Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

They were driving down a highway, the sun was setting, when Annie asked, “Have you met Reiner’s new boyfriend?”

Bertholdt managed to tear his eyes off of the road for a split second, casting a glance at his wife. “Not yet,” he said. 

Annie snorted. “I saw them today,” she told him, “at a coffee shop downtown.”

“Oh, yeah?” Bertholdt murmured, giving her another look.

“Eyes on the road,” Annie said offhandedly. 

“Sorry,” Bertholdt apologized quickly. Annie reached over the center console, patting his thigh gently before letting her palm rest over his leg. Her hand was warm, her touch was familiar. “What was he like?”

Annie wrinkled her nose, recalling the encounter she had with their childhood best friend and his latest paramour. “I don’t know. I was with Hitch, so I didn’t get a chance to talk to them,” she mused, “but he was…different from Reiner’s usual type.” 

Bertholdt chuckled. “What?” he asked. “Like, he wasn’t blonde?”

The corners of Annie’s mouth twitched upwards, a hint of a smile ghosting over her thin, rosy lips. She thought back to their childhood, to high school, and how Reiner always went after tiny blonde girls in the world's most pathetic display of comp-het she’d ever seen. 

“No, he was a brunette,” Annie replied. “Big, green eyes. Kind of scary-looking. He totally caught me staring at them.” 

“Hmm…” Bertholdt hummed. “Well, I’m sure Reiner’ll tell us about him eventually.”

“He’ll tell you,” Annie corrected him pointedly, “not me.”

“That’s because you always hate the people he’s dating,” Bertholdt replied with a slightly amused grin. 

“That’s because he has shitty taste in men,” insisted Annie, “and when he gets his heart broken for the hundredth time, it’s going to be us who have to deal with his sorry ass.”  

“If I didn’t know any better, Annie-chan,” said Bertholdt in that shy voice of his, the one he used when he was teasing her but was embarrassed about it, “I’d say you were worried for him.” 

Annie scoffed. The tips of her ears were pink. “I’d sooner be worried for an ant.” 

Bertholdt pulled off at their exit and they drove the rest of the way home in comfortable silence. Annie fiddled with her earrings, twisting the golden studs in her earlobes between her fingertips. They lived on the second floor of a small walk-up, and it was dark when they got back. Their two small dogs greeted them eagerly, scampering around their feet and yapping, when they stepped in. Their apartment was old, the ventilating was crappy, and it was swelteringly humid. Annie wasted no time cracking every window open while Bertholdt set the table. 

“We should talk about our holiday plans soon,” Annie said in between lukewarm bites of their takeout dinner. 

“Already?” Bertholdt asked. “It’s summer, the holidays are ages away.” 

Annie pointed her fork at him accusatorially and said, “Yes, already. You know how quickly flights get booked up. If it were up to you and Reiner, we’d be hitchhiking home one day before Christmas.” 

Bertholdt smiled fondly, the edges of his eyelids crinkling at an old memory. “Remember when we did that during our freshman year of college? Hitched rides until we got home for Thanksgiving? Us, Reiner, and Porco…”

Annie snorted. “Yes. How could I forget?” She paused. “We’d just started dating back then. Remember?”

Bertholdt’s smile widened. Annie loved when he smiled, just for her. Private, unguarded. She wanted to reach over and run her knuckles over his cheeks. 

“Of course I remember!” Bertholdt said. “Though, it all sort of blends together, doesn’t it?” 

For as long as Annie could remember, there had always been Bertholdt. He was like a shy, tall shadow that trailed her and Reiner wherever they went. Gentle, encouraging, easy to miss. He was there when they were kids on the playground, at summer camp, when they were in middle school, when they were in high school. For a long time, Annie didn’t know what to make of Bertholdt. In fact, she didn’t make much of him at all. She mistook his kindness, his timidity, for weakness. 

It wasn’t until he admitted to her, a couple months before their high school graduation, that he was deciding between the state-school that she and Reiner were set to attend and going abroad to study in Europe, and Annie realized just how wrong she’d been about Bertholdt, just how much she’d taken his presence for granted. 

“Please,” she’d said, pressing her hands against his for the first time, “can I make a selfish request?” 

“You can always be selfish with me, Annie-chan,” Bertholdt had told her and the way he said it, the earnestness in his tone, had shook Annie to her very core. 

“Don’t go,” she’d said. “Stay.” Stay with me. 

So he stayed. In fact, from that day on, he never left her side. 

After they finished dinner, Bertholdt did the dishes while Annie sat at the table and finished up a few things from work, sending out a few last minute emails. When he was done, he pressed chaste kisses onto her cheeks and the side of her neck until she chuckled and batted him away lightly. 

“Okay, okay,” she said, closing her laptop and standing. “I’m done for the night.”

“You work too hard,” Bertholdt told her. 

“What do you want to watch tonight?” she asked as they folded themselves onto their small couch. She lifted the remote and booted Netflix up on their TV. 

“Mmm,” Bertholdt hummed incoherently, his chin resting on the top of her head. “I don’t know.”

“Helpful,” Annie retorted, beginning to scroll through the endless catalogue of movies and shows. 

In the end, they settled on a forensic documentary that Pieck had recommended to them but they promptly ignored it in favor of kissing open-mouthed, Annie straddling Bertholdt’s lap between her strong legs, one hand bracing herself on the back of the couch. 

Like any couple who’s been married for years, their sex life was nothing to write home about. Bertholdt was always a loving, attentive partner and Annie lavished in his patient touches, his meticulous way of love-making. Their love for each other was vast and all-consuming like a deep ocean but sometimes, in the deepest part of her heart, Annie craved more. She’d never tell Bertholdt, never voice her thoughts aloud, but she didn’t want to just be touched, she wanted to be devoured. She wanted to be fucked in a way that scared her. But maybe she was just selfish because, as Bertholdt gripped her waist like she was the only anchor in this tumultuous world, she thought: How could I ask for more than this? 

“Annie-chan,” Bertholdt mumbled in between kisses. His lips were slick, shiny with their shared saliva. He reached beneath her shirt and bra, curling his long, deft fingers around her breast. 

Annie groaned, arching into the touch. 

“Here,” she said, reaching down to undo Bertholdt’s belt. “Let me.”

“Are you sure?” Bertholdt asked through shallow pants. “You have to get up early tomorrow, right?”

“It’s fine,” Annie reassured him. She glanced at the clock hanging in their kitchen.  “It’s not even that late and…” She paused. “…I want this.”

Bertholdt grinned up at her. His smile was so tender, like it was melting off of his face. “Whatever you want that I have, Annie-chan,” he whispered, “I’ll give to you.”

“Stupid,” Annie said, their lips were pressed together and she curled her fingers around his belt. “Of course I know that.”

Once his belt was undone, Annie wasted no time in unzipping his trousers. Bertholdt arched his hips, lifting himself up off the cushions so Annie could shove his pants and underwear down in one swift yank. The garment pooled around his thighs, his length springing to life. 

Still bracing herself on the couch, Annie canted her hips, dragging her clothed crotch against Bertholdt’s exposed cock and relishing in the delicious moans it drew from him. He writhed beneath her and she wondered, for just a second, what that must be like. To not have to take charge, to succumb. 

“I love you,” Bertholdt said in between whimpers and hot breaths over the shell of her ear. “I love you.”

“I know,” she replied like a promise. “I love you, too.” 

She was sufficiently wet in her underwear now, so she yanked them down and took Bertholdt’s cock—flushed and twitching in her palm, the tip wet and sticky with unrelenting precum—and positioned it in between her lips. She rutted against it until it was shiny with their fluids, all warm and mixed together, then pressed it inside herself. 

“Ahh—“ Bertholdt threw his head back, his body jerking upwards, chasing after pleasure unconsciously. 

“Is it good?” she asked, slightly breathless. “You like that?” 

“Yes,” he cried. “So good, Annie…!”

There were many things Annie enjoyed about love-making with Bertholdt. She loved his whiny, needy little noises. She loved his burning hot touch, the way his fingers curled around the jut of her hip, the little half-moon indents his fingernails left on her pale skin. She loved the way he looked at her, flushed cheeks and glossy eyes raking over her. She loved the way he reached over, thumbed meticulously over her clit, just above where she parted, his cock spearing into her repeatedly. Little sparks of electric pleasure rocketed through her. She loved how, no matter how much he was coming undone beneath her, he always made sure that she finished first. 

He rubbed quick little circles over that small bundle of nerves until Annie was coming, spasming around him with a shudder that crawled up her back. He followed suit seconds after, finishing inside after one final punishing blow. 

For a moment, they were still. Bertholdt still writhed underneath her, his cock softening. Their chests heaved in succession as they came down. Eventually, he slipped out, leaving a wet mess in his wake. Annie clicked her tongue and rose so she was sitting on her shins, leaving him at eye-level with her pussy.

“Clean up,” she instructed him in a plain tone. 

That was another thing Annie loved about Bertholdt. He was an excellent listener. 

Bertholdt licked her with wide, flat strokes. His tongue was warm, unbelievably so, and he moaned in between her legs. She shivered through his careful ministrations, sensitive from her orgasm, bordering on overstimulation but it was so sweet, so good. 

“Good job,” she praised, running her fingers through his mused-up dark hair. 

Bertholdt licked into her until she was shiny clean and, when he unlatched from her, she bent down to kiss him, tasting herself on his tongue. She pulled up her underwear then tucked him back into his boxers, curling back up at his side. They rewinded the documentary back to the start but fell asleep before the opening credits began to roll. That was married life—simple, tender, ordinary sex with a simple, tender, ordinary person. It was all they’d ever known. 

“We met at the gym,” Reiner told them, averting his eyes. “He came up to me and asked if I needed a spot. He’s two years younger than us but, I dunno, it was weird…I’d never met him before, but he was so familiar. It was like I’d known him my whole life. We got to talking afterwards, and he asked me out to dinner and, well, yeah. I really like him.”

Annie raised an eyebrow. She lifted her fingers, mimicking air quotes. “You two ‘got to talking,’ huh?” 

“Mmhmm.”

“That’s so nice!” Bertholdt said loudly, waving his arms with a smile. “We’re happy for you, Reiner. What’s his name?”

