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Armin cried on Eren’s wedding day, but not because he was happy, or thought that the ceremony was beautiful.
Armin stood next to his best friend of fifteen years, suit feeling too hot and too itchy on him, the sunlight beaming in from the church windows nearly blinding him. “Do you, Eren Jaeger, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to live together in matrimony, to love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health, in sorrow and in joy, to have and to hold from this day forward, so long as you both shall live?”
Armin thought of good memories, of laying out at the beach with Mikasa, of dancing in the clubs on eighty-ninth street with Jean, of going on lunchtime drives with Eren. Of kissing in the backseat and then smiling like it didn’t matter that they could get arrested for doing that in public with his convertible’s top down. He tried to pad the stab that would be Eren’s answer.
“I do,” Eren replied, his voice sounding content, happy. The memories did nothing to make him feel better. Absolutely nothing.
“And do you, Historia Reiss, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to live together in matrimony, to love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health, in sorrow and in joy, to have and to hold from this day forward, so long as you both shall live?”
Historia’s answer was instant. “I do.”
The worst part was that Eren didn’t even have a reason. He and Historia had been dating since sophomore year of high school, and the two had always been the ‘it’ couple. Eren, the quarterback of the football team and easily one of the most popular students there, and Historia, captain of the cheer squad and one of the kindest, feistiest people Armin had ever met. She was perfect in literally every way. She was short and blonde, with pretty blue eyes and curved in all the right places, smart, nice, sociable, wanted. A girl.
Historia was so fucking perfect that it ached, and Eren still wasn’t satisfied with her. He wanted more. Wanted to ‘try something new.’ Something new, as it turned out, was homosexuality. Eren said that he’d been having…thoughts. About Armin. Since about freshman year of high school. He was confused, and couldn’t hold it back anymore, and asked Armin to help him figure things out, just for a little while. If he really was gay, he’d break up with Historia and it’d be fine.
And Armin wasn’t going to deny someone the chance to know what kind of person they truly loved. Besides, if Eren really was gay, it wasn’t fair to Historia to keep her trapped in a relationship that would never have a true sexual connection. It also didn’t hurt that Armin thought that Eren was quite literally the hottest person he had ever met.
Okay, so maybe this was a little bit Armin’s fault too, because when you’re four and a half years into an affair and the person says, “Don’t worry baby, I’ll leave her. I’ll end things by the weekend. Maybe we can take a trip somewhere, yeah? What about Colorado, with the mountains and the snow? It’ll be so cozy down there. It’ll all be okay. You know I love you, right? You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” They don’t mean a damn word of it, because next weekend rolls around and she’s still on his arm, he’s still canceling plans with her to meet up with you in secret, and you’re still waiting by the phone for him to inevitably call.
Historia knows. She’s got to know. They look so much alike, and Eren’s almost always touching Armin in some way when they’re together. Honestly, it’s a surprise that Eren’s fingers aren’t gently running along the seam of Armin’s sleeve in the middle of the pastor’s officiating.
The guilt will eat him alive if she doesn’t know.
But Historia’s been out of town quite a bit leading up to the ceremony, and that was saying something, because she was already pretty absent before. It wasn’t like it was hard sneaking around her, either; Historia was super-duper religious and refused to live with Eren until after they were married.
Colorado is such a beautiful place, and Armin hasn’t gone since his parents died in that car crash when he was twelve. But he was gonna go with Eren. They had it all planned out and everything; they’d called in their time off, gotten a cabin they could stay in, figured out whose car they were gonna take, had the path laid out on their maps. They went over what Eren was going to tell Historia.
But then Eren planned his wedding ceremony the night before they were set to leave, and now the Colorado trip was for Eren and Historia’s honeymoon. He remembers the way he was calling Jean, a finger twisted around the phone cord as he happily told him about something funny that happened at work that day, when the phone rang again to signal that someone else was calling. He’d hung up on Jean with a promise of a callback, and then answered.
“Hey, Armin, it’s Eren.”
“Eren? I wasn’t expecting to hear from you. Aren’t you at dinner with Historia?”
“Yeah, so I gotta make this quick.”
Armin now hates the hope that sprang in his chest when he said that was calling him while on a date. Like Armin was important enough for that. Like maybe he was calling to tell him that things were truly over between him and Historia, once and for all. “Okay.”
“Listen…Armin. You know I love you, right? More than anyone I’ve ever met.” Eren prefaced. Armin felt a lump sharply lodging itself in his throat. Was Eren actually ending things with him instead?
