fabric from Eren’s lower half, Eren lifted his hips slightly to help him.
Armin’s eyes flashed in excitement at the sight below him. With quiet obedience and something almost reverent in his movements, he sank down slowly to his knees on the wooden floor. His hands hovered on Eren’s hips first, asking for permission without words. Then when Eren didn’t stop him, he leaned forward, taking Eren’s length into his hand and kissing the tip once before his lips curled around the head.
He moved dangerously slow, jerking his fist up and down in even strokes as he bobbed his head up and down, never taking his eyes off Eren’s. Eren marveled at the sight, hips bucking slightly at the wetness and heat of Armin’s mouth, the softness of his lips as they wrapped tightly around the base, sinking lower and deeper with every bob of his head until Eren’s cock hit the back of his throat. Armin shuddered slightly as it did, clearly suppressing a gag as tears welled in the corners of his eyes.
Eren’s voice came out soft and breathy, a low moan filling the silence in the small room. Armin lifted his mouth off of Eren and spoke.
“Have something to confess?” A confident grin on his sore lips. Eren found the corner of his mouth lifting in delight.
“Forgive me, Father. I’m about to ruin your grandson’s reputation.” With that he grabbed a fistfull of Armin’s hair and pushed him back down until his mouth wrapped around him again. Armin moaned in delight and Eren’s hips bucked at the vibration. Armin gagged softly before continuing his work on Eren, making him a groaning mess above him like it was his own personal responsibility.
Eren kept his eyes on Armin, the way his head rose and fell in time with his fist, the way his lips curled around him. His hips bucked again, hard. Tears fell from Armin’s eyes, still looking up at Eren through his lashes. Then he nodded.
Eren stilled for half a second, searching Armin’s face. “You sure?”
Armin nodded again, more firmly this time, his fingers tightening around Eren’s thigh.
Something in Eren finally gave way. His grip tightened in Armin’s hair, his head falling back against the wooden wall as the careful rhythm of his hips broke apart. “You’re going to regret giving me permission,” he breathed, although Armin’s delighted expression suggested the exact opposite. Armin held his gaze as if daring him to lose control.
So Eren did. He rutted into Armin’s mouth, pulling his head down onto him as he swallowed him deeply. The gagging had subsided, replaced with Armin’s soft moans as he took all of Eren.
“What would the congregation think,” Eren whispered, breathless, “if they knew you were such a little slut?”
Armin pulled back just enough to smile.
“They’d blame you.”
Then he lowered his mouth again, and Eren decided they’d be wrong.
Eren’s breathing was still uneven when he caught Armin by the hair and guided him back. Armin drew away, lips flushed, eyes bright behind his crooked glasses. For a second they simply looked at each other in the dim booth, both of them listening to the distant voices beyond the wooden walls.
“Get up,” Eren said softly.
Armin’s expression sharpened with interest. He rose without looking away, gathering the fallen choir robe around his waist before turning toward the narrow bench. He climbed onto it carefully, knees sinking into the worn cushion, then planted both hands against the dark wooden wall for balance.. The cramped space forced Eren close behind him.
Armin glanced back over his shoulder, cheeks pink and mouth curved in that same wicked little smile. “Like this?”
Eren settled a hand at his waist, pausing there long enough to make the question clear.
Armin leaned back into the touch.
“Exactly like that,” Eren murmured, gathering the fabric of the robe and pushing it up.
Eren shoved the white robe higher and stopped.
In small, looping cursive, the words “Forgive Me” curved across his skin.
“Is that a tramp stamp?”
Armin glanced over his shoulder. “You sound judgmental.”
“You’re wearing choir robes.”
“They cover it.”
Eren’s hands settled at Armin’s waist, fingers brushing the looping “Forgive Me” across his lower back before leaning over him and finding the fastening of his pants. He worked it open slowly, watching Armin tense beneath his touch, then eased the fabric down until it gathered around his knees. Armin shifted on the narrow bench to help him, glancing back over his shoulder with flushed cheeks and a smile that suggested repentance was the last thing on his mind.
Eren brushed two fingers across Armin’s lips before guiding them into his mouth. Armin accepted them eagerly, lips closing around his knuckles as his tongue traced slowly over his skin. The heat and wetness of his mouth sent a sharp rush straight through Eren, tightening low in his stomach.