“Thanks,” Reiner mumbled. His cheeks were pink. “His name is Eren.” 

“We are happy for you,” Annie echoed her husband’s words. “Now tell us the real story.” 

Reiner paused before looking down at the ground, abashed. “I sucked him off in the gym bathroom, and then we had sex in his car,” he admitted quietly. Annie scoffed. “But the rest of it is all true! We’ve been seeing each other for a month now.” 

“You really know how to pick ‘em,” Annie said.

“C’mon, Annie,” Reiner complained, his tone bordering on a petulant whine. “Not all of us can marry our childhood sweetheart. Besides, you don’t even know him. I bet you’d like him if you met him.” 

“Oh, yeah? What does he do for a living? What are his hobbies?”

“He’s…” Reiner trailed off. “He’s in a band but they’re, like, one gig away from really exploding.” 

Annie clicked her tongue. “My point stands.” 

“Come on, you two,” Bertholdt said, ever the mediator in their little trio. “He sounds cool, Reiner, and we’d love to meet him.”

“Would we?” asked Annie. 

Bertholdt ignored her pointed question, turning to face Reiner fully. “Of course we would.” 

Reiner’s face brightened. “Really? ‘Cuz he’s throwing a party this weekend, it would be great if you guys come. I still don’t know a lot of his friends…”

“A party?” Annie asked, immediately skeptical. “What kind of party?”

“A house party,” Reiner replied. “He says he’s getting a keg.”

Annie’s nose wrinkled. “Jesus, a keg? We aren’t in college anymore, you know—“

“We’d be happy to come!” Bertholdt interrupted her and Annie huffed. Of course they’d come if Reiner wanted them to. That doesn’t mean she can’t give him a little shit for his twenty-three year old deadbeat boyfriend throwing some kind of frat-like keg party. 

Reiner grinned. “Great, I’ll text you guys the information.” He paused. “I really do like Eren, and I know his friends are important to him. I want to make a good impression, you know?”

Annie huffed, reaching up to push her bangs out of her face. “Yeah, yeah, we get it. We’ll come to your stupid boyfriend’s party and talk you up to his stupid friends, but you owe us big time, ‘kay?”

Bertholdt beamed encouragingly at her and Annie rolled her eyes, her cheeks warm. She knew she’d have to hear about it later, how she actually had a soft spot for Reiner. And if she did, so what? When they were young, Annie had always been of the opinion that Reiner was a self-righteous crybaby and a weakling. She found him quite irritating, but the years passed and they grew closer during high school, silently bonding over their unstable home lives. He could be quite fragile with his neglectful and conservative mother, his terrible taste in romantic partners, his constantly fluctuating mental state, and it often worried Annie, not that she’d ever admit it out loud. She couldn’t look at him or the earnest, grateful grin he gave her. 

“Thanks, Annie,” he said. 

“It’s cute, you know.” Bertholdt told her, once Reiner had left for the night. They were sitting on the couch, Annie’s head leaning on his shoulder.

“What is?” Annie asked, pretending not to know what he was talking about. 

“The way you worry about him,” Bertholdt replied. 

“Of course I worry,” she snapped. “You remember what he was like in college.”

Bertholdt grimaced. “Yeah. How could I forget?” 

“Right,” Annie said with a nod. “If nothing else, it’ll be good to see what kinds of people he’s gotten himself tangled up with this time. Even if it is some shitty house party.”

“I think it might be fun,” Bertholdt said, his voice slightly wistful. “We rarely go out.”

Annie dropped a light kiss onto Bertholdt’s cheek. “I wouldn’t get my hopes up if I were you.” She rose from the couch, stretching her arms out before saying, “I’m showering. You want in?”

Bertholdt smiled lightly at her and he looked incredibly tender, his hair mused from the wear of the day. “I’m alright. I’ll see you in bed.”

“Mmm,” Annie hummed, trying not to sound too disappointed. “Suit yourself.” 

“Annie,” he said as she started to turn away. She paused, looking at him over her shoulder. “Love you.”

Annie bit down on her lower lip, taking him in. The boy she’d known her entire life, her husband.  “I know,” she told him. “I love you, too.” 

They could hear the music from before they even stepped foot into the house, the bass rattled the brick walls, they could feel it beneath the cracked concrete patio. 

“Nostalgic, isn’t it?” Bertholdt asked. Annie said nothing in response. 

Reiner was the one who greeted them at the door. There was a deep red flush high on his cheekbones and Bertholdt knew he was drunk instantly, could smell the malt of beer and the sterile scent of vodka on him. 

“Heyy, guys,” Reiner greeted them, slurring his words. “So glad you made it.” 

“Reiner,” a voice called from inside. “Who is it?”

Reiner’s face brightened. “Come in, come in,” he said, ushering them inside. “Come meet Eren an’ all his friends.” 

The house itself was relatively small and unkempt, if the overgrown shrubbery and damaged front porch was any indication. It was dark and the LED glow of neon lights washed over them. Bertholdt could hardly hear himself think over the speakers blasting lyric-less EDM music. 

A thin-faced man with long hair pulled into a loose bun was sitting with his arms splayed over the couch. He tilted his head back and beckoned Reiner over wordlessly. He smelt heavily of menthol vapor. 

“Guys,” he said, “this is Eren. Eren, these are my childhood friends, Bertholdt and Annie.”  

“Didn’t I see you at a coffee shop last week?” Eren asked, squinting in the darkness at Annie. “You were staring at us.”

Annie stiffened. “I was,” she replied curtly. 

Eren laughed and reached over to run the back of his knuckles lightly over the hollow of Reiner’s cheek. Reiner practically keened, leaning into the touch. 

“I thought you looked familiar. Sorry for glaring at you back then, I didn’t know that you two knew each other,” he said. “I thought you were eyeing Reiner up.” 

“I’d never in a million years,” Annie said and Eren raised an eyebrow. 

“These two are married,” Reiner explained. “Been together since we were in college.” 

“Reiner’s not my type, anyway,” said Annie and then, after pausing for a beat, she added, “Plus, he’s gay.” 

“Well, can’t argue with that logic,” Eren said, then he gestured vaguely around the living room. “Enjoy yourselves. We got a keg set up over there, and there’s a bunch of shit to make whatever you want in the kitchen.”

Bertholdt watched as Eren leaned in and whispered something unintelligible to Reiner, whose face twisted up in an expression that Bertholdt couldn’t quite place. He mumbled something back—“Eren,” he said in a low voice—and they began to kiss with open mouths, sloppy and drunk like they were the only ones in the room.

“Ugh,” Annie muttered, elbowing Bertholdt in his side. “I’m gonna find the bathroom. Can you get me something to drink?”

“Beer?” Bertholdt asked, extending his hand to take her purse from her with a questioning look. She shook her head, hiking it further up her shoulder. 

Annie looked over, eyeing the couple making out on the couch beside them. “Something stronger,” she said decisively. 

Bertholdt leaned down to press a chaste kiss to her temple before setting off to journey through strangers in search of the kitchen. It wasn’t hard to find, the only room that was lit up like a beacon in the dark. 

The kitchen was small and cramped and the tile was sticky beneath the soles of Bertholdt’s sneakers. An assortment of half-empty liquor bottles, juices, and sodas were spread out over the counter and Bertholdt began examining them. Annie was always partial to tequila, so Bertholdt began to mix her tequila and orange juice when he felt another body move into the cramped space. 

“Pardon me,” the unknown person said, and Bertholdt realized he was blocking the fridge.

“Ah, sorry,” Bertholdt apologized, stepping out of the way. The other man had neatly cropped blonde and peered at Bertholdt with wide, blue eyes. 

“No, you’re all good,” said the man, speaking slower now. He reached over to pull the refrigerator open, bending down to rummage through the miscellaneous things inside of it. Bottles clanked together, a jarring noise in the tiny space. When there was nothing to his satisfaction, the man let out a light sigh and shut the fridge. 

“Nothing?” Bertholdt asked with an awkward chuckle. He’s never been very good at small talk, his palms were growing clammy at the close proximity to a stranger. 

“I think all of our leftovers are expired,” the man replied and let out a short laugh, equally as awkward as Bertholdt’s. 

“Do you live here, too?” Bertholdt asked.  

The man made a startled little noise in the back of his throat. “Oh, sorry. Are you a friend of Eren’s? I’m his roommate, Armin. Nice to meet you.” 

Bertholdt rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m Bertholdt,” he said, “but, um, no, I’m not a friend of Eren’s. You know Reiner?”

“Uh-huh. The new boyfriend.” Armin said with a slow, knowing nod. “They really like each other, those two.” 

Bertholdt nodded as well. “It seems that way, yes.” 

“I don’t know Reiner well yet,” said Armin, “but Eren seems happy with him, which is all I want, of course.”

Armin spoke in a quiet yet assertive voice and Bertholdt found himself still nodding along to his words and he wasn’t sure why. He felt strangely compelled by Armin’s presence. Drawn in, perhaps, by the easygoing nature of their conversation. It was natural in a way that frightened Bertholdt, just a little. He was always the type of person to keep a small circle of friends so this was uncharted waters for him.  

“Yeah,” Bertholdt said, his words coming out all stilted. “Same here. For Reiner to be happy, I mean. I’ve known him all my life and he—I don’t know—he can be kind of…” Bertholdt trailed off.

“Hard to deal with?” Armin supplied. 

“I guess that’s a nice way of putting it,” Bertholdt said and grinned sheepishly. 

“Eren’s the same way,” Armin replied and he cast a look behind Bertholdt’s shoulder, presumably at the aforementioned man. “Is this your kind of scene, Bertholdt?” Armin asked, gesturing to the party outside the kitchen. 

“Not really,” Bertholdt admitted. “I’m just here to support Reiner, honestly. I haven’t been to something like this since college. Even then, I wasn’t much of a partier, I’m afraid. I don’t like all the loud noise.” 

Armin, to Bertholdt’s surprise, let out a light laugh. It was friendlier than his laugh before, less guarded, and it sounded like crisp bells against a summer sky.