‘You know I love you, right?’ was Eren’s favorite phrase. It still is. Armin knows that it’s supposed to be a reassurance, a synonym for ‘and this too shall pass’. But to him, it just means that Eren’s about to rip his heart out and sink his teeth into the metallic, meaty flesh right in front of him, staring into his eyes as he wilts Armin down to his core. And the shitty thing is, Armin lets him do it. He’ll let him do it every time. It’s like letting a dog keep fucking shit up because they’re just too cute to discipline. Well, Eren’s Armin’s shitty fucking dog who keeps shittily fucking things up.
Armin pinched the bridge of his nose, and if his voice was a little strained and broken, Eren didn’t care. “Yeah, I do. I love you, too.”
“Good. Baby, I’m so sorry, but I think we have to cancel the trip. It’s the day before the wedding.” Eren didn’t sound sorry. He sounded scared.
Armin sucked in a breath, trying to ignore the fresh sting of tears that assaulted his eyes. “Yeah, okay.”
“I’m really sorry.”
“It’s fine. I know.”
“I’ll make it up to you, okay?”
“Sure thing.”
“I promise.”
“Sure thing.”
“Can you say something other than ‘sure thing’? You only say that when you’re upset.” That’s a downside to being best friends for so long. Eren knows all of Armin’s quirks, all of his habits.
‘Maybe because I am fucking upset,’ he wants to shout, but he doesn’t. He could never shout at Eren. Instead, he just pulls the receiver away from his face and sighs, then brings it back to him. “Okay. Sorry. I know you will.”
“That’s what I like to hear. I love you. I’ll call you later?” He asked, like he didn’t just beat Armin with a crowbar and asked him to smile.
“Sure thing.” He doesn’t know why he said it after Eren had already told him not to. He wants him to stay on the phone. To cancel the wedding, to break up with Historia and set everyone free. Maybe it was a plea for that.
“Talking to Mikasa, honey! Yeah, she called about Ma earlier and’s giving me updates. I’m done, though. Say, whaddya think abou—” But then there’s a click, and Eren’s hung up. Armin went to his room and cried himself to sleep. He didn’t call Jean back.
Armin can’t help but feel that ugly, spiteful twist of jealousy’s knife in his chest.
That was supposed to be me, He thinks bitterly as Historia and Eren lean in and kiss, officially a married—
Ugh. Armin can’t even think it.
The thing is, Eren’s gay! He’s so painfully gay that he kind of just wants to walk over to Historia, take her by her small, slender shoulders, and shake them so violently that her neck hurts. Your husband is a homo! He would scream. He likes sticking his dick in places that aren’t vagainas! He thinks your boobs are weird, he told me so after he sucked me off!
But that’d be cruel of him, because the two of them look so happy, swathed in pretty, kaleidoscopic light from the stained-glass windows, Historia’s arms thrown over Eren’s shoulders as the two hug. A few of the white petals from her bouquet stick in Eren’s long brown hair. He wants to pretend like he’s going to take them out, but then tangle his fingers in the thick locks and pull until tears spring into Eren’s pretty green eyes. I hate you. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you. You’re tearing me apart.
He starts crying then. He can feel the salty, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. He smiles broadly to cover it up. Weddings are happy. He should be happy for them!
It’s only one or two tears, but when the newlywed couple goes to walk back down the aisle and out to the car that’ll take them to the reception, Eren casts a glance over his shoulder to look at Armin.
He can tell by the way Eren’s face slips into a heartbroken, apologetic look that he’s not doing a good job of masking his pain very well.
At the reception, Armin has to sit at a small, circular table with a long-legged, brutish version of a woman, with a choppy, mid-neck length haircut. She has tan skin and freckles, arms crossed as she stares intently at Historia and Eren dancing to “Here, There, and Everywhere” by the Beatles. Armin watches her with interest before quickly downing the rest of his champagne.
He knows the look in her deep brown eyes. He knows what she’s thinking. It’s what he’s thinking right now.
“I’m Armin,” He tells her. He wants to share his pain with someone. “Sorry. I just realized our best friends’re married and we don’t even know each other.”
The woman lets her steely-eyed gaze give him a once-over. “Ymir. And I don’t think we’re supposed to, pipsqueak.”
Armin lets the nickname go. “What do you mean?” He asks, slouching in his chair, crossing his arms, too. Ymir rolls her eyes and drinks some of her champagne.
“What are you to Eren?” She challenges.
“His best friend.” Is the easy reply, because he’ll never be anything more. Not even a boyfriend.
