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ringsofsaturnnnn · 1 year ago

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this is genuinely so cute and so good. let’s ignore how it got me to ugly cry 🥹

Ocean Eyes

» Armin Arlert/AFAB Reader. Modern era.

» Content warnings: None. Lots of fluff, more fluff, and topped with some kisses.

» Summary: At the age of 5, you meet a blonde boy who doesn't speak the same language as you. When you take him to see the ocean, you become instant friends, despite the language barrier.

At the age of 22, you happen to run into the man who you've been thinking about all those years. You return to your spot by the sea, and you fall hopelessly in love with one another.

» Word count: 6.5k

» Read on AO3, or below the cut.

Author's Note: Okay, honesty hour: this is inspired by the Camping episode of Bluey. If you have about 7 minutes and a desire to cry, watch that episode. It hits me beautifully in the feels. If you can spot the quote I snuck in here, then please message me so we can cry together lol Anyway, here's a childhood friends-to-lovers remix. The numbers you'll see in the headers is your (reader's) age. If y'all have corrections on the German, please feel free to let me know! I tried to mostly be simple with the German simply because I don't know the language fluently. I couldn't help myself though - foreign language Armin? *swoon* Have 6k of fluff! ♡＼(￣▽￣)／♡

Ocean Eyes

You come to your grandparent’s home every summer. Your mother - a schoolteacher - will get the summer off, and she would help your grandparents in those months, giving you free reign to do you wished. You would sit on the old sofa while your Grandma read to you, you would play in the front yard while your Grandpa watched from a rocking chair on the patio, and then there was your favorite pastime: running down to the shore.

The house was about a mile away, and your mother didn’t mind you going on your own as long as you were back by dinnertime, so you took every chance you could to play in the sand or walk to put your feet in the water.

Like today.

You’re heading toward the shore - about a mile away, and you’re halfway there - when you come across the neighborhood playground where you have spent many days at, and you spot a lone boy is sitting on the swingset while he reads. His blonde hair falls at his chin, and he gnaws on his lip as he reads.

When you pass by, he lifts his head and perks up instantly. You aren’t startled, since you were looking at him anyway, and he calls to you.

“Hallo!”

You stop walking and wave with a bright smile. “Hi!”

He gives a nervous smile in return, getting off the swing and shutting his book, heading toward you on the sidewalk. He says something, but it sounds like gibberish, and you tilt your head in confusion.

“What?”

The boy hesitates, but he comes up to you still, and he’s about your height. You’re small for a 5 year-old, and you wonder if he’s 5, too. He hugs the book to his chest with one hand and taps his chin with the index finger of the other.

“Help?” he says with a heavy accent. You nod, and he seems slightly more at ease. He says something, but it’s not in English. When you make an apologetic expression, he furrows his brow and taps his chin, deep in thought for a moment before he tries again.

“Ah—ocean? Where?”

Understanding hits you, and you beam at him. “I’m going there now! I’ll take you!”

His eyebrows pull together, clearly not understanding what you’re saying, but you grab his hand not holding the book. You set back off in the direction you were heading, and he relaxes when he seems to understand that you’re taking him to the ocean.

“Oh! I should tell you my name…” You think aloud before telling him your name.

You look sideways at him, and he gives you a shy smile. “Ich heiße Armin.”

The pair of you walk in general silence, but you don’t have to walk too far. When you hear the water, both of your footsteps quicken, and you’re practically running when the sidewalk turns to wooden decking, a path of wood leading you over the grass and to the sand, where the shoreline extends both ways as far as the eye can see.

When your feet hit the sand, you kick off your sandals, but Armin is too stunned to do the same.

You stand, hand in hand, and he’s staring at the ocean with wide eyes and red cheeks. His hold on your hand tightens, and you suddenly want to show him everything you know about the ocean.

“Take off your shoes,” you tell him.

His bright eyes shift to you, and he frowns, not understanding.

You point at his shoes, and then your bare feet. “Take them off,” you repeat, and you wiggle your toes for emphasis. “The sand is soft here.”