“I know, right?” he said. “I never liked parties either, but Eren does, so I guess I don’t mind. I only get mad when our neighbors complain or if he doesn’t consult me first. One time, he threw a rager right before my midterms. It was awful.”

“Are you a student?” Bertholdt asked. He didn’t think Armin was college-aged but he had a young face, cheeks round and rosy, so Bertholdt wasn’t sure. 

“Yes, I’m getting my PhD,” Armin explained. 

“Oh! For what?”

“Psychology,” said Armin. 

“What kind of psychology?” Bertholdt inquired. 

“Behavioral. You know, like human action. It’s all predictable, really. Why we behave the way we do. Humans are a lot more transparent than you’d think.”

“So are you studying me right now?” Bertholdt asked and he felt the scrutiny of Armin’s gaze wash over him. It was palpable, the way Armin looked at him. Bertholdt felt a chill running up his spine. 

“I suppose I’m always studying people,” Armin replied, then he looked down at his feet. “I think I don’t know how to turn it off anymore.” 

“Do you enjoy it?” Bertholdt asked. “Psychology, I mean.” 

“I think so,” Armin said in a contemplative manner. “Growing up, it was always my dream to study history, I even minored in it during undergrad, but…I think I’m just better at this than I ever was at history. It’s for the best, anyway. My parents died when I was young and my grandfather raised me. We never had much, so I want to repay him by getting a good job. Still, sometimes I wonder if I made the right choice.” He paused. “Sorry for dumping that on you, you didn’t ask.”

“No, I—“ Bertholdt stumbled over his words, clumsy. “No, don’t apologize. I think it’s, um, admirable. I don’t really have any passions or big goals or anything like that, so I think maybe a part of me is in awe of you." 

“What do you do? For work?” Armin asked. 

“It’s not that interesting,” said Bertholdt. 

“I don’t care,” Armin replied. “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know.”

Bertholdt felt a warmth creep up the back of his neck. Armin regarded him with an attentive stare and Bertholdt felt slightly shy beneath it. “I work for an online advertising firm,” he said. “I sell ad space on websites. Like I said, it’s pretty boring but the hours are fine and it pays the bills, so I can’t complain.” 

“Ambition isn’t always a good thing,” Armin said. “Sometimes, to be content is the best thing you can ask for in life. That’s what I think, at least.”

“I never—“ Bertholdt’s mouth felt dry. He wet his lips with his tongue. “I never thought of it that way.” 

They were quiet for a moment, taking each other in or, maybe, sizing each other up. Armin was exceptionally pretty, Bertholdt thought, but there was a striking quality to him, similar to Annie. Something silent and deadly, a killer instinct hidden beneath pearlescent blue eyes. 

“Do you like beer, Bertholdt?” Armin asked, then. 

“Sure,” said Bertholdt with a chuckle. “As much as the next guy, I guess.”  

“Would you like to drink some upstairs with me? I can’t promise silence but it’s definitely less noisy in my room—“

“There you are!” The sound of Annie’s voice, ringing out from behind Armin, startled both of the men. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” 

“Sorry,” Bertholdt said, reaching an arm out. Annie took his hand gingerly, holding it in her own as he wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “Annie, this is Armin. He’s Eren’s roommate. Armin, this is my wife. Annie.” 

“Oh!” said Armin with a hint of surprise. He raised his eyebrows, his lips parting open slightly. “Hello, Annie. Good to meet you.”

“Same here,” Annie said coolly. “Sorry, did I interrupt something?”  

“No, no,” Bertholdt replied. “We were just getting to know each other. Hey! You know, Armin, Annie is an exhibit designer at the natural history museum downtown. Armin was saying how much he loves history, wouldn’t it be nice to show him around sometime?”

Annie looked up at Bertholdt, her mouth pinched together in an unreadable expression. Bertholdt smiled down at her in his best attempt at reassurance. A peacekeeper, a grounding presence. Like him, Annie could be difficult with strangers. Maybe that’s why they gravitated towards each other.  

“Wow, that’s so cool!” Armin exclaimed. “I’d love a tour. You know, if it’s not too much trouble, of course.”

Annie was silent for a few long seconds, just looking at Armin. Armin held her gaze firmly, looking right on back like he could see through her.

“Sure,” she finally said with a simple shrug. 

“Well, great!” Bertholdt said loudly, waving his hands around. “Why don’t we exchange numbers and we can schedule something?”

Armin looked from Bertholdt to Annie, then back to Bertholdt again before he smiled weakly and began to fish his phone out of his pocket. “Alright.” 

He handed his phone to Bertholdt, who promptly put his number into Armin’s contact. 

“Oh, right. Annie,” Bertholdt said, once he gave Armin’s phone back. “I made you a drink.”

“About that,” Annie said in an even, unimpressed voice. “I think we should take Reiner home. He’s too drunk.”

Bertholdt blinked. “What? Already?”

“He’s throwing up in the bathroom, and I don’t want to leave him here. I don’t trust that boyfriend of his yet.” 

“Hey,” Armin said. His eyebrows were furrowed, offended on his friend’s behalf. “Eren wouldn’t do anything. He’s not like that.”

Annie gave him another long, hard look. “Well, we’re leaving anyway.”

“That’s too bad,” Armin said, flashing Bertholdt a shy and private smile. Annie watched quietly. “But we’ll probably be seeing a lot more of each other, right?”

“Why’s that?” Annie asked. She regarded Armin with narrowed eyes. 

Armin paused. “Because of the happy couple, no? Eren and Reiner?”

“Ah,” Annie said, then. She let out a light sigh. “Yes, I guess you’re right.” 

Bertholdt returned Armin’s bashful grin. “It was really nice meeting you, Armin. I’ll send you a message about scheduling a museum visit.”

Armin lifted his hand up in a wave of farewell. “Likewise. I’ll be waiting.” 

Bertholdt followed Annie through the crowd of people that had grown significantly in the time Bertholdt had spent in the kitchen with Armin. 

“Seriously, that guy,” Annie was muttering under her breath. “I thought his days of binge-drinking ended in college.”

“He has trouble controlling himself, you’ve always known that,” Bertholdt said.

“Your excuses for him are exactly why he keeps up his destructive behavior,” Annie told him pointedly, which had Bertholdt shutting his mouth. 

Reiner was sprawled out in the tiny guest bathroom, situated next to the stairs. He knelt in front of the porcelain throne, head bowed as he retched and groaned and swallowed thickly. Eren was bent over behind him, petting his back encouragingly. Both of them looked up when Annie and Bertholdt arrived in the doorway.

“Get up, moron,” said Annie in a sharp, cutting tone. “We’re going home.” 

“Going home?” repeated Eren incredulously. “No, he’s fine. Tell them you’re fine, Rei.” 

“He’s puking, he’s not fine.”

“I know that he’s puking,” replied Eren voice rising angrily, “but I can look after him if you guys want to leave.”

“No way,” Annie said and she began tugging at Reiner’s arm, hoisting him up by his bicep. Reiner groaned, his shoulders sagging and his head drooping like dead weight. “Hold yourself up, I know you can.”

“Sorry,” Bertholdt apologized to Eren. “Don’t take offense, we’ve just seen him through a lot of bad nights. College, you know?”

“I didn’t go to college,” said Eren. 

“W-Well!” Bertholdt stumbled over his words, unsure how to interact with Eren, “We’ll take him home just to be safe. His roommate knows how to take care of him so he’ll be in good hands. Right, Reiner?”

Reiner, who was now standing with a significant portion of his weight being shouldered by Annie’s small yet muscular frame, blinked a few times. His adam’s apple bobbed in his throat and he said, “Sorry I overdid it, Eren. Just wanted to have fun for your friends.” 

“It’s all good, babe,” Eren told him and reached over, taking Reiner’s face in his hands. “They thought you were cool. Rest up and text me tomorrow, ‘kay?”

“‘kay,” Reiner mumbled, sounding embarrassed. 

“I’d kiss you,” Eren said, “but you smell like puke.”

Annie practically dragged Reiner out of the house, Bertholdt trailing behind them and absently admiring how strong Annie was. She’d always been athletic for as long as Bertholdt had known her. She played on the girls lacrosse team through high school and college, and she’d recently taken up kickboxing as an outlet for her pent-up stress. 

My wife’s awesome, thought Bertholdt as Annie shoved Reiner into the back, his broad form folded over the upholstered seats. 

The drive to Reiner’s house was short, and Ymir was waiting for him on the front steps. She stood when they pulled up in the driveway and helped pull him out of the car.

“You overdid it again, didn’t you?” She began chastising him immediately. “I know you can hear me, shithead!”

“Thanks, Ymir,” Bertholdt said apologetically. “Do you need any help bringing him in?”

Ymir flashed him a grin. “No worries. You two should enjoy the rest of your night. I can handle his drunk ass.” She turned to Reiner, holding him up by his waist. “C’mon, moron, we’re going inside.”

Reiner mumbled something unintelligible and dragged his feet clumsily as Ymir pulled him up the front steps. They’re a funny pair, those two, thought Bertholdt, but he’d always liked Ymir, he thought that she was good for Reiner. Group project partners turned roommates their sophomore year of college, Reiner and Ymir never seemed to be able to get rid of each other. 

Annie and Bertholdt stood in the driveway, watching until Reiner disappeared into the house, then they turned to each other. Bertholdt offered her a small smile. 

“Shall we head home?”

The ride was quiet, the streets were dark except for the faint flickering of lampposts, and Annie gripped the steering wheel tightly. 

“So what did you think?” Bertholdt asked, after a few minutes of prolonged silence. 

“I think he has a drinking problem,” Annie said evenly. 

“N-No—No, I meant what did you think about the party.” 

Annie wrinkled her nose. “It was fine. I hated the music, and his house was a little gross.”

“His friends were nice, though,” Bertholdt replied through a low hum. “Or, I guess, the one friend was. Armin.” Armin’s name rolled off of Bertholdt’s tongue so easily, like each syllable found home in Bertholdt’s mouth. 

“It was weird,” Bertholdt confessed, looking down at his lap, “I felt like I knew him.”

Annie paused. “Like you’ve met him somewhere before?”

“Not really,” Bertholdt said. “He just seemed so…familiar, I guess.” 