Eren withdrew his fingers slowly, watching Armin’s lips follow them for half a second before he guided them down to his ass. Eren spit, a long string of saliva falling down from his lips to Armin’s puckering hole. Armin accepted it without hesitation, as Eren inserted a digit, his finger curled just enough to make Armin’s breath catch. He sat like that, for a moment before he eased a second finger in. Armin opened for him eagerly, a low moan left his mouth as he trembled below Eren.
“That’s it. Such a good choir boy. And look how eagerly you fall apart for me.” Eren cooed in his ear. Armin shivered at the way his hot breath caressed his neck.
“Careful. Keep talking like that and I’ll start thinking you came here to worship me.”
“Maybe I did come to worship you,” Eren whispered, adding a third finger. “Now hold still and let me.”
Eren leaned closer, dragging his tongue slowly along the shell of Armin’s ear. Armin shivered against him, shoulders tightening beneath the white robe pooled around his waist. Eren let another long trail of spit fall onto his cock, he spread it around with his hands, lubing up as best he could.
“You want it?” Eren murmured.
Armin nodded at once, impatient and breathless.
Eren removed his fingers and tapped his hard length on Armin’s ass only because Armin clearly hated waiting.
Eren’s hand tightened at Armin’s waist, holding him still for one last moment. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”
Armin looked back at him over his shoulder, flushed and breathless. “Yes.”
“Armin-”
“Yes,” he repeated, more urgently this time. His fingers curled against the wooden wall. “I’m sure. Please, Eren. I’ve been waiting all night.”
The impatience in his voice sent heat straight through Eren.
“Please,” Armin said again, pushing back against him. “Stop making me beg.”
Eren leaned closer, his mouth brushing Armin’s ear. “I think you like begging.”
Armin shivered. “Maybe I do.”
“Tell me again what it is you want.” Eren cooed in his ear.
“I want it in me. Hurry up.” Armin pleaded in a hushed voice.
“I didn’t hear you.” Eren lied, circling the head of his cock along Armin’s entrance.
“Eren, please- just fuck me already,” Armin demanded, much louder than either of them could afford.
Eren bit back a laugh. “You’re very bossy for someone dressed like an angel.”
“Eren.”
“Fine. Since you asked so politely.”
He pressed in, and Armin’s impatience collapsed into a startled squeak. His hand flew over his mouth, eyes watering behind his crooked glasses as he went rigid against the wall. Armin felt as if he were about to be split in half by Eren’s hard length.
Eren immediately stilled. “Still with me?”
Armin nodded rapidly, taking a shaky breath before pushing back against him.
“You told me to hurry,” Eren whispered, kissing beneath his ear.
“I may have overestimated myself.”
Eren laughed softly against his neck. “The congregation would be devastated to learn their choir boy has terrible judgment.”
Armin looked back at him, flushed and indignant. “My judgment got you into a confessional, didn’t it?”
Eren tightened his grip around Armin’s waist. “Fair point.”
A quiet laugh escaped him as he began to move. Armin trembled beneath him, one hand clamped over his mouth while soft, broken moans slipped through his fingers anyway. Eren groaned through gritted teeth as he thought of the pastor’s grandson, choir boy, beloved by every grandmother in the building and apparently rotten to the center, getting fucked by him in such an indecent place. The thought sent lightning bolts through him.
“E-Eren. Faster please.” Armin’s voice came out soft. Ragged. And completely immodest.
Eren didn’t need to be told twice, he quickened his pace, the patience of a saint he once had wearing thin. Armin’s fingers spread against the wall, his head bowing between his shoulders as Eren pressed his forehead to the back of his neck. For a moment, the distant voices beyond the confessional seemed impossibly loud. A child laughed somewhere in the chapel. Someone called out a Christmas greeting. Neither of them moved until Armin reached back, caught Eren by the wrist, and pulled him closer.
After that, Eren’s restraint cracked and broke.
The old booth creaked beneath them as they found a rhythm, careful at first and then increasingly uneven. Armin kept trying to swallow his sounds, only for Eren to coax them out again with kisses pressed beneath his ear and teasing praise breathed into his skin. Every broken moan sounded sweeter than the hymns had, and Eren decided Armin’s voice had been thoroughly wasted on the congregation.
