Beloved (BxB)

Chapter 2

Armin pretty much collapses into a sobbing mess, hands pressing against his face as he cries and cries, spouting apologies and jumbled explanations. Eren kneels down and embraces him, pulling as close as he could possibly get, he feels shivers run through Armin’s body as his hands grasp Eren’s pyjama top. He rests against Eren’s shoulder, crying, and Eren can feel his t-shirt begin to soak, warm and wet against his skin.

“I’m so sorry,” Armin mumbles, shaking violently when Eren’s hold becomes tighter, his words become softer, as if the impossibility of Armin breaking into a million pieces could become the inevitable. “I’m so sorry.”

They stay like that, in Armin’s doorway, holding onto one another silently, Eren shushing Armin whenever he would apologise, for a good couple of hours before realising they should probably retreat inside and actually talk about the issues dealt out to them.

Armin sits at the dining table whilst Eren makes a cup of tea for the both of them, having placed his alarm clock beside Armin.

The blond runs his fingers along his initials etched on the bottom of the clock, before tracing the numbers flickering at him. A couple of seconds pass by and Armin throws the clock across the room. Sure, he knows he’s not going to live much longer but to see his mortality actually tick by was just too harrowing. Eren’s eyes follow the clock as he brings the tea over and places the blue mug beside Armin. He then turns his attention the blond, watching his finger’s curl around the cup, seeking refuge in the warmth. It smells like home, Armin mutters. It smells like waking up every Sunday morning with Eren.

Armin crumbles into tears again, knowing that the amount of Sundays with Eren he had left were now a small handful.

“I don’t know what to say,” Eren starts. Maybe he should confess? Or… Would that make it worse?

“Maybe I should start,” Armin replies, wiping away his tears with the back of his hand. He recounts the diagnosis with leukaemia when he was seven years old and how he had beaten it initially. Eren holds his hand gently, thumb circling over soft skin. “I was pretty much frail from the moment I was born and my grandfather was certain it meant a death sentence, but somehow I pulled through. Somehow, I overcame. And well, a few years ago I began to feel ill again and I went to go the doctors… and he diagnosed me. I went through it all over again but it wasn’t working.” Armin bows his head, willing himself not to cry for a third time. “He called me last month and told me I didn’t have much longer left, three months at most.”

Eren’s grip on Armin’s hand tightens and the blond returns it completely. They’re watching each other now, the frailty of the moment so easy to break.

“I’m sorry… I’m about to make this so much harder,” Armin then says and Eren feels nervous, he’s sure he’s gonna puke if Armin opens his mouth again. “I… I’m in love with you, Eren.”

It’s Eren’s turn to break down into tears and he releases Armin’s hand. He runs out of the dining room and Armin scratches at a burn mark on his table anxiously. Had he said the wrong thing? Was Eren even going to come back?

He sits there for a few minutes, sipping his tea nervously, his heart racing uncomfortably in his chest and he thinks he might be physically sick because what if he’s just ruined the best thing that ever happened to him?

Eren returns a few moments later and stares at Armin from the doorway. “You’re serious?”

“What?”