Armin nods, slipping off his own sandals, and he lets out a small gasp when he feels the soft sand.

Pleased, you pull at his hand again, leading him directly to the water. He tenses, but trusts you, pausing to place his book on top of his shoes before letting you lead him to the water. You can’t read the title - the word looks fake, but maybe it’s in the language he speaks. You only bring him far enough so that your feet get wet when the water rises up to your ankles before withdrawing, and you stop walking.

He looks down and his smile is so wide you can’t help but do the same.

“The water is my favorite,” you tell him.

His gaze rises to you, and even though he doesn’t understand, he squeezes your hand again.

“Where are you from?” You ask, and he shakes his head to show he doesn’t know what you’re saying. You sigh before you look at your feet again. You lower into a squat and point at the little, tiny shelled creatures that burrow back into the sand when the water recedes. “Those are sand fleas.”

Armin mirrors your posture, blue eyes honed in on where you point. “Sand fleas?” he repeats.

You nod. “They tickle your feet when the water comes up. See?” The water washes back over your feet, and they move around both of your feet only to hide again.

Armin’s eyes widen, and you giggle. He says something, and you get a devilish idea.

You splash him lightly.

He flinches, exclaiming something, and you laugh before breaking into a run. After a moment of hesitation, he chases you, shouting in a language you don’t understand. You don’t have to look back to know that he’s smiling, because he’s cackling when he catches up to you, throwing his arms around your middle to slow you down.

You play until dusk.

The pair of you don’t understand one another past a few simple words and phrases, but that’s all you need to decide that he’s now one of your favorite people.

Your mom comes to find you, worry painted across her features that falls away when she sees that you’ve made a new friend.

“Honey, it’s dinner time. You should come home - who’s your new friend?” she asks.

“This is Armin,” you tell her, and Armin freezes up. He looks between you and your mother, perhaps growing anxious that he doesn’t know what’s being said. “He was playing by himself at the playground.”

Your mom softens at that, and her kind gaze slides to him. Before she can speak, another voice interjects.

“Armin!”

An older man - he looks like your Grandpa’s age - is walking over, and Armin waves. They exchange words in that funny language, and Armin says your name. The man approaches, and offers his hand to your mom.

“Hallo,” he says. “Nice to meet you.” His voice is thick with an accent, like Armin’s, but much deeper. He turns to Armin and says more words, and Armin seems disappointed. The man looks at you and your mom and just says, “Time to eat.”

Seeing as it’s time for everyone to leave, you and Armin look at each other. “Will I see you in the morning?”

“Tomorrow? Again?” He asks, and you nod with a smile. Before he can leave, you pull him into a tight hug, and he immediately reciprocates.

“Bye, Armin,” you say while you squeeze him.

“Auf wiedersehen,” he says quietly.

With another wave, you both go to your separate homes. On the walk home, you tell your mom all about this boy who speaks in a different language, but how you showed him the ocean and sand fleas and how to build a sand castle.

You meet again the next day at the same spot - and the day after that, and the day after that, all through summer.

Every day, Armin brings a book that has words in English and in German (turns out you know one word in German, and that’s gesundheit) because that’s what language he speaks. You learn enough to talk to him in very, very easy German, and he learns just as simple English, allowing you to have small, slow conversations.

You learn that his last name is Alert. He likes the color blue. He reads really well, and you ask him to read you stories - even the ones in German, because there’s usually pictures so you can sort of get what he’s saying. He likes to eat fruit, especially strawberries.

You soak up every fact about your friend.

Ultimately, there’s some afternoons where the book is abandoned while you run around and play, not needing words to communicate.

“Hey, Armin.”

“Hm?”

He’s scanning the shoreline for sea shells, trying to find the prettiest ones. You tried to teach him a tongue twister about sea shells earlier in the day, but you both devolved into fits of laughter before he could ever manage to say it properly.

“We’ll be friends forever, right?”