Armin glanced back at him, glasses slipping down his nose and blond hair clinging messily to his flushed face as Eren slammed into him deeply. Whatever innocence the choir robe had once suggested was long gone. Eren kissed him over his shoulder, and Armin met him hungrily, smiling into his mouth even as the confessional gave another incriminating groan. Armin moaned loudly through his fingers.
“That’s it,” Eren murmured against Armin’s ear. “Let me hear you.”
Armin shook his head, though another moan slipped through his fingers. “You’re going to get us caught.”
“You’re the one who dragged me in here.”
“And you followed.”
Eren smiled against the side of his neck. “You looked convincing in the robe.”
Armin glanced back at him, flushed and breathless. “Still think I’m a good influence?”
“The worst I’ve ever had.”
A soft laugh broke into another unsteady sound as Eren kissed beneath his ear. “Your grandmother is going to be so disappointed.”
“No,” Eren whispered, tightening his hold around Armin’s waist. “She’s going to be thrilled I finally made a friend.”
Armin nearly laughed aloud and had to bite down on his hand again. Eren caught his wrist and pulled it away.
“Don’t hide from me.”
“Then stop giving me reasons to be loud.”
Eren’s mouth curved against his skin. “I think you’d be loud no matter what I did.”
Armin looked over his shoulder, blue eyes bright behind his crooked glasses. “Prove it.”
Eren nearly laughed. Instead, he tightened his hold and buried his face against Armin’s shoulder as he rammed into him repeatedly. Every thrust giving way to incredible pleasure. Armin’s tight hole seemed to swallow him. The pressure between them built as Eren continued rutting into him, Armin’s face now pressed against the confession wall. Eren quickened his pace angling himself so he was hitting that oh so sensitive spot inside him.
Armin’s composure finally shattered with a soft, helpless sound, his hand finding Eren’s and gripping it tightly against the wall. He came hard, body shuddering, hips bucking wildly. Eren followed moments later, overwhelmed by warmth and the absurd conviction that God had finally come to save him. His pace slowed as he rode out his orgasm, cum dripping out of Armin, down his leg and onto the bench. Armin laughed softly against him, and Eren remembered God probably had nothing to do with this.
They stayed pressed together for several quiet seconds, listening for footsteps and trying to recover. Outside, the church carried on celebrating Christmas. Inside the booth, the pastor’s grandson glanced over his shoulder with a wrinkled choir robe, swollen lips, and the satisfied expression of someone who had gotten exactly what he wanted.
Eren was definitely going to hell.
At least he finally had company.
For several seconds, neither of them moved.
-
The confessional had gone quiet except for their uneven breathing and the faint noise of the reception carrying through the walls. Then Armin straightened as though a switch had been flipped inside him.
He stepped down from the bench, pulled his clothes back into place, and gathered the white choir robe from around his waist. Within moments, he had both arms through the sleeves and the zipper drawn all the way to his throat, neatly concealing every mark Eren had left beneath it. He smoothed the gold embroidery flat, pushed his glasses back into place, and ran his fingers through his hair until it fell almost exactly as it had before.
Eren stared at him while fastening his pants. “How did you do that?”
“Practice.”
Eren paused with his hands on his belt. “Should I be concerned?”
Armin only smiled and stepped closer. He straightened the hem of Eren’s sweater, flattened the collar, and brushed a piece of lint from his shoulder with absurd tenderness. Anyone watching would have assumed he was helping Eren make himself respectable for church.
His efforts ended when he reached Eren’s hair.
Armin tried smoothing it down once. Then twice. A stubborn section immediately sprang back up where Eren’s head had rubbed against the wooden wall. Armin pressed his lips together, struggling not to laugh.
“What?” Eren asked.
“Nothing.”
“You’re looking at me like something’s wrong.”
Armin made one final attempt, patting the wild strands into place. They rose again the second he removed his hand.
“I’m afraid some sins can’t be hidden beneath a choir robe.”
Eren caught his wrist before he could try again. “You did that.”