“Hmm…” murmured Annie, and she said nothing more on the subject. 

Annie spotted his blonde hair before he spotted him. She lingered behind the information desk for a second, observing Armin from afar. He was dressed in a simple white button-up, a loose pair of tan slacks, and well-worn brown loafers. He had a beat-up leather messenger bag slung over his shoulder, a pair of wire-framed glasses that slipped down the bridge of his nose. 

“Armin,” she finally called out, raising a hand in greeting. 

“Ah, hello! Annie-san,” said Armin.

“Just Annie is fine,” replied Annie. 

“Got it,” Armin said with a short, quick nod. There was a beat of silence. “Thanks a lot for setting up a tour for me. It was kind of you to offer.”

Annie eyed him warily. It was Bertholdt who offered you a tour, she wanted to say but bit her tongue. “Sure,” she said, instead. “We enjoy engaging interested parties in all the museum has to offer. It’s the end of the day, anyway. We don’t get a lot of foot traffic past four.”

It wasn’t that Annie disliked Armin, exactly. There wasn’t any reason to dislike him, after all. He seemed like a perfectly nice young man but, rather, she felt uneasy around him. Something about his presence had Annie on guard. Her shoulders felt tense as she led them around the different wings of the museum. 

“This is our Early Humans wing,” Annie said, waving a hand around.

“Fascinating,” Armin replied, staring intently at a model of stone tools. “Have you worked here for long, Annie?”

“A couple years,” she said. “I started out as a visitor services intern right out of college, now I help manage new exhibit designs and guest relations.”

“That’s so interesting. I think in another life I would have loved to work in a museum.” There was a childlike wistfulness in his voice that caught Annie off guard.

She raised a thin, blonde eyebrow. “Do you believe in that kind of stuff?”

“Hmm?”

“Other lives,” said Annie. 

Armin looked down at one of the exhibit labels, a pensive look crossing over his face. “It’s a funny thing to ponder, isn’t it? The world is so big, and time is so long. Surely, we’ve all been here before, right?”

Annie turned away. She had nothing to say back. 

Their local natural history museum wasn’t very large and, within an hour or so, they found themselves back in the large atrium where they started. 

Annie folded her hands neatly in front of her, looking down at her scuffed-up ballet flats with a bored, detached expression. “I hope you enjoyed the museum,” she said. 

“I did! Thanks again, Annie. I appreciate it.”

Annie expected that to be the end of it. Armin would leave and, in half an hour, so would Annie. She’d go home, see her husband, begin making dinner, and Armin would become a spotty recollection in the back of her mind. 

But, instead, Armin leaned forward. “When do you get off? Would you like to get a drink?”

Annie’s lips parted open. “I’m…I’m still here for another half hour. I need to send out some emails.” That seems like good enough of an excuse, she thought. 

Armin was undeterred. 

“Okay, I can wait around. I think I want to look a little more at the Ocean Life Hall, anyway. Come find me when you’re ready to leave!”

Stunned, Annie walked mechanically back to her desk. She felt a weird buzzing beneath her skin, the hairs on the back of her neck standing at attention. Just how easily did Armin take control of the situation? Force her hand? It was unnerving, the wideness of his blue eyes, the calculated and measured way he spoke. 

Annie decided, as she punched out the remaining tasks for the day, that she didn’t like Armin one bit. She was resigned to tell Bertholdt so that night. 

True to his word, Armin lingered in the Ocean Life Hall. In fact, he was the last straggler left. When Annie found him, alone in the exhibit, he was sitting on one of the observatory benches. His ankles were crossed loosely in front of him, and he stared—besotted—up at the sprawling mural of sea creatures painted on the high ceiling. 

“Armin.” Annie had to call his name to get his attention, the sound of her voice snapping him back into reality. 

“Hi, Annie. Sorry, were you standing there long? I was so taken by this mural.”

“We had it done last year,” Annie said. “We got the funding for a group of local painters to install it.” 

“Well, they did a great job. It’s so beautiful. Don’t you just love the ocean?”

“Sure,” said Annie, unmoved. “It’s nice.”

Armin, sensing her wariness, stood quickly from the bench. “Let’s grab that drink. Do you know of any bars nearby?”

“There’s a pub a few blocks away,” said Annie. “I’ve been there a few times with colleagues.”

“Sounds perfect,” Armin replied. 

The walk was relatively silent, Annie not willing to engage in any mindless chatter. There was a slight breeze in the air, and the sky was a brilliant mid-August orange. 

“I love Denver in the summer,” Armin murmured through a lithe exhale. “Are you from the area?”

Annie looked down at the sidewalk, the cracks in the pavement. “No, we moved here after college.”

“By ‘we,’ you mean you and Bertholdt. Right?”

Annie’s neck snapped up at the mention of her husband. She felt a strong protective urge flare up in her chest. 

“Yes,” she said, bristling. “But also Reiner and a couple other friends from college. It just sort of shook out that way.”

If Armin picked up on her irritation, he didn’t show it. “I see,” he said. Then, when Annie didn’t reply, he continued to say, “I grew up just over in Englewood. Well, me and Eren, and our other friends. None of them were at the party last weekend, a lot of them moved away after college. I did my undergrad and masters on the East Coast, but I decided to come back here for my doctorate. It’s kinda just me and Eren left.”

Annie stopped walking. She looked intently at Armin. “Why are you telling me all this?”

Armin returned her gaze with similar levels of even scrutiny. “I want to get to know you, Annie. I want to be your friend.”

Annie narrowed her eyes. “I think you mean you want to be Bertholdt’s friend, don’t you?”

Annie felt great satisfaction that, when she said those cutting words, Armin’s placid, earnest expression cracked for just a second. I have your number, Annie thought, squaring her shoulders back. I saw the way you looked at him. You can’t fool me. 

But, almost as quickly as the mask slipped, it was back up again. Armin leaned forward, the whites of his eyes shining in the sunset. “I want to be your friend, too.”

Annie turned away. They were standing outside the pub. She brushed past Armin, the tips of her ears warm.

“Sure,” she said. “Let’s just get this drink.” 

They sat at a sticky table near the restrooms. Annie ordered a pilsner, Armin asked for a club soda.

“You don’t drink?” Annie asked.

“I prefer not to on weekdays,” Armin replied. “I have an early morning meeting with the professor I’m TA’ing for this upcoming semester. Have to be clear-headed, you know?”

“I see,” said Annie, after a sip of her drink. 

An awkward silence stretched between them that seemed to crawl on endlessly. Armin broke it by clearing his throat. He leaned forward.

“Can I ask you something?”

Annie’s brow lifted skeptically. “Sure.”

“You seem young.”

“That’s not a question.”

“Sorry, I’ll reframe it. Aren’t you two young to be married?” 

Annie, despite herself, chuckled. “That’s a rather invasive question, don’t you think?”

Armin smiled and Annie hated the coy, shyness he put on. “Well,” he said, “I’m a naturally curious person.” 

“You’re younger than me,” refuted Annie.

“Well, sure, but I’m not married,” replied Armin. 

Annie took a long, long gulp of her pilsner. She slammed the glass down with more force than intended. 

“If you want to know about our marriage so badly that you’ve corralled me into a bar after forcing me to walk you around a museum that you’ve definitely been to already, Mr. Denver-Native, then I suppose I have no choice but to tell you,” said Annie evenly. 

She enjoyed watching the bright red blush that spreads rapidly across his cherub cheeks.

“We’re from the south,” she began. “Me, Bertholdt, and Reiner all grew up in a town in Texas, just outside of Austin. The three of us met in kindergarten. I was a foster kid, stuck in the system. I moved around a lot. Different people, different houses, nowhere I could really call home. But the Hoovers, Bertholdt’s parents, were always kind to me. They fed me, gave me a roof if I needed it. There were times that I stayed in their guest bedroom for weeks. Months, even. And Bertholdt was always there.

Towards the end of high school, I was finally adopted. By the first man who ever fostered me, actually. I didn’t know it at the time, but he had been fighting to get custody of me for years. With more stability in my life, finals, and college applications, I hardly saw Bertholdt and Reiner for almost two months. Then, out of nowhere, Bertholdt came to my house late one night. He told me he had applied to schools abroad, that he never said anything because he didn’t think he had a shot, but he was accepted into a program in London. He told me that he was also accepted into the same state school that Reiner and I, and all of our friends planned to attend. 

‘What should I do, Annie-chan?’ he asked me. It was weird, but I had this sudden thought that I had missed him so much. Terribly so. Like nothing had been right until I saw him. And then I thought, if I missed him this much after two months, how could I bear him going to Europe? For most of my life, he and his family were the only home I’d ever known. What if he left and he never came back? So I made a selfish request. I asked him to stay with me forever. We started formally dating and then, after college, we moved out here for my job. We got married so he could be on my health insurance, he hadn’t found work yet, but it was really just a formality. We’ve always been tied together, marriage or not. And we always will be.”

Annie looked up from her now-empty glass. “Is that answer enough for you, Armin?” 

Armin opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. He looked like a goldfish waiting to be fed.

“Wow,” he finally said. “That’s a beautiful story.”

“Is it?” Annie asked. “It’s just our life.” 

“I think picking each other over everything is beautiful,” Armin insisted. 

“And what about you?” Annie asked, then, in a pointed tone.

Armin laughed sheepishly, that coy little act he loved to put on. “What about me?”

“Well—“ Annie stared directly into Armin’s eyes. “—I know you like my husband.”

She expected wild denial, obfuscating, at her accusation but it never came. Armin held her gaze determinedly. 

“I do,” he stated simply. Then, with hooded eyelids, he said, “but I like you, too, Annie.”

He began to lean closer, taking her hand from where it rested on the table into his own. Annie was astounded at the smoothness of his palm, the deceptively large expanse of his fingers. She felt hypnotized by his touch, by the look in his eyes. She was basking in the low glow of the bar’s overhead sconces. 

Then, all at once, Annie lurched away. She stood quickly, grabbing her purse. She threw a couple of messy, crumpled bills onto the table, and turned quickly on her heels, marching out of the bar.