Armin lifts his head to look at you, trying to figure out the meaning of your words. “Friends forever?”

“Yeah. For a long, long time.” You hold your hands apart while you talk to emphasize how long you want to be friends.

He smiles and blushes. “Yes.”

You hold out a hand, fingers curled into a fist except for your pinky. “Pinky promise?”

“Eh?”

“Pinky promise,” you repeat, and you beckon him over. He comes to you, and he holds up his pinky in the same manner, though he waits for further explanation. “It’s a promise that you can’t ever, never break.”

He squints, taking a moment to process, and then he nods in understanding. “Pinky promise.”

Grinning from ear-to-ear, you link your pinkies together, and he meets your gaze as he smiles.

One day, near the end of summer, you run down to the shore to meet Armin.

He’s not there.

You wait, and wait, and wait.

He never arrives.

You go home and cry to your mother, who holds you and tells you that he probably went home to Germany.

“But I wanted to keep being friends with him!” You wipe your cheeks with your palms.

Your mom rubs your back comfortingly. “Well, look - sometimes special people comes into our lives, stay a little bit, and then they have to go.”

“But…that’s sad.”

“It is, but the bit where he was here was happy, wasn’t it?”

You think about her question, and your heart beats extra hard in your chest when you think about all the days spent on the beach with Armin. “Yeah. We played almost every day!”

She chuckles. “Well, maybe that makes it all worth it?”

You’re about to ask if you’ll ever see him again, but your Grandpa interrupts with a cup of hot chocolate and the promise of your pick of a movie to ease your sadness.

You still visit your grandparents every summer.

They get older and less mobile, but they’re sharp as nails otherwise.

When you’re not helping around the house, you sneak away to the shore, hoping to see that blonde boy with a book again.

He’s never there.

Your grandmother passes away one cold, grey winter.

As you deal with grief, your mom doesn’t hesitate to let you go hide at your spot by the water.

You’ve lost hope of finding Armin there, but you hug yourself as you stand with your feet in the water, your black dress whipping around your knees with the breeze. Goosebumps erupt across your skin, and you shiver, but you focus on the biting cold water washing over your feet.

It’s not summer, but you wonder what he’s up to, and if he even thinks of you anymore.

A piece of you has considered trying to look him up, maybe try to find any social media, but what would that do? What if he doesn’t have any? Or worse - he does, but then he doesn’t remember you? Doesn’t care?

A pang shoots into your heart, making your chest tighten, and you shiver when another gust of wind cuts through you.

You’ve clung to the idea of Armin, hoping to find that sweet, young boy out here with his wide eyes and warm smile. Perhaps he’s growing into a man, like you’re budding into a woman, and he’s thriving wherever he is, now.

Without you.

A strong wave crashes into the sand, and when it withdraws from the shore, you stumble forward with the weight of the water pulling you along.

Even though you’ve cried endlessly today, fresh tears sting at your eyes and roll down your cheeks, falling into the sea.

Maybe, one day, they’ll find their way to Armin at another coast across the world.

College has been a rollercoaster of an experience.

Needless to say, you’re thankful that you’re almost done.

You’re attending the college that’s in the same town as your Grandpa, which also helps you save on the cost of a dorm - why room on your own when you can live with him for free? - and you’re in your last semester. The end is in sight, and the first day jitters have long since passed as you walk the halls to your last class of the day. 3:45pm classes are always hit-or-miss, but this course named Stellar Astronomy seems promising, and you hope that the professor opts for an easy first-day reading of the syllabus before dismissing everyone early.

You walk in after double checking the room number on your cell phone, and find that you’re early.

Like, the second person in the room early.

The classroom is fairly large, and you opt to sit on the far side of the room. You bury your nose in social media, trying to kill time before class begins. The room fills in around you, but you pay the other students no mind until the professor calls for class to start.

The professor - a sweet woman named Dr. Ral - begins with an introduction about herself and the course, what to expect, and a reading of the syllabus.

