Chapter Text
Armin parked his car, sitting in silence for a moment. It had been two days since he’d met Marco; since he’d met Jean.
“Don’t ever think… for a moment that a single memory of you has ever been tarnished by one of me.”
He gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles white. He couldn’t get himself steady long enough to think, not since they’d left that evening. His dreams had become more distinct than ever before, Jean’s face bright in the shadow of his days. How can I even begin to understand? The thought of losing someone so precious to you a second time?
---
Jean could count every fragile bone beneath his fingers, kiss each freckle against the sharp edges of his shoulders, taste the salt of his tears as he rested his tired head against his shoulder. A bath was a nightly ritual. The chance for them both to unwind as Jean’s hands stroked suds over paths of blue veins, a mapwork of fine lines beneath paper-thin flesh that rose and fell with each soft breath. He could feel his heartbeat beneath his hand as he washed around the mediport, kissing his cheek as his fingers passed near and earning a kiss to the lips as his hand curled into Jean’s.
“How are you feeling today?” His voice was deep against Marco’s ear, tickling his cochlea, as he dried him off with a warm towel.
“Mmm… tired,” Marco said at barely a whisper, letting Jean pull him into clean pants and button his shirt over his slender frame. “Soon I’m not going to be able to get out of bed.”
“Don’t say stuff like that,” Jean told him and braced his hands on his thin hips to rub his thumbs over the hard edges of bone. “I love you, Marco.”
“I love you, too,” how that smile made his heart melt. Marco tucked his face into his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around his husband. “Will you invite someone over for me?”
“I’d do anything for you,” Jean answered as he pressed soft kisses against his temple.
“I want Armin to come back.”
Jean’s blood ran cold and Marco could almost feel it. His husband was terrified of Armin and everything he represented. He clutched his fingers into the fabric of Jean’s shirt and closed his eyes.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Marco.”
“You said you’d do anything for me.”
“Marco please don’t make me do this. I don’t want anyone else but you,” Jean protested.
“Then why were you saying his name last night?” Marco asked as his husband tensed. “I hear you in your dreams. How happy you were with him, how happy you can still be.”
“Marco please don’t talk like this…”
“You have to be realistic and I… I want to be friends with him again.”
“You’re a crazy person.”
“I’m crazy for you, Jean~” Marco said playfully and Jean laughed. His laughter was so scarce these days.
---
Armin laughed as Marco flirted with Jean shamelessly just to see him blush, their hands linked on the table. "This has been wonderful I never get to go out..." The cannula drew lines in his smile as others in the restaurant looked haphazardly over at their table.
"You're never well enough, I shouldn't have let you out this time," Jean chided. He could see Marco tiring, feel the strain of being alive on his body, but he was alive and that was what mattered.
Armin watched Jean closely, the way his body countered every movement from his husband and the adoration in his eyes when he looked at him... How could he ever compare? What did Marco think was going to happen when he died? I'm somebody he has no history with. We didn't train together. We're not commander and tactician. What does he want?
Marco could see Armin's hesitance, glancing to watch Jean search the blonde's face and learn the worry lines, the gentle purse of his lips, the way his bangs fell over his forehead with each absent pass of his fingers. Please fall in love with him again, Jean.
"Hey... Let us know that you got back alright it's a long drive," Jean had put Marco in the car already, grabbing the door as Armin climbed into his driver's seat.
"Yeah I will..." Armin nodded as he looked up. Jean was struck by his eyes. He always was, honestly, the way they shifted from cerulean to grey blue to navy and all the colors in between. He could remember them together, had seen it in his dreams, but he questioned it. He'd had Marco this time. He didn't need this boy.
"Good. Be careful," Marco was watching them fall in love. And it was horribly beautiful.
The slamming of Armin's car door was a note of finality.
---
The next time they were all together Armin was sitting next to Jean in the theatre. He whispered to Marco softly whenever there was a lull in the movie until his eyes began to droop closed: it had been a long drive and he'd been spending most of his time with them these days.
"Did he go to sleep?" Marco whispered and Jean glanced over before nodding. "Good he's been so tired driving out here all the time."