Armin’s smile turned unbearably sweet. “I have no idea what you mean.”
He looked perfectly composed. Eren looked as though he had lost a fight with the confessional.
Armin unlocked the door and glanced back at him. “Ready?”
“No.”
“Good. Your grandmother is probably looking for us.
Armin slipped out of the confessional first, pausing in the side chapel to listen. When no footsteps approached, he motioned for Eren to follow. They retraced their path through the dim corridor, Armin moving ahead with the calm confidence of someone returning from a perfectly respectable church errand. Eren followed more carefully, still tugging at the hem of his sweater and trying to ignore the uncomfortable warmth lingering in his face.
The noise of the reception grew louder as they neared the vestibule. Children laughed beyond the door. Cups clinked against saucers, and several conversations overlapped beneath the cheerful hum of Christmas music drifting from the fellowship hall. Armin stopped before opening the door and looked Eren over one final time.
“What?” Eren whispered.
Armin reached up and made another attempt at smoothing his hair. The worst section immediately sprang back into place.
“It’s hopeless.”
“You’re enjoying this.”
“A little.”
“You look exactly the same.”
Armin folded his hands over the front of his choir robe and gave him a radiant smile. “I’m very convincing.”
“So you keep saying.”
Armin opened the door.
They emerged from behind the coat rack and stepped into the vestibule together. Nobody appeared to notice them at first. Armin blended effortlessly into the room, white robe pristine, glasses straight, pale hair once again sitting neatly around his face. Eren felt significantly more conspicuous beside him, although he couldn’t tell whether anyone was actually staring or whether guilt had simply made him paranoid.
His grandmother spotted them from across the room.
Her eyes narrowed.
“There you are!”
Eren considered turning around and going back into the corridor. Armin caught his sleeve before he could make the attempt and guided him toward his grandparents with the gentle authority of someone escorting a troubled child.
Eren’s grandfather stood beside the Christmas tree holding two cups of cider. His grandmother hurried toward them, relief quickly giving way to suspicion as she looked Eren over.
“Where on earth have you two been?”
Armin folded his hands neatly over his choir robe. “I took him to confess his sins.”
“Oh, how lovely,” Eren’s grandmother said.
She reached up and immediately began smoothing Eren’s hair back into place. He endured it in silence while Armin watched with an expression of perfect innocence.
“See, Eren? I told you Armin would be a good influence.”
Eren looked at Armin.
Armin smiled sweetly.
“He had quite a lot to confess.”
Eren nearly choked. His grandfather handed him a cup of cider, and Eren accepted it with one hand while the other remained buried in his coat pocket, fingers curled around a small folded scrap of paper. Armin’s phone number had been written across it in neat, looping handwriting, along with a tiny smiling face that somehow looked just as smug as he did.
“I’m glad you finally took it seriously,” his grandfather said.
“You have no idea,” Eren muttered, rubbing his thumb over the paper through the folds.
Across from him, Armin adjusted his glasses and smiled sweetly, as though he hadn’t slipped the number into Eren’s hand moments before they left the confessional.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
His grandmother flattened his collar and stepped back to inspect him. “I don’t know how you manage to look disheveled after sitting quietly in a confessional.”
Beside her, Armin lowered his head and pretended to adjust his glasses.
Eren glared at him.
Armin’s shoulders trembled once.
Father Arlert approached before Eren could retaliate, greeting his grandson with a warm hand on his shoulder. “There you are. I was wondering where you disappeared to.”
“I was helping Eren,” Armin said.
Father Arlert turned toward him with obvious approval. “That was kind of you.”
“He was very thorough,” Eren said.
Armin’s eyes flicked toward him, a warning hidden beneath the angelic expression.
His grandmother beamed. “They seem to be getting along wonderfully.”
Father Arlert smiled at Armin. “I knew you would make him feel welcome.”
Armin looked directly at Eren. “I did my best.”
Eren took a long drink of cider before he said something that would get both of them excommunicated.
His grandmother fussed with his hair again, attempting to press the same stubborn section flat. It rose the moment she removed her hand.
“What happened to you?”
Eren stared at Armin over the rim of his cup.
Armin smiled so sweetly that it should have been framed in stained glass.
“Trouble found me,” Eren said.