Only an hour into the two-hour runtime, she announce that she’s wrapping up early with roll call.

“Considering it’s the first day, I know you all must have a lot to do as you settle in,” she says with mild amusement. “So, I’m simply calling names, and this will ensure you’re not dropped from the class. Once I say your name, let me know I’ve got it right - or correct me if I pronounce it wrong - and then you’re free to head out.”

Everyone quietly gathers their items together before she starts off. There’s a few names at the start, with one person already skipping out, and you wait patiently for your name to be called when she says it.

“Armin Alert.”

You freeze in your chair.

“Here!”

You can’t tell if it’s the same accent that you remember so well, but your scanning the room as a blonde man stands up, his back to you and he slings a backpack over his shoulder. He exits the room and panic seizes you, and you’re suddenly beyond antsy to run out.

Time moves at a snail’s pace, and you’re practically jumping from your seat when Dr. Ral only gets your first name out.

“Present!” You nearly shout as you sprint from the room. There’s an amused “Have a good day!” that she calls after you, but you don’t hear her as you bust through the door into the empty hallway. You pick a direction and hustle, hoping that he’s heading to the parking lot.

No such luck.

When you get outside, there’s no sign of him.

No, no, no!

You head to the far side of campus, closest to the water, hoping he’s there.

He’s not.

An idea surges into your head: you’re only a block away from the shore. Part of the allure of this campus is the waterfront location, and hope fills you, renewing your spirit.

Kicking off your shoes, you pick them up and break into a sprint.

You run through the parking lot, down the sidewalk for a block, and to the wooden bridge that connects the concrete to the sand. The decking is hot under your bare feet, but you don’t care, ignoring the sting with each step when the shore comes into view—

Please be there, Armin.

—and it’s deserted.

As your feet sink into the sand, you deflate, disappointment flooding you. The distant caws of the seagulls and whistle of the breeze sound hollow with how empty this area is. Tossing aside your shoes, and then dropping your bag in the sand with a muffled thud, an urge to sob lodges in your throat. In an effort to suppress the creeping emotions, you walk toward the water, hoping the sea will make your sorrow ebb.

You can hear the air pass through the tall reeds in the grass behind you, near the wooden decking, a low whisper over the water that creeps over the sand before pulling back to the sea. You flex your toes in the wet sand, burying your feet with the small motions, before shifting forward two steps. The water now reaches your ankles, and you sigh.

"Excuse me?"

You whip your head around at that voice - that same, deep, slightly accented voice - and he's there.

Armin.

No longer the small boy he once was, he now stands tall as a man, blonde hair cut shorter with a fringe that falls across his forehead, broad shoulders, lean muscle from what you can see with his arms on display in his fitted t-shirt. His eyes, though - his eyes remain the same bright, oceanic blue that you remembered so vividly. He's standing near your bag, his own over his shoulders, shoes in hand, and he's staring openly at you in quiet awe as he says your name carefully. It takes you a whole minute to realize he's asking if it's you and you nod, your heart pounding as you regard one another anxiously.

"Is it really you?" Armin breaks the silence with the worried question, and you nod again, breaking into a smile that he mirrors immediately.

"Yeah," you tell him, and he beams at you.

He drops his bag and shoes unceremoniously into the sand, and before you can move, he's hurrying toward you-without rolling his jeans up, you notice - and he scoops you up into a tight but fond embrace. You reciprocate, and you're reminded instantly of the bear hugs you'd give each other as children that summer, so long ago. Only now, he's bigger than you and apparently can lift you up with ease, and you kick your wet feet in the air when he does so.

"I can't believe it," he whispers as he places you back on your feet, though his arms don't loosen around you yet. "I - This feels like a dream.”

"You're telling me." You pull back a few inches, and he places his hands on your biceps, your own on his shoulders. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again,” you admit quietly.

Hurt flashes in his eyes, but he nods in understanding anyway. "I know. I.." He squeezes your arms once, gently. "I knew it was a risk to come here.”