“Hm. I should’ve asked what’s Eren to you,” She retries. At that, Armin falters. He opens his mouth, but then finds that nothing comes out. He closes it. Opens it again. Ymir takes pity on him, laying a short-nailed hand on his shoulder. “Me too. But with Historia.”
I knew it. Of course she knew. She’s just in the same boat as them. Armin rolls his head on his neck to make eye contact with her. “...How long?” He asks, barely above a whisper.
She turns so her head is resting on her shoulder, as well. “Since freshman year of college. She was my roommate.”
“Damn. He asked me junior year.”
It was so easy, talking about it in public now. Nothing was hushed. Nothing was stiff. They were the same, Ymir and him. So close to the ones they loved, but so, so far apart. Like they had to kiss over barbed wire.
Ymir chuckles. “I know. She was over the moon. Said that it proved her impulses were ‘normal.’”
Armin squeezes his eyes shut. “Then why…why marry him?” His voice is a plea. A wish. Like a child.
Ymir shrugs. “I don’t know, either. I’ve asked. She said it’s not simple.”
“It’s the simplest fucking thing in the world,” Armin hisses out, those tears starting to ache behind his eyes as he watches them twirl about. It’s all a facade. A very expensive, very time consuming, very heartbreaking facade. “They’re just…just lying to themselves. To help them feel better about being like us.”
“I know.” Ymir comforts, her tone soft and low. “Believe me, I know.”
“I just. I feel so stupid.” Armin breathes out.
“You’re not the only one.” Ymir huffs, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. “It’s worse with this fucking dress on.” She pulls at the silky pink cowl-line dress and groans.
“I started crying at the altar. Embarrassing.” He chuckles at himself despite the deep, unsettling emptiness he feels in his gut.
“I think you’re the only one for that, though,” Ymir laughs, low and emotionless. This whole night fucking sucks. But Eren and Historia are having the times of their lives, hopping around the dance floor like they haven’t been fucking their best man and maid of honor, respectfully, for nearly six whole fucking years.
Eren and Historia sway into the center of the dance floor again. Historia leans in and whispers something in his ear. Eren laughs, full bodied and meaningful. Armin can vaguely tell that he’s crying way more than he was at the actual church. It’s real now. They have wedding rings. They’re going on a honeymoon that was supposed to be Armin’s. They’re going to have blonde and brunette headed little kids with green and blue eyes who’ll probably call him Uncle Armin, and they’ll have no clue why he gets so sad when he holds them, because they’ll look just like if he and Eren could have kids.
If things were different.
Eren whispers something bad to Historia, and she laughs, too. But when Eren comes back up, his eyes lock onto Armin’s, and that wall of fake happiness cracks just a little at seeing the so-fucking-called love of his life slouched and silently sobbing, empty champagne glass white-knuckled in his fist.
He looks so much like a kicked puppy that Armin can’t stand it.
I’m not the one ruining us, you are. I told you to leave her. I gave you an out. Fuck you. I hate you. Go rot in your fake ass life with your wife who’s also living her own fake ass life and have all the little fake ass kids that should’ve been ours. Fuck you.
It seems that Ymir feels the same way, because she tilts her head back to drain all of her champagne before wiping her mouth off with the back of her hand. “Wanna get out of here? I have weed.”
Armin’s not a smoker. He’s only done it about four times, and all of them were while he was in college. But fuck it. Absolutely fuck it tonight. “Thought you’d never ask.”
They end up going back to Armin’s apartment, and Ymir immediately takes off her high heels and asks if Armin has anything she can change into. “Eren leaves his clothes here sometimes. They’re in the bottom drawer to the left.”
“Ew, I have to wear his clothes?” She grumbles under her breath, but Armin lets it go. Eren’s not exactly his favorite person right now.
She comes back out of Armin’s bedroom, a baggie of something green in her hand. “You ready, man?”
“I don’t think I was ready for any of today.” He answers truthfully.
“Shit, I’ll smoke to that,” Ymir raises the bag in a little cheers! motion, and then plops down on the floor. “You wanna go change beforehand, or are you just gonna blaze it in a suit and tie?”
Armin doesn’t answer her, but goes to change into pajamas anyway. A purple shirt from an aquarium date he and Eren went on and some shorts that he said made his butt look ‘criminally good.’ I hate this. I’m gonna burn these. I’ll light them on fire with the joint after we’re done.
He walks back out and ungracefully sits down beside Ymir, and one rolling paper and a handful of minutes later, he’s stoned.