Jean felt a fondness in his chest as he watched him sleep; remembering the times he'd found him sound asleep in his harness over tactics notes and excursion diagrams. "Maybe if you weren't such a slave driver," Jean looked back at Marco to find a sweet smile on his thin face. He liked that look on him, the playful glint in his eyes. "What?"
"Nothing... I'm just happy you're happy."
"I'm happy with you," he caught his hand on the side of his face and kissed him.
---
“I guess all this is Marco’s idea of a sick joke, huh?” Jean asked one night while Armin was cooking in their kitchen. His blonde hair was half pulled back, a baggy soft blue sweater pulled over jeans with its sleeves rolled up around his elbows. It was comfortable when he didn’t have anywhere to be. Though at times he wished he was anywhere but here.
“I don’t think so,” Armin smiled softly. He had known them a week, and in that week Marco’s health had deteriorated so dramatically Armin felt as if he’d been holding out just to see if Jean would find someone. To see if Armin would show.
“Have you heard all that stuff he’s said?” Jean asked. “About us?”
“Someone had to have told him,” Armin looked up at him and Jean looked away. “So you remember everything?”
“Ah… to a point…” He folded his arms over his chest. “Can I tell you something?” He murmured and Armin glanced up curiously.
“What is it, Jean?" It wasn't often Armin saw his head down. He'd seen him this way only a few times before; once after a particularly bad slaughtering of recruits.
“I almost… don’t want to go back in there,” He whispered, broad shoulders trembling under the effort. Armin’s eyes burned.
He didn’t know what to say, what was he supposed to say to him? The love of his life was dying. Again. And, again, Armin could do absolutely nothing but watch him fall apart. He wasn’t sure when he’d wrapped him up in his arms, when their lips had met, when his tears had dropped onto his face… when his fingers had tangled into his undercut… when the warmth of his arms had surrounded him.
Marco’s face was fond, watching from the other room. He could just barely see their embrace around the corner of the doorframe. It didn’t hurt as much as he thought it would. Knowing Jean would be okay in the end, knowing he wasn't leaving him alone, knowing there was happiness for him... He could be okay with that.
"Stop... Stop... This..." Armin pressed his hands to his chest, looking up into golden eyes that sent him into déjà vu in the worst and best of ways. "We can't do this..."
Jean felt his stomach turn, guilt hitting him like a gunshot, and he fled the room to leave Armin staring at the space he'd left... Covering his face with his hands to hide the tears that slid down his flushed face.
I can't come back here again. He looked up to find Marco's soft brown eyes watching him, kind and understanding. This is too much weight for me to bear.
---
Marco slept in a hospital bed now, frail and failing as Jean cared for him tirelessly. Armin sat quietly in the bedroom, he'd spent time with Marco that day; talking about homework and school and Eren's crazy adventures until Jean had realize that Marco hadn't eaten. "Jean... Jean sit down." Marco murmured as he caught his hands. "I'm fine I don't need anything."
"You need to eat, Marco."
"I don't feel hungry you know this medicine makes me sick."
"You need to eat something... I'll make you something..." Jean's hands shook.
Armin felt suspended. This weird out of body experience of being inside a moment but ultimately a smear on the glass of time. He could hear everything that was said, see it happening, smell each drip of the IV, and taste every desperate word. It was all so disconnected.
"Stop," he said finally and the others fell quiet. "Please just stop."
"I'm going to die soon, aren't I?" Marco's voice was a whisper, shattering the room. Pin pricks of pain, like points of glass against Armin's skin, echoed the ache in his heart.
Jean dropped to the bed, knees taken from him as he buried his face in his hands. He didn't have the strength. Not now.
"I don't... want to die," Marco's soft brown eyes found Armin's...pleading.
Armin couldn't stand this. Watching someone waste away, watching Jean waste away with him. All he wanted to do was run and never return to this house where everything was pain and ache and desperation. But instead he rose to his feet and sat on the hospital bed, cradling Marco in his arms and letting his fragile form shiver against the warmth of his body.
"I don't want to die," Marco's choked whisper was harsh and hot on Armin's neck. "Please..."
Armin didn't cry, cradling his hand on the back of his neck and letting his fingers curl against the smooth skin of his scalp beneath the knitted hat. He had to be strong.
Who else would be strong in this world if not him?
He was their shelter in the storm, for both of them.
The person in whose arms they could rest; if only for a moment.
He understood now.