Warmth blooms across your chest, and you smile so widely you may cry. "But you're here."

Armin's cheeks fill with color, and he nods. "I am.”

You learn all about what Armin has been doing these years - but you first are keen to know what happened that summer.

“You just…left,” you trail off, sitting across from Armin at a nearby coffee shop.

He turns his cup slowly, brow furrowed in thought. “I did.”

“Why didn’t you tell me, the day before?”

Armin reluctantly meets your eyes, guilt filling his own. He sighs, and his shoulders slump. “I didn’t know we were leaving. Opa was sick, and we had to cut the holiday short. I wanted to find you, to tell you - maybe we could have been friends in letters - but I didn’t get the chance.”

Your jaw falls open, and you’re left with an uncertainty about how to continue the conversation. You try to recover, and you ask, “How’s your grandfather doing now?”

“Oh, he’s great, now.” Armin seems to relax as he replies. “He had some heart stuff going on back then, but he’s good now - just old.”

“That’s good.” Under the table, you shift your feet, but you bump Armin’s with your own. If he’s bothered, he doesn’t show it. “I’m - honestly, I’m just happy that you’re back, even if it’s just for the semester.”

His eyes are brilliant as he beams at you, the corners of his eyes crinkling with how wide his smile is. “I’m trying to stay as long as I can.”

Your foot is nudged, and you realize that he’s placed his against yours, leaving it there.

Oh.

Oh, no.

Heart racing, you begin to realize that you’re already in too deep as you regard Armin. You ask about his studies, and you try to focus enough to answer, but you keep getting drawn back to how his voice lifts with certain topics and how his voice sounds almost musical and how his damn eyes look like the ocean.

You exchange phone numbers with a promise to text upon arriving at home when you part that night. You’ve walked him back to campus, since he’s staying in one of the dorms with other students in study abroad programs, and your feet hurt from walking so much but it’s a welcome reminder of the day spent with Armin.

He hugs you so tightly he squeezes the air from your lungs, but you don’t mind since his arms are comforting around you.

“I’ll see you in class Wednesday?” he asks.

“Why not tomorrow? We can get lunch,” you suggest, speaking into his chest as you both refuse to let go. You can heart the accelerated beat of his heart.

He’s still holding onto you when he says, “Lunch is good.”

Eventually, you pry yourself from his arms, cheeks aching from smiling so much.

“Good night,” you say quietly.

“Bis morgen,” he murmurs, and your stomach flips as he bids you farewell in German.

Oh, you are truly, truly fucked.

You’re barely in the door at home when you send a text to him.

I’m home safe. I hope you have a good night. I’m still so shocked about everything, but I’m so, so happy!

There’s a mere few seconds before Armin is replying.

I still feel like I’m dreaming.

You almost don’t do it, but you send a heart emoji to him before you can chicken out. When he sends one back, you have to bite your cheek to keep from squealing and waking your Grandpa upstairs.

The following day, as you’re leaving to meet Armin, you’re stopped by your grandfather.

“Where are you going, Little Lady?” he asks you, cocking an eyebrow.

You fidget, but there’s no reason to be dishonest.

“I’m meeting a friend. Armin - do you remember him?”

Your Grandpa breaks into a grin, his eyes glittering. “That German boy! Yes! He’s finally come back?”

You nod, giving a brief explanation of yesterday’s events before you see the time on your watch.

“Ah - I’m going to be late - I’ll see you later, Grandpa!”

He gives you a knowing look, but you rush a goodbye hug before running out the door.

You become inseparable once again.

Armin’s constantly coming over, or you go to his dorm, or you’re at the beach - at your spot.

He even calls it our spot, which makes your heart sing.

“I wish I had a camera, back then,” he says one afternoon while he takes a photo on his cell phone. “Hey, come here.”

Your ears are hot, and you shake your head, already knowing what he’s planning. “No, I - “

He grabs your hand and pulls you close to him, wrapping his arm around your shoulders as he taps the flip camera button so both of your faces are visible in the frame. “Come on, pretend you like me.”