Armin doesn’t actually burn any of his clothing, but he does take Ymir by the wrist and drag her to his bed, where they both lay for a while, just talking and staring at the ceiling. Armin put on Can’t Buy A Thrill by Steely Dan, the vinyl lightweight and easily breakable under his fingertips. He could just…snap it. Break it into halves and then fourths and then whatever his heart desired. Flush the twenty bucks and the maintenance he spent on it down the drain. Is this what Eren feels like every time he says, ‘You know I love you, right?’
Armin’s beside Ymir now, the music quiet enough to not be over them while they talk, but also loud enough to fill any silences that they have. It seems they’re both the sad, introspective kind of high people. It’s the reason why Eren stopped smoking with Armin. “The sex is great, but you’re always so…sad. Like the only way I can pull you out of it is letting you bounce on me.”
“You’re disgusting,” Armin had scoffed.
“What do we even, like, do now?” Armin asks in a hushed, slightly frightened tone. He’s never had to go without Eren before. He’s there, always, in nearly every one of his memories. And now he’s married.
“Still them, I guess,” Ymir yawns, stretching out her arms, reaching them up towards his ceiling fan.
A quiet spell lulls between them before Armin knits his fingers together over his stomach and sighs. “I don’t even think I want to be with him anymore.”
Ymir sighs. “I’d leave Historia if I thought it would change anything. But without her, I’m just another lonely dyke wandering bars, looking for someone to replace her.” She turns her head to look at Armin, eyelids low and dejected. “I’m in love with her. I’m never gonna love someone like I love her. It doesn’t matter if she’s off doing whatever it is with your Eren guy, I…I want her in any way I can have her.”
“That’s really profound, Ymir. And sad.”
“Lesbianism tends to do that. Virginia Woofle, Sappho, Emily Dickenson. Pussy makes the heart grow fonder.”
“Huh. I guess you’re right.” He sucks on his teeth.
“Historia said that maybe we could get hitched,” Ymir mumbles, and then cackles so loudly that Armin almost crawls out of his skin. “I laughed in her face.”
“Yeah. No offense, but I don’t need someone to help me hide.”
“That’s what I told her.”
“I was supposed to go to Colorado with Eren,” Armin blurts. “And I hate Historia because she’s so perfect, and so she gets to go, instead. She doesn’t even…she doesn’t even love him,” His voice breaks at the end, and he can’t stop the awful, cracking and stabbing pain that’s in his chest, in his gut.
“You think I’m not pissed, either? Historia and I were supposed to go to Florida and see the beaches there, go have fun on cruise ships and eat real seafood. But it cut into the end of her honeymoon, so now I wasted a shitton of money for nothing.”
“You like the beach?”
“Hell yeah. Who doesn’t like the beach?”
“I dunno. I love it. Y’know, we could go, if you want. I already took time off for Colorado and I can’t get it back.”
Armin smiles at the way Ymir’s face lights up at that, like how he imagines New York City does in the night. “Really? You’d want to?”
“Sure. It’ll be super fun! I mean, I’m not the petite sexy blonde you wanted, but then again, I never am. Not for anyone.”
“Nah. You’re the petite sexy blonde I want now. In a non-sexual way, though.”
“That’s fine. You’re not exactly my type, either.” For some reason, that line is incredibly hilarious to both of them, and they start laughing so hard that the bed shakes. Armin feels lighter. Like maybe the wedding isn’t real. Like maybe he’ll be okay.
But of course, God hates him and loathes his happiness, and the telephone rings. Who could be calling this late? It must’ve been twelve, maybe even one o’clock by now. “Ugh,” He groans, and then rolls over, twisting around in the sheets until his feet make contact with the itchy shag carpet of his bedroom.
He walks into the living room and sits down on the couch, picking up the phone’s receiver from where it sits on the side table next to the lamp that he’d forgotten to turn off.
“Hello?” He asks.
“Hey, Armin. It’s Eren.” A familiar, stomach-curdling voice greets him.
“Eren?” Armin repeats. Eren hums in agreement. “Why the hell are you calling me so late?”
“Because I wanted to talk to you, and you left before the reception was over. Why’d you leave?” If Armin let himself believe for just a moment that Eren held any other emotion towards him today except for ‘my straight best friend’, he might’ve also let himself believe that Eren sounded sad. Like he misses him.
“Why the fuck did you think I left?”
“...Are you drunk? You're slurring your words.”
“No. A little. Shut the fuck up.” He wasn’t going to tell him that he was high. Why would he even care?