She heard the scrabbling sound of feet following her but Annie’s vision was tunneled, her cheeks burning in mortification. It wasn’t until she had escaped the bar, the coolness of the evening enveloping her, that Armin caught her. His hand curled tightly around her wrist.

“Annie, wait!”

Annie whipped around. She yanked her wrist from his grab, jamming an accusatory finger at his chest. 

“What the hell are you trying to pull here? Huh? I don’t—I don’t get it!” Her voice cracked. “I don’t understand you.”

Armin went quiet, his face deathly still. “I’m sorry for being too forward. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” he apologized quietly. “It’s…all of this is so out of character for me!”

When Annie looked at him doubtfully, he insisted, “It is! I-I don’t know what’s come over me, but when I met your husband, when I met Bertholdt, it was like, like, something was pulling me to him. Something larger than myself. And then, I met you, and it felt the same way. I’m fascinated by the two of you, like I was supposed to meet you.” His nose scrunched up, the skin around his eyelids creasing. His jaw tensed and he let out a sharp bark of manic laughter. “Am I crazy, Annie? I think I might be going crazy.” 

Annie considered him for a long moment. She felt her shoulders sag forward, a marionette with its strings cut. 

“No,” she finally admitted. “You’re not crazy. Bertholdt…he…he said the same thing to me, when we were driving home from the party. He said you felt familiar, and—” Annie swallowed harshly. “—and I feel it, too.”

Armin looked up. His eyes were shining with unshed tears. “Really?”

“Really.” 

Relief seemed to crest over Armin’s delicately drawn features. When he inhaled shakily, it looked like the first time he’d truly taken a breath since Annie saw him waiting by the information desk. He was so achingly human, in that moment, he was so real. 

Annie, feeling emboldened, reached out. She let her hand fall on Armin’s shoulder, gripping it firmly. “I’m going to talk to Bertholdt, okay? I need to figure this…this thing…out with him first.”

Armin nodded quickly. “I understand.” 

Annie paused. She said, in a deathly serious tone, “My priority will always be my husband, Armin. I need you to know that before anything continues. I can’t, I won’t, let anything come between us. He’s my family, he comes first in my life.”

Armin nodded again. “Of course,” he said. 

Annie studied him for a minute—the slope of his nose, the way his glasses fell awkwardly. The moon was peeking out now and, when the silvery light hit him just right, Armin resembled something faraway, like a memory she couldn’t quite place. 

“Okay,” said Annie. “I’m going home now.”

“Do you need me to walk you to—“

“I’m fine. Bertholdt and I will talk, and we’ll call you, got it?”

The thousand-watt smile Armin gave her, wide and unguarded, could’ve lit up the entire country. 

“Got it!” 

As Annie walked back to the museum, where her car was parked, she pretended that she couldn’t feel her heart and the way it was slamming desperately against her ribs. 

“So, what do you think?” said Annie.

“I think…I think…that that’s a lot to process,” Bertholdt said, running a nervous hand over his hairline. 

“I know.” Annie nodded. Then, in a much quieter voice, she said, “Do you like him?”

Bertholdt contemplated this for a long, long minute. 

“If I say yes, you know that it doesn’t mean I don’t love you, it doesn’t mean I love him even half as much as you—“

“‘Love?’” Annie repeated. 

“I meant ‘like,’” Bertholdt said quickly. When Annie didn’t respond, Bertholdt continued. “I really meant to say ‘like,’ Annie-chan, please believe me.”

Annie smiled gently. She placed a hand over his knee. “I know you did.” 

Bertholdt, still anxious, reached out to tuck a stray strand of blonde hair behind Annie’s ear. His touch was painfully gentle and Annie ached. How was she so lucky? How could life bless her with a man such as Bertholdt? Was it so terribly greedy of her to want more? 

“There’s just something about him,” admitted Annie. “I want to know him.”

“I know,” Bertholdt agreed. He had a distant look in his eyes. Annie knew he was picturing Armin. 

“You can love him if you’d like to,” Annie found herself saying. The words seemed to spill from her out of their own volition. “I wouldn’t mind if you did. I acted selfishly, that day, and I hoarded you from the world. I took you for myself. I don’t regret it, Bertholdt, but I want you to know that you can be selfish, too.” 

Bertholdt laughed, it was a familiar sound, the comforting hum of a song Annie knew by heart. 

“You didn’t take me. I’ve always been yours, Annie.”

“But do you want to be his, too?”

Bertholdt nodded again, this time much slower. “I think so.” 

“I do, too,” said Annie with finality. 

Bertholdt and Annie have always been one being, cleaved into two parts of a single whole. Armin was a void, they wished to be swallowed completely by the vastness of him. 

“So,” said Annie, “we’d like to lay down some ground rules.”

Armin was sitting at their dinner table. He was dressed in a loose fitting white t-shirt and a wide-legged pair of linen pants. He wasn’t wearing glasses, his cropped bangs fell neatly just above his eyebrows. Their two small dogs—Pock and Peak, named affectionately after their childhood friends, Porco and Pieck—circled excitedly around his feet.

He was nodding along to Annie’s words, listening keenly. 

“First, we’re not necessarily looking to establish a new relationship,” Annie explained. She spoke slowly, eyeing Bertholdt sporadically for reassurance. It wasn’t often she got nervous but Bertholdt’s was happy to send encouraging grins that kept her steadfast. 

“Second, we need honesty. It’s fine if two of us want to…be alone, but it needs to be communicated clearly so there’s no room for misunderstanding. Those are our terms.”

Armin blinked at them owlishly. “That’s it?”

“Unless there’s a term you’d like to add, too,” Bertholdt chimed in. 

“No, no, that’s all fine with me,” Armin replied. “I just thought you guys might be interested in, um, rules that were kinkier.” 

Annie glanced over at Bertholdt, who was just as stunned as she looked. 

“Kinkier in what way?” Annie dared to ask. 

“Well, how do you two usually have sex?” 

“The normal way…?” said Bertholdt. 

“Ah,” Armin said, like he was privy to a secret only he knew. “Okay, I think I understand.”

Bertholdt was in awe at the easy way Armin could assume control over a room. There was a sharpness about him, one that had drawn Bertholdt in. 

Ever since they met in that cramped kitchen, awash in harsh shades of LED, Bertholdt had been unable to get Armin out of his mind. For almost a week, his thoughts would inevitably and invariably wander to the blonde, and then he would be wracked with guilt for the rest of the day. 

Annie was the love of his life, how could he be so taken by a stranger? It wasn’t until the night that Armin visited Annie at her job that the puzzle pieces finally started to click. 

Annie had come home frazzled. Her blonde hair, pulled into a bun, fell haphazardly over her face.

“We need to talk,” she’d said with an urgency that put Bertholdt on high alert. 

It hadn’t been an easy conversation, when she’d retold the events of the evening, but it was a necessary one. One that led them here: Armin, in their house, with his unfairly blue eyes staring from Bertholdt to Annie, back and forth. Like he knew something about them, like he was daring them to come find out just what it was he knew. 

“I take it that you two have never had experience with a third?” Armin said.

“One time Annie’s co-worker, Hitch, propositioned us to hook-up with her and her boyfriend,” Bertholdt said, “but she was really drunk, and I don’t think she was being serious. So no, we’ve never—um—done anything like this before.” 

“You’re talking like you’re awfully experienced,” Annie said. “Have you?”

Armin faltered for a moment. “N-No. I haven’t, either.”

An awkward silence fell over the room. Bertholdt clapped his hands together. “Well, good! It’ll be a new experience for all of us, then”

“What a positive way to put it,” said Annie evenly. She was being mean, ornery, but Bertholdt knew it was because she was on edge. She was nervous, like a cornered cat. Bertholdt reached blindly for her hand under the table, finding it easily. She didn’t meet his gaze, but she laced her long fingers between his. 

Armin must’ve sensed a shift in the energy because his conviction wavered. He looked down at his lap. 

“I don’t want you two to feel forced into anything,” he began to say. “If, at any point, I’m becoming an…an intrusion…you should pull the plug, I won’t be mad. I’m the one who forced myself into your lives without any regard for—“

“But we wanted it,” Bertholdt cut Armin off, speaking without really thinking. “We wanted you.” 

Armin bit down on his lower lip. Bertholdt extended his free hand, grasping Armin’s. Armin tensed at first, muscles clamping down, but quickly he seemed to relish the touch. His cheeks were turning pink. 

This is the first time we’ve touched, thought Bertholdt absently. He felt fingers brush over his cheeks, unfamiliar ones. Bertholdt looked over at Annie—who gave him only a shy smile and a slight nod—before he was being pulled into a kiss. 

Everything about Armin was hot; his lips, his tongue, his breath. Bertholdt felt like he was melting from the inside out, coils of heat building rapidly in his stomach. Armin gripped Bertholdt's arms like he was anchoring Bertholdt to the world, afraid the elder man would float off and disappear forever. 

“S-Should—“ Bertholdt managed to pant out in between sloppy kisses, “—we go to the bedroom?”

“Whatever you want,” Annie said. Her eyes were wide, pupils dilated, and she seemed mesmerized by the scene playing out before her. Bertholdt glanced down and realized that she had begun rubbing a hand over the front of her pants.

“I think we should,” Bertholdt said, suddenly very aware of the raging erection he was currently sporting. 

Bertholdt led Armin to their bedroom. It wasn’t very large or grand, but it fit a king-sized bed and that was decent enough for them. Bertholdt and Armin went in first, Annie trailing behind. She shut the door quickly behind them, keeping Pock and Peak out, and when she looked over, Armin and Bertholdt were both shirtless.

“Annie,” Armin called breathlessly from the bed. “Come here.”

Annie wasn’t someone who liked being told what to do yet, somehow, she quietly obeyed. 

She perched on the edge of the mattress and Bertholdt, who was now sitting back on his haunches like a keeled dog, could only watch as Armin pulled her legs so they were fully on the bed. Gripping her ankle, he spread them apart and, leaning down, he undid the clasp of her jeans with only his teeth.

“Is this okay, Annie?” he murmured in a low voice, his lips ghosting over the front of Annie’s panties. 

Annie nodded, a hand coming up to cover her face. 

“You have to say yes,” Armin told her. “I need you to use your words or else I’m gonna stop.”