You laugh, though not for the reason Armin thinks. You’re thinking to yourself, You have no idea, Armin while you both smile into the camera and he takes the picture. Your cheeks are close together, both of you look so happy that your heart is beating wildly in your chest.

“This is wonderful,” he murmurs, and he sends it to you without you asking.

You favorite the photo on your phone once it’s saved, making a note to print it, later.

Little do you know, while you’re smiling at your phone, Armin is sneaking another photo of you with the ocean behind you.

“Armin.”

“Ja.”

You shift in your seat, staring at him across the table. He’s copying over definitions from a textbook into his notes, and he doesn’t spare you a glance.

“What made you pick this school?” You dare to ask. You watch his hand still its movements, pen hovering over paper. His gaze meets yours, and you almost whither under his intense blue eyes. You don’t, though.

“I hoped you’d be here,” he tells you earnestly, eyes flicking back to his notes when you take in a breath sharply. “And the school has a good marine science program.”

You know the second half is a cheap answer, but you swell at having your hopes confirmed.

After some careful prying while building an elaborate sandcastle, you learn that Armin is, in fact, single. This is a distracting piece of information while he’s in swim shorts, and only swim shorts, his lean muscled torso fully on display. He has abs, and your mind goes entirely empty at the sight for a solid few minutes.

Luckily, Armin is determined to make this sandcastle ornately decorated, so you can focus on placing sea shells in strategic spots while he tells you about his love life - or rather, the lack thereof.

His last relationship was with a girl named Annie who broke his heart when he was 19 after being together for two years.

“She was just…cold,” Armin explains, avoiding your gaze as he carefully pats a wall. “Just told me one day, Ich liebe dich einfach nicht mehr.”

“What does that mean?” You ask cautiously.

You note how Armin’s eyebrows are furrowed, his mouth curved down in a small frown, and his shoulders carry a tension he seems reluctant to divulge. “I just don’t love you anymore.”

At his words, your stomach bottoms out, and you want to embrace him so tightly that he’ll forget about this old heartache.

Since he seems more withdrawn, given the topic, you opt for a middle ground.

You reach across him to place a white shell in the spot he was just patting. “I’m sorry.” After placing the shell, you put your hand on his.

This gets him to look at you, and you note how captivating his eyes are.

“You deserve better,” you tell him softly. “Someone who does love you.”

His eyes widen, the cerulean glassy with threatening tears, but he doesn’t pull away. You squeeze his hand once, and after a beat, he does the same.

You’re the one who lets go first, diverting your attention back to the sandcastle. You work in silence, but you’re now acutely aware of how close you are to him. Neither of you seem to mind, but you wonder if he knows that you wanted to tell him that you can be the person who loves him.

“Hey,” you decide to say instead, glancing at him. He’s already looking at you curiously, a blush across his face. The color deepens when you grin. “Did you ever learn how to say that tongue twister?”

You make another pinky promise, but this time, it’s in his dorm room. You’re sat side-by-side, pressed flush to him with a laptop balanced precariously on both of your laps.

“I don’t do horror movies,” you protest, staring at the title on the screen while your stomach knots.

Armin chuckles, nudging your arm with his. “Well, we’re watching a horror movie, not doing one.”

“Okay, smartass - “

“Look at me, ein Deutscher correcting your English.”

You shoot him an unimpressed expression, but he barks out a laugh and hits play.

You’re only about half an hour into the movie when you flinch so hard that you nearly knock the laptop off of your leg that it’s balanced on.

Without hesitation, Armin puts an arm around you, pulling you impossibly closer to his side. You stiffen, but his hushed words near your ear bring a new anxiety to your body.

“You’re fine,” he whispers. “I got you. We can turn it off.”

“N-No,” you stammer, eyes trained on the laptop screen. If you turn to look at him, you might do something stupid, and you don’t trust yourself.

Armin notices your purposeful avoidance, and he refocuses on the film.