“Armin, why’re you—”
“Why the hell are you calling me at all, Eren? You have a wife waiting for you now.” Armin says forcefully, each word more painful to spit out than the last. Armin hopes Eren feels his pain.
“Because I wanted to talk! You just looked so sad earlier, and you were crying and stuff. I wanted to check up on you.”
“I’m fine. I left because it was fucking boring, okay? If I wanted to see straight people get married for three fucking hours, I would’ve sat down and gone through my parent’s photo album with them.” He rolls his eyes. So done with the bullshit.
“Historia said that her maid of honor left, too.” The hint of an accusation isn’t lost on Armin.
“Oh, what, you’re gonna get jealous over someone now? You’re gonna get jealous over someone I met and took home at your fucking wedding?! Are you shitting me, Eren? Please put two and two together and get your head out of your ass. At least I’m not a fucking pussy enough to hide behind her as an excuse to be straight. I know I like men. I’ve always liked men, and I’ll say it to anyone who asks, I don’t give a fuck. They could bust my ass on the curb and I wouldn’t give a fuck, okay?!”
The line is silent on the other end. Armin almost believes that Eren’s hung up, and is about to slam the receiver down on the phone and cry into Ymir’s arms when Eren’s tiny, unsure voice draws him back.
“Do you still love me?” He asks like he’s afraid of the answer.
Armin just sighs and rubs a hand over his eyes. “...Eren, I—”
“Do you still love me, Armin? Because you know I love you. You know I love you, right? You have to know. I love you so much, Armin, please, you have to know.”
‘You know I love you, right?’
“It’s different now.”
“How is it any different? You’re still my everything. I still love you more than anyone.”
“No, you don’t.” Armin dismisses him with a laugh. “You love yourself more than anyone. If you really loved me, you would’ve broken up with her like I asked you to four years ago.”
“It’s not…I can’t just do that, Armin,” Eren tries to explain, and Armin can tell he’s close to crying.
Good.
“You could’ve, though. You really could’ve. And it’s not like I never told you that’s what I wanted. You promised me that you would, and you never did. So fuck you for that, you assholic son of a bitch. Could’ve saved my fucking time.” God, where’s another joint when you need it?
“You don’t mean that. You love me.” Eren’s actually crying now. Armin can hear it in the faint hitches of his breath. “Please tell me that you love me, Armin. Please.”
“No.” The answer is simple, final. He’s mildly surprised that he went through with it.
“But I love you, and you know I do,” Eren’s practically heaving with breath, but Armin could not care less.
“Have fun in Colorado, Eren. Give Historia a kiss from me.” He says as flatly as he can.
“Stop, Armin, can’t we talk? I love you, I love us, I want us to work—”
“Don’t call me anymore. I don’t want to see you ever again. Don’t send me any of the wedding photos. I’ll give Ymir your shit to give to Historia.”
“Armin, wait, I don’t know what I’ll do without you, please—”
“You’ll be fine. You always are, no matter who you hurt.” This is the last thing Armin ever says to Eren, and he hangs up the phone with a gentle click as Eren yells at him to just stop, to just listen.
Armin’s done listening.
With heavy feet, he walks back into his bedroom. Ymir’s snoring softly. He climbs in next to her, making sure she has enough covers to stay comfortable, and then rolls over to fall asleep himself. God, he’s exhausted. Today’s been…well. He just ended things with the only man he’s ever loved after watching him get married, so it wasn’t exactly amazing.
As he drifts into unconsciousness, Donald Fagan’s voice carefully settles him into sleep.
"Times are hard
You're afraid to pay the fee
So you find yourself somebody
Who can do the job for free
When you need a bit of lovin'
'Cause your man is out of town
That's the time you get me runnin'
And you know I'll be around
I'm a fool to do your dirty work
Oh yeah
I don't wanna do your dirty work
No more
I'm a fool to do your dirty work
Oh yeah
Light the candle
Put the lock upon the door
You have sent the maid home early
Like a thousand times before
Like the castle in its corner
In a medieval game
I foresee terrible trouble
And I stay here just the same
I'm a fool to do your dirty work
Oh yeah
I don't wanna do your dirty work
No more
I'm a fool to do your dirty work
Oh yeah
I'm a fool to do your dirty work
Oh yeah
I don't wanna do your dirty work
No more
I'm a fool to do your dirty work
Oh yeah
I don't wanna do your dirty work
No more
I'm a fool to do your dirty work
Oh yeah..."