“Y-Yes…!” Annie choked out. Bertholdt, watching frozen, felt a jolt of electricity rocketing up his spine. He’d never seen his wife like this. Annie was always controlled, even in their love-making, content to take the lead. Now, she had a look in her eye—glazed over, delirious with pleasure. 

Bertholdt wondered if he ought to be jealous. Any other husband would be, right? But instead, he was so turned on he thought he might die. To see Annie’s face, radiant and beautiful, twisted in such an unbridled way. Bertholdt let out a shaky groan. He reached for his—

“Stop,” Armin said, head snapping up. He gripped Bertholdt’s wrist, the tips of his fingers ghosting over the bulge in his boxers. Bertholdt whined. “Sorry, baby, I know it’s hard, but you can’t touch yourself until I’m done with Annie, okay?”

“But—“

“Be patient and watch,” Armin cut him off, “then I’ll fuck you nice and hard.”

It took everything in Bertholdt not to cum right then and there. 

Annie didn’t seem to be faring much better herself. She was sunk deep into the pillows, panting like she’d run a marathon. “Please, Armin,” she said, her hip canting up and thrusting into nothing. 

“Look at you,” Armin said through an exhale. He pulled her jeans down all the way, her milky thighs exposed to the cool air. Annie shuddered at the hot-cold sensation. Without warning, Armin began an assault of licks, dampening the black fabric of her underwear. 

His tongue dove hungrily, lapping at her covered entrance in long, broad stokes but it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t enough. 

Bertholdt couldn’t look away from the way Annie’s spine arched off the mattress, practically humping Armin’s mouth and he hadn’t even taken her underwear off. When the tip of his nose nudged against the hood of her clit, Annie practically shouted in ecstasy.

“There!” she gasped out. “Right there, Armin.”

Finally, finally, Armin tugged at the elastic band of her panties. He pulled them down and discarded them on the floor, landing with a wet plop. Annie was dripping, and Bertholdt found himself rocking his hips against the bedspread, desperate for any kind of friction. What would Armin do if he caught him, though? Would he deny Bertholdt what he’d promised? It was an immense show of willpower, but Bertholdt managed to steady himself. He had to do as he was told, didn’t he?

Armin was now going to town on Annie’s cunt, like a man starved. He licked and sucked and prodded. Annie, who was never prone to theatrics, dissolved into a mess of heady moans. She gripped at Armin’s blonde hair, fingers curling over his scalp.  

Bertholdt didn’t know how long he watched. A minute? An hour? A lifetime? He was transfixed, and he knew that the image of Armin and Annie would forever be burned into the back of his eyelids like a brand. He was leaking pre-cum like a geyser, a large wet spot collecting at the front of his boxers. 

Bertholdt knew his wife, all the little tells of her body, and when her calves—thrown over Armin’s shoulders—began to twitch, Bertholdt knew she was teetering on the edge of an orgasm. 

“Ahh—Nngh—I’m gonna—Armin! I’m gonna—“

“Go ahead, Annie, you can come for me.”

That was all it took. Annie was coming loudly, her pussy spasming against Armin’s mouth. He continued licking her through her orgasm until she was squirming away, oversensitivity tingling beneath her skin. 

“Good job,” Armin said, doing a valiant job at maintaining his composure, though his chest was heaving from the exertion and the sheer thrill. His chin was glistening, slick with Annie’s release. “You did so good, Annie.”

Annie’s eyes were cloudy and she was limp, wrung out with pleasure. Still, she was clenching at the thought of what came next. 

Armin crawled over to Bertholdt. “Did you touch yourself?” he asked.

“No,” Bertholdt said, shaking his head. “No, I didn’t.”

“Promise?”

“I promise, Armin. Please!” Bertholdt knew he was babbling nonsense yet he couldn’t think straight. His thoughts were a dizzying array, his body reaching for Armin. 

“Look at you,” said Armin, “so neglected. I’m here, I’m going to take care of you.” He gripped Bertholdt’s hip, pressing his blunt fingernails into the olive-toned skin. Bertholdt wondered, vaguely, if it would leave a mark. He hoped so, he hoped the little half-moon indents would stay forever burned into his body. 

Then, Bertholdt felt his hand begin to wander further down. He palmed at Bertholdt’s asscheek. “Have you ever…” he trailed off.

“Just once or twice,” Annie answered for Bertholdt in a breathless voice, “we’ve used a strap-on, but—“

There was a strange glint in Armin’s eye when he turned back to Bertholdt and said, “But never the real thing?”

Suddenly feeling quite shy, Bertholdt shook his head. 

“I’m so happy,” Armin admitted as he began kissing and licking up the side of Bertholdt’s neck. He mouthed at Bertholdt’s jawline. “It’s like you were saving yourself for me, weren’t you, Bertholdt?”

“I was,” exclaimed Bertholdt, even though it made no sense. “I was.” 

It wasn’t exactly a lie. In a weird way, it felt true. Like they were lost and, for all his life, they’d been waiting for Armin to come and find them. 

Armin maneuvered Bertholdt so he was lying on his side, facing Annie. He reached over Bertholdt’s contorted torso, pressing two fingers to Bertholdt’s lips. Without question, Bertholdt accepted them, sucking the digits until they were nice and slick. 

Then, Bertholdt felt the intrusion of the first finger. It burned, it hurt so good. Bertholdt struggled to breathe, he felt his toes curling over the sheets. How was this only a finger? He felt so full.

“You’re so tight,” Armin murmured, almost in awe, as he pressed his nose into the crook of Bertholdt’s neck. He smoothed his free hand over Bertholdt’s ass, a touch that surprised Bertholdt in its gentleness. “Relax, Bertholdt. Let yourself enjoy your reward.”

Bertholdt didn’t know how Armin just understood. It didn’t make sense to him. He knew that Annie wanted to be dominated, wanted to be praised, and he knew that Bertholdt wanted to be taken care of, wanted to be rewarded. How? Bertholdt thought through a groan, tossing his head back so far when a second finger was added that the tendon in his neck protruded from the strain. How does he know so intrinsically? 

Then, Armin pressed against that little spongy spot, and Bertholdt’s vision whited out. 

“Hnngh!” 

Armin rubbed over his prostate methodically and Bertholdt felt his balls grow tighter and tighter. 

“Armin,” he found himself saying, “Armin, wait! If you keep doing that I’m gonna—“ He was coming with hot spurts of white, completely untouched from only two fingers, before he could finish his sentence. 

It didn’t stop there, though. Just as Bertholdt’s thoughts began to clear from the haze of his sudden orgasm, Armin was lifting Bertholdt’s leg up, and something much bigger was nudging urgently at his hole. 

The sheer stretch of Armin’s cockhead intruding on him was unbelievable. Bertholdt thought he might be ripping in half. With each new trust, Armin got deeper and deeper until their hips were flush against each other. 

Bertholdt had never experienced anything like this before. He was growing more and more delirious every time Armin hit that sweet spot. 

Annie reached out then, thumbing gently over Bertholdt’s dark nipple, and Armin wrapped a hand around Bertholdt’s spent cock, coaxing it back into hardness, almost painfully so. 

There was no escape, Bertholdt was caught between Armin’s cock spearing into him and fucking into Armin’s fist. He never thought he could orgasmed twice in such a short period of time but, once again, Bertholdt found himself hurdling towards a second release. 

He came with a sob, burying his face into the plush pillow, and Armin followed quickly after. Bertholdt felt Armin’s hot spend coating his insides, as Armin clamped down on Bertholdt’s shoulder, sinking his teeth into the tender skin. 

“I’m sorry,” Armin apologized quickly, peppering a series of light kisses over the bite-mark he left on Bertholdt. “I should’ve asked before I came inside, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Bertholdt assured him, feeling light-headed from the intensity of his orgasms. “It’s okay, I don’t mind.”

Armin looked at him, wide eyes shiny with unshed tears. “Thank you. You both did so well.”

Hearing those words, so simple, felt like the world was ending. Or, maybe, like it was beginning anew. 

When Armin’s softened cock slipped out of Bertholdt’s hole, he felt the cum begin to trickle out, but he didn’t have the energy to care.

For a brief moment, everything felt right in the world.

Chapter Text

The three of them fell into a routine. It was clunky and awkward, but a routine nonetheless. It was the end of August, humid, and autumn was fast approaching. 

For all that had transpired, life didn’t change much for Bertholdt and Annie. They slept in the same bed, woke up at the same times, went to their same jobs, came back to their same house, ate the same meals, walked their same dogs on the same routes. On Friday nights, though, Armin came over. 

Without fail, he knocked on their front door shyly, light raps, and always lingered at the threshold for a moment. 

They had a lot of sex, the three of them. Armin was a generous lover, happy to forgo his own pleasure for the sake of satisfying his partners. He fucked Annie relentlessly, had Bertholdt sit on his face until the elder was reduced to nothing but tears, and he was content to give, never receiving. 

“Does anyone know?” Annie asked once, sprawled out on the bed. Her fingers were loosely intertwined with Armin’s. 

“Know what?” 

“That you’re seeing us.”

Armin paused. “No,” he finally said. Then, “If you’re worried about me telling someone, don’t be. I won’t.”

“That’s not what I said,” replied Annie warily. Armin didn’t say anything back and the topic was dropped in favor of sloppily making out, hot and open-mouthed.

Armin was an enigma to Bertholdt. He never talked much about himself, only sparse details about his studies and his part-time job, but he was incredibly curious about Bertholdt and Annie. 

“What’s your favorite food?” he asked, when he tagged along to Sunday morning grocery shopping with Annie.  

“Do you prefer the ocean or the mountains?” he asked Bertholdt, curled up on their couch, watching a nature documentary after he’d bent Bertholdt over the back of the sofa and thoroughly fucked the daylights out of him. 

He had moments where he was talkative, moments where he was pensive. He always thought before he spoke, measured in the words he said. Being with Armin, being loved by Armin, was exciting in a way that Bertholdt had never felt before, something deliciously illicit.  He felt that he could grow addicted to Armin, to this strange new dynamic that the three of them found themselves in. 

Then, fall came. 