He keeps his arm around you, and you have to keep from humming contently when he idly rubs his thumb back and forth on your side.

He calls you schatz one day, disarming you entirely.

“Schatz.” He’s making dinner in your Grandpa’s kitchen while you study at the table. “Do you like mushrooms? I can’t decide to add them or not.”

You nearly scratch your pen across the entire paper mid-sentence when he calls you schatz.

He’s staring at you when you look up at him, face hot and your surprise probably written across your features. “What?”

“Mushrooms,” he says again, though slowly - you can see the color creeping into his cheeks when he realizes you may know more German than you let on. He knows you took classes in high school, but the college here doesn’t offer the language as a course. Still - while you kept up with it as best as you could without having native speakers around you, it’s daunting to have someone in front of you to point out all of your mistakes. So, you’ve opted to silently enjoy the little phrases Armin lets slip or relish the conversations he has on the phone in German, driving your poor heart into a frenzy every time he does so.

After an elongated silence, you realize he’s still waiting on an answer, and you sit up straighter.

“Ah - sure. Mushrooms are great,” you say a little loudly, and you worry he’s going to call you out on your secret knowledge of German.

He doesn’t, because if he does, he has to acknowledge that he just called you sweetheart.

When he turns back to the stove, you stare at your notes, biting your lip to hold in your elated grin.

Spring gives way to the approaching summer months, making the evenings warmer, the days longer.

You don’t mind, because it gives you more daylight with Armin.

Graduation is approaching, and you avoid the discussion of the semester ending - and thus, Armin going back home to Germany. He still has summer classes before he’s done with university, and then you both have to face reality.

With a month left of this semester, you know that you need to savor every moment you have with him.

He breaks you out of your wandering thoughts with a tap to your forehead. You’re both on the floor of his dorm room, snacks strewn around you for sharing.

“Stop overthinking whatever you’re thinking about,” he chides you. “Unless you want to talk about it.”

You glare at him, but it’s a half-hearted attempt when he just smirks at you.

“Fine,” you huff out. “I - shit, okay. I’m thinking about what’s going to happen when the semester is over.”

Armin softens, his playful demeanor giving way to endearment.

You carry on. “I know you’re going to go home, but then, what happens then? I know we have to gets jobs, but what if this is it - and it’s just like, when we were kids - “

“It won’t be,” he cuts you off. His voice is low, comforting, and full of warmth as he speaks. “We stay friends. I’ll come visit. You can come to Europe, if you want to.”

Your heart pounds at the thought of visiting him in Germany, or the idea of him coming to stay with you, but you’re ultimately blown away by the overarching fact that he would want to go to all those lengths for you.

“But,” he continues, “right now, we eat food and spend time together.”

As if to show you how literal he’s being, he picks up a wrapped sweet and puts it in your hand, curling your fingers over it with his own, but his touch lingers. His hands are warm over yours, and you wonder what it be like to thread your fingers together.

“No tears when I go, either,” he suddenly says, cutting through your thoughts once again. “If you cry, I cry.”

You burst into laughter, and the tension falls away from you. Armin, pleased that he can ease your worries, lets go of your hand, his fingertips brushing over your knuckles as he withdraws.

You print the photo of the two of you.

You print two copies, actually, writing a small message on the back of one. Your copy is stuck onto the corner of your mirror so you see it every day when you get ready.

Armin is already waiting at your spot on the beach when you arrive, photo tucked into your back pocket. He breaks into a blinding smile when he notices you approach, and he pulls you into a hug.

“I have something for you,” you say as you part.

“Yeah?” His gaze drops to your hands, watching you reach into your back pocket.

“It’s not much, really,” you try to dismiss your own efforts bashfully as you hold out the photo to him. “But I figured you might want a physical version.”

He accepts the proffered photo, taking it gingerly between his thumb and forefinger as he holds it up. He flips it over, eyebrows shooting into his bangs when he sees you’ve written on it.

Armin,

You have made this beach infinitely brighter with your presence. Thank you for returning to the US - and thus, returning to me. This time, you can carry this photo back home as a reminder of your time at our spot, together.