Fall brought the start of the school-year, and thus, Armin became less accessible. He still came around when he could on the weekends, but he seemed withdrawn, exhausted, and stressed. The steady stream of texts that Bertholdt had grown accustomed to became stilted and less frequent. 

Bertholdt understood, of course. They both did. It didn’t mean that he didn’t miss Armin, though. 

It was a Tuesday night, Bertholdt was finishing up the dishes when his phone buzzed to life in his back pocket. Reiner, it read. 

“Hello?” Bertholdt pressed the phone into his shoulder, balancing it between his ear.

“Hey. What are you doing Friday night?” Reiner asked. He sounded anxious, like he was biting at his bottom lip.  

“Um…” Bertholdt said. “Nothing, I think…?”

“Okay, cool. Do you want to come out with me and Eren? Don’t bring Annie.”

Bertholdt frowned. He wiped his hands on the dishrag. “What? Why not?”

“Because,” said Reiner, “I really like Eren, and I’m serious about wanting you guys to like him, too. I saw how Annie was with him at the party last month. I want you to get to know him first, so you can put in a good word.” 

Bertholdt sighed. In spite of himself, he managed a small smile. “You really like him, huh?”

“I do,” Reiner insisted, which made Bertholdt happy. Reiner didn’t often let himself enjoy the things in his life.

“Do I really have to be your third wheel all night, though?” Bertholdt asked. 

“Don’t worry, I asked Eren to bring a friend, too. Did you happen to meet his roommate at the party?”

Bertholdt felt his blood go cold. 

“Hello? Hello?”

“Sorry—uh—sorry, no, yeah, I met Eren’s roommate.”

“Okay, perfect. So Friday night is good for you?”

“Y-Yeah,” Bertholdt stuttered. “Friday is good.” 

“Great. I’ll text you later with more details.”

There was a click, and the line went dead. 

Did you really say yes to drinks on Friday??? Bertholdt wasted no time in texting Armin. 

Yes. It sounded fun! was Armin’s only reply. 

A sense of uneasy dread filled Bertholdt’s body. Something in him knew that the four of them together wouldn’t be a good idea. 

Friday night came both quickly and not soon enough. Reiner and Bertholdt met up at the bar beforehand—a local spot they’d been coming to since they’d moved to Denver—and Reiner kept fidgeting, his left leg bouncing up and down underneath the booth table they had claimed. 

“What are you nervous about?” Bertholdt asked. 

Reiner, who had been staring at the door with a potent intensity, turned to his oldest friend. “Huh? Oh. Eren’s roommate. I can’t really get a read on him.”

“What—“ Bertholdt’s mouth felt dry. “—do you mean?”

“He’s really smart, and very protective of Eren. I don’t think he likes me all that much.”

“I’m sure he likes you fine,” Bertholdt assured him. Reiner gave him a skeptical look, but he had no chance to reply because they heard footsteps approaching the table.

Eren looked the same as he had at the party, though Bertholdt could get a clearer view of him now that he wasn’t obscured by darkness. His dark hair was kept down this time, falling just to his shoulders. He wore a black wife-beater, and a pair of dark-wash jeans that fit snug around his legs. There was a silver chain hooked onto the belt-loops of his pants, it glinted in the bar light. 

“Reiner,” he said simply, leaning down to capture Reiner in a kiss. Reiner keened into the touch, parting his lips instinctively to let Eren’s tongue slide in, who licked hotly into Reiner’s mouth. Eren cupped the side of Reiner’s face, thumbing over the hinge of Reiner’s jaw to keep it open. 

Bertholdt wasn’t sure where to look. He wanted to avert his eyes, but the only other option was to look at Armin, who stood behind Eren, a fellow hostage to the couple’s egregious displays of affection. 

Armin wore a cream-colored fair isle sweater and light denim jeans. When Bertholdt finally did look over at him, Armin’s lips twitched upwards in the barest hint of a smile. 

“Hi,” he mouthed wordlessly.

“Hi,” Bertholdt mouthed back. 

Eventually, the couple did break apart, and Eren regarded Bertholdt with a simple nod. “Hey,” he said, sliding into the booth next to Reiner. He slung an arm over Reiner’s shoulders. 

“Nice to see you again,” Bertholdt replied kindly, as Armin slid in beside him. He tried his best not to let anything slip when Armin pressed their thighs together, the warmth of his body radiating even through the layers of clothing that separated him. 

“We ordered some fries for the table,” Reiner told Eren, “but we haven’t gotten drinks yet. Any preferences?”

“I want a beer,” Eren said simply. “Armin, you drinking tonight?”

Armin, who had not yet been addressed by the group, perked up. “Oh! Um, sure. Why not, it’s a Friday, right?” 

“I’ll get a pitcher for the table. First round’s on me,” Bertholdt offered, trying to extend some sort of olive branch to garner good will with the group. 

“I’ll come with you!” Armin offered quickly. He paused. “‘Cuz it’ll be a lot to carry for one person,” he tacked on lamely, like there needed to be some grand reasoning to go with Bertholdt. 

“Thanks,” Bertholdt replied, stilted and awkward. 

They didn’t speak, weaving in and out of the crowd of patrons gathered at the bar. Bertholdt walked with his shoulders squared back, and Armin followed on his heels. 

“I’m not ashamed of you,” Bertholdt said, suddenly, when they got to the bar counter. 

“Huh?” Armin was taken aback, his eyes wide. 

“I mean, like, I’m not trying to hide our…situation…from Reiner, or anything. We can tell them, if you want. I don’t want you to think I’m, y’know, hiding you or something.”

Armin’s face softened. He chuckled, it was warm-sounding. 

“Silly. I know that.” Then, after a beat of silence. “I don’t really want to tell them, either. But it’s not because I’m embarrassed or anything, either. I sort of enjoy the secret.”

“Oh,” said Bertholdt, in lieu of anything more intelligent to say. “Why’s that?”

“Doesn’t it feel a bit fun? But,” Armin said, looking up at Bertholdt. His unfairly long blonde eyelashes fell like a veil over those piercing blue eyes. “I’m happy to see you, baby.”

Bertholdt felt something stab at his heart, he wanted to melt into a puddle on the bar floor, mixing with all the other drippy, sticky things that stuck to the soles of people’s shoes. Armin reached out, brushing the back of his hand over the high ridge of Bertholdt’s cheeks. 

“Pretty thing,” Armin murmured. “Is it gonna be hard for you to pretend like you don’t need me?”

“Don’t say stuff like that in public,” Bertholdt said, batting at Armin’s hand, but he was sure his flushed cheeks gave his flattery away. “It’s embarrassing.” 

“We should order that round,” Armin said, instead of replying. “They’re gonna think something’s up if we’re gone too long.”

Of course, that wasn’t true. When they finally made their way back to the booth with two overflowing pitchers of on-tap beer, Reiner and Eren were practically dry-humping each other over the leather upholstered seating. If they were gone the whole night, Bertholdt wasn’t sure the happy couple would even notice. 

“Ahem,” Armin cleared his throat pointedly. Reiner broke the kiss off first, laughing sheepishly.

“Sorry,” he apologized. Eren made a big show of wiping his saliva-slick lips off with the back of his hand, grinning proudly. 

“So, Eren,” Bertholdt said in his best show of congeniality, when he and Armin nestled back into the booth. “You and Reiner met at the gym, right?”

“Yup,” Eren said. “Saw him mid-set and thought, nice ass, and also, that guy needs a spot.”

Reiner tried his best to look annoyed, but Bertholdt could see the grin he struggled to hold back.

“What?” Eren said, “it’s true!”

“And,” Bertholdt continued to ask, “how did you and Armin meet?”

“We grew up together,” Armin said. “We lived on the same block.” He flashed Eren a shy and private smile, one that Bertholdt was used to being bestowed on him. “Eren was my first friend.”

They seemed so different—Armin and Eren—and it was hard for Bertholdt to wrap his head around their close-knit friendship. Eren was coarse, rough around the edges, but ultimately an open book. Armin was bright and intelligent, but cagey and oddly tight-lipped. Though, Bertholdt supposed that, to an outsider, his friendship with Reiner would also be quite puzzling.  

“Bertholdt and I grew up together, too,” Reiner offered. “Annie, as well.”

“Annie is your wife, right?” asked Eren. “The small blonde lady?”

The mention of Annie felt like a splash of freezing water to the face. Bertholdt didn’t dare to look at Armin, not even out of the corner of his eye. 

“Y-Yes. She’s, um, she’s the love of my life.” Bertholdt rubbed the back of his neck, the tips of his ears flushed. 

“So Armin’s the only single person here, huh?” Reiner asked. 

“It does seem that way,” Armin replied in an even tone, “doesn’t it?”

“We don’t have to talk about this!” Bertholdt cut in. “We don’t want to make Armin uncomfortable, guys.”

Armin turned to look at him, blinking his wide eyes slowly. “It’s okay,” he began to say. He leaned forward, elbows perched on the table. “I don’t mind. I’m not single, actually.”

Bertholdt felt his whole body clam up. His muscles tensed, every hair on his neck stood at attention.  

A hush fell over the group. Eren reacted first. He slammed an open palm onto the table, a thud. Reiner jumped beside him. 

“Wait, what?!” he demanded. “Armin, you’re seeing someone?”

Armin nodded. “Yeah, I am. Two people, actually.”

“Two people? At once?” There was a high note of incredulity in Eren’s voice. “What the hell, Armin? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought you knew!” Armin feigned innocence. “Where do you think I go when I’m gone all weekend?”

“I don’t know,” said Eren, clearly frustrated. “School?”

“You think I’m at school all weekend?” 

Reiner tried to catch Bertholdt’s eye, clearly uncomfortable with the scene playing out in front of him and seeking solidarity, but Bertholdt refused to engage. He stared down at his lap, repeating don’t move, like a mantra in his head.  

“Are you going to tell me who these people are?” Eren asked, his brows knitted together. 

“No,” said Armin. He was grinning knowingly. Bertholdt could feel the weight of his gaze. Underneath the table, Armin hooked his ankle around Bertholdt’s. A shiver worked its way up each divot of Bertholdt’s spine. 

“Why not?”

“Because it’s private, Eren,” said Armin, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“But you always tell me who you’re dating,” Eren argued. 

“Well, it’s different this time.”

“Bullshit—“ 

Bertholdt squeezed his eyes shut, he couldn’t take it anymore. 

“I’m gonna use the bathroom!” Bertholdt cut in, shooting out of his seat.  

All three pairs of eyes were on him as he awkwardly shuffled his way out of the booth. He felt unbearably hot. I knew this was a bad idea. Bertholdt stared down at the floor like it personally offended him, and he didn’t look up until he was safe in the confines of the single-stall men’s bathroom, the door locked behind him. 

He didn’t understand Armin—the games he played, the meaning behind his coded words. Bertholdt stood at the sink, gripping the edges of the porcelain basin and trying to catch his breath. He looked up at the mirror, his vaguely distorted reflection that looked back at him, and realized, as if from a removed distance, that there were unshed tears gathering in his eyes. 

What am I doing? he wondered. Was he in way over his head?

Bertholdt refused to let the tears fall, stubbornly pawing at his face with the cuffs of his shirt sleeves. He took a few steadying breaths: inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. He felt almost ready to head back out when three quick knocks on the door rang out in succession. 

“Just a minute!” Bertholdt called out politely. 

A pause.

“Bertholdt,” Armin’s hushed voice floated through the door. “It’s me.”

When Bertholdt said nothing back, staring stunned at the door—as if it would will Armin away if he glared at it hard enough—Armin spoke again.

“Can you let me in?” 

More silence. 

“Please, Bertholdt?”

Bertholdt was moving on his own, feet shuffling automatically, fingers twisting the lock, and curling over the door-handle. He opened it just a crack, enough for Armin to slip in relatively undetected. 

He was gorgeous, even in the sterile bathroom lighting. He was frowning, looking up at Bertholdt with apologetic eyes. 

“Hi, baby,” he said in a voice like a hum. 

“I thought you weren’t going to say anything,” Bertholdt said. He intended for it to come out stronger but it came out weak, almost pleading. 

“I didn’t say it was you,” Armin protested. 

“I didn’t think you’d say anything at all,” Bertholdt clarified pointedly. 

“I just wanted to tease you, make you squirm a little.” Armin sighed. He frowned. “But I shouldn’t have taken it that far. I know how Eren is, I could’ve guessed he’d react like that.”

“But why?” Bertholdt asked in a hushed voice. 

“He’s…he’s just protective of me,” Armin explained and Bertholdt bit back the chuckle on the tip of his tongue. It was ironic, Reiner had said the same thing about Armin. “Eren’s the kind of guy who feels entitled to things. People.”

Bertholdt’s dark eyebrow rose to his hairline. “And you don’t?” he asked. 

Armin met his gaze. “Me and Eren are more similar than I’d like to admit,” he confessed. 

Bertholdt gulped, his adam’s apple bobbed up and down in his throat. For a brief moment, as he stared down at Armin, he thought he might understand the blonde, just a little more. Armin liked to be in control, pulling strings from an arms length away. He liked to test people, to see how much he could extricate from them. 

But Armin was hiding something, Bertholdt thought. A deep need, a wound, a void that ached and craved. 

As Armin began to sink, slowly, to his knees, in front of Bertholdt, Bertholdt felt like he had always known Armin. It was a pervasive feeling he’d had since the day they met but it was more than mere familiarity. 

I know you, thought Bertholdt as Armin’s deft fingers began to undo Bertholdt’s belt wordlessly. I am you. 

Bertholdt’s breath hitched, caught in his throat. Why was it suddenly so hot in the bathroom? Were they running out of oxygen? Why couldn’t he catch his breath? Armin’s touches were clinical, purposeful, as he unzipped the front of Bertholdt’s jeans, yanking them down to reveal Bertholdt’s thighs. 

Armin pulled Bertholdt’s length out of his boxers and he swallowed him down hungrily first with his eyes. Then, leaning forward, he began to run his tongue over the head of Bertholdt’s cock. 

“Hnngh—!” Bertholdt squeezed his eyes shut, dizzy from the heat of Armin’s mouth over his most delicate part. Armin dove in deeper, tracing his tongue over a long, blue-ish vein that ran down the underside of Bertholdt’s cock. He paused at the base, the tip of his nose nudging against his balls, before he reached a finger out. With the dry pad of his fingertips, he meticulously rubbed over Bertholdt’s taint. Torturous jolts of electricity rocketed through Bertholdt’s body, numbing all his senses. 

“Armin,” Bertholdt managed to pant out. “We’re in public.”

“No one can see us,” Armin said. 

“Still…”

“Do you want me to stop?” Armin asked, withdrawing his finger so quickly that Bertholdt almost whined aloud. 

“No!” Bertholdt was practically sobbing. “Armin, please.”

“That’s what I thought,” purred Armin. He brought his finger back but, this time, he pressed it over the dark ring of tight muscles behind Bertholdt. All the while, he unlatched his jaw and swallowed Bertholdt down, hollowing out his cheeks in a terribly sinful way. 

When he took Bertholdt down to the hilt, finger still circling Bertholdt’s rim, Bertholdt couldn’t hold on. White flashed behind his eyes and he was coming without warning, back arching like a snapped bow. 

Armin took his cum like a champ, swallowing it down when he released Bertholdt from his mouth. 

“You’re crazy,” Bertholdt breathed out, and let out a wild laugh. 

Armin grinned. “Do you forgive me?” he asked, batting his eyelashes as he tucked Bertholdt back into his pants with a tenderness that made Bertholdt’s heart stutter in his chest. 

When he heard the tell-tale sound of the zipper being pulled back up, Bertholdt extended a hand, helping Armin back up to his feet. His eyes drifted south at the noticeable bulge in Armin’s pants.

He gestured to it. “Should I—“

Armin waved him off. “I’ll wait for it to go down. You should head back, they’ll get suspicious if we go back together.”

Bertholdt looked at him, studying him under the harsh fluorescence. 

You can accept the love we give you, he wanted to tell Armin, but he couldn’t form the right words. “Okay,” was what he said instead, slowly. Armin didn’t watch him leave, back turned to the door, but their eyes caught in the mirror. 

What, thought Bertholdt, do you see? 

“Sorry about Eren,” said Reiner. It was late, almost midnight. Armin and Eren called an Uber from the bar, Bertholdt offered Reiner a ride home in the second-hand Subaru that he and Annie had shared since college. Bertholdt was still sober, he was used to drinking minimally at gatherings. Such was the life of the perpetual designated driver. 

“It’s fine,” Bertholdt assured him. “He’s a fun guy.”

Reiner flashed Bertholdt a grateful look. “You really think so?”

“I do,” Bertholdt answered and it was the truth. For all his apparent flaws, one thing was clear about Eren: He loved Reiner. Bertholdt saw it in the way he looked at the elder blonde, the passion that danced in his brilliant green eyes. He coveted Reiner, held him like a reverent object. 

“That makes me feel better,” Reiner said. He gave Bertholdt a smile, shy and earnest, and Bertholdt was reminded of the young kid he grew up with. He hadn’t seen that kid in quite some time. 

They drove in silence for a couple minutes, the car engine whirring, before Reiner spoke up. “I still can’t get a read on Armin, though,” he said. “What do you think?”

Bertholdt kept his eyes trained steadily on the road. His headlights shone, cutting through the highway’s laminated darkness. “I think…” he began, “Armin is afraid.”

Reiner’s nose wrinkled. “Afraid?” he repeated. “Afraid of what?”

“That’s the thing,” Bertholdt said. “I don’t know.”

“I think he likes Annie,” Reiner said, then. 

Bertholdt gaped, nearly swerving out of his lane. “Wha—What?! What makes you think that?”

“When Eren brought Annie up,” said Reiner, “he had a weird look on his face.”

“I’m sure he means no harm,” Bertholdt managed to say, forcing out his best attempt at a nonchalant laugh. 

“If you say so…” Reiner didn’t sound convinced. 

Ymir and her girlfriend, Historia, were sitting outside on their dilapidated porch, passing a joint back and forth, when Bertholdt pulled into the curb outside their house. They whooped obnoxiously loud when Reiner emerged from the car. Ymir and Reiner had lived there for years, ever since they’d all made the great migration to Colorado. Their squat, shitty two-bedroom was old, falling apart, and it came with a plethora of willful raccoons but it was rent-stabilized and, Bertholdt knew, it was the closest thing Reiner ever had to a real home. 

“G’night, Bertl!” Ymir called from the porch. Bertholdt waved at them through the tinted window. He watched Reiner stumble up the steps, collapsing on one of their rickety patio chairs. Ymir handed him the joint, to which Reiner took a long drag. Bertholdt smiled to himself, and started back down the road.  

He thought about Armin the whole way home. 

The TV was still on, playing at a low volume, when Bertholdt stepped through their apartment door. He kicked his shoes off in the foyer. 

Annie was asleep on the couch, their chunky-knit throw blanket tangled in her legs. She looked young when she slept, the lines on her face smoothed. Bertholdt was thankful for Annie, above everything else. She would always be Annie, who anchored him to the world. 

Bertholdt sat beside her, smoothing a hand over her bare ankle. Annie began to stir. 

“Bertholdt?” she mumbled sleepily. She rubbed at her eyes with a balled-up fist. “What time is it?”

“Late,” Bertholdt told her and, in the same breath, he said, “I love you.”

Through cloudy, sleep-delirious eyes, Annie smiled. “I know,” she said. “I love you, too.”

Weeks passed by, the days of late-September gave way to October. There was a chill in the air, and Bertholdt started wearing his favorite corduroy scarf that Annie loved. She loved how cute he looked in it, mused-up hair, nose hidden in its cotton folds. 

October was also midterm season, and Armin was working overtime as a TA, drowning in papers that needed to be graded, office hours that needed to be clocked in. 

“You look like shit,” Annie told him when she saw him on the last weekend of October. He had dark bruises painted under his eyes. It looked like he hadn’t slept for weeks.

“Annie-chan!” Bertholdt admonished, guiding Armin inside, a steady hand wrapped around the blonde’s waist. He regarded Armin, then, and said, “You do look quite tired.”

“I am tired,” Armin confessed