With all my love.

You wonder if it’s too much as he stares and stares at your handwriting on the back of the photo when he abruptly grabs your arm and yanks you back into his arms. You don’t hesitate to throw your arms around him in turn, hiding your face in his chest as he buries his in the crook of your neck.

“Thank you,” he chokes out, voice thick with emotion.

You think that if you speak, you’ll cry, so you just get out mhm and hold on tighter.

The pair of you go to the pier, where you can sit on the edge of the wood and let your feet hang over the edge. The drop isn’t far to the water, but it’s enough that the air gusts around you, carrying the scent of salt. The waves break against the wooden posts of the pier, the slow grumble of the rolling water a pleasant backdrop of sound to Armin’s voice. While you swing your feet back and forth, he’s talking about what they went over in one of his classes - something about the hydrothermal vents in the deep ocean - and while you don’t tune out entirely, you do lose focus on what he’s saying.

You’re too busy staring at him - all of him. He’s talking animatedly, gesturing with his hands, and his voice is more accented as he speaks with high energy, smiling broadly. His cheeks have a lovely dusting of pink, but it could be from the warmth of the sun, and his eyes are shining with the reflection of the sea.

“ - and there’s these fish, they light up, it’s called - hey, wait.”

He’s staring at you directly, his smile faltering as he realizes you’re not really listening. Your face burns with the embarrassment of being caught. “Sorry, Armin. Can you repeat that last bit?”

Armin knows better and ignores your request, his brow furrowing slightly. “Are you alright? You look like you’re thinking very deeply.”

The heat in your face spreads to your ears and neck, betraying your attempt at playing it cool. “Of course, I was just a little distracted.”

“By what?” he asks, concern working into his voice.

Your thoughts go blank, and you’re left with only one thing to say: the truth that you’ve been bottling up since you ran into him again.

“I…keep thinking about kissing you.”

His reaction is subtle, but you see the way his eyes go round, how his nostrils flare as he inhales deeply, and the movement of Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

By the time he opens his mouth to speak, you feel dizzy from anticipation and almost miss his question.

“Can I? Kiss you, I mean?” he asks, and you almost can’t hear him over the sound of the water below.

You blink, and you can’t form even a simple yes, so you just nod.

Armin searches your gaze before his eyes lower to your lips, and you lick your lips when he leans in closer. He moves slowly, and his hand is trembling when he cups your cheek. Your eyes fall shut and your heart hammers against your ribs in the mere seconds that pass before his mouth meets yours. You’re both timid, unsure if the other is comfortable, until you lean further into him. He sighs, and with the exhale, his nerves leave him as well. His other hand goes to your thigh - his fingers splay, but he doesn’t inch higher than the middle of your thigh - and you cover it with your own.

You break apart to breathe, but he dives back in before you can properly inhale, so you do so sharply as he kisses you again.

This almost doesn’t feel real, that you’re sitting here with the man who apparently came back to this city with the hope that you might still be here, all these years later.

You don’t know how you didn’t see it sooner.

“You…” Armin murmurs against your lips, thumb brushing over your cheek. “How long did you want to kiss me?”

“Since the first day of class,” you mutter, not caring about how you barely knew him at that point.

He smiles, lips curling up as he kisses you with a tenderness that sends your heart aflutter.

“Honestly.” He pulls back just enough that you can admire the darker flecks of blue in his bright irises. “I wanted to as a kid. I thought you were pretty.”

You gape at him, not sure if he’s messing with you, but by the way he looks sheepish and his face is red, you know he’s not lying. Just as you’re scrambling to find some way to tease him, he pulls you back in, muffling your laughter with a kiss.

Coupled with the backdrop of the ocean and the sound of the waves below, you feel warmth bloom in your core, knowing that here with Armin, you’re home.

#[🪐] saturn’s reblogs #i love me a good armin fluff #this was genuinely adorable #i’m weak for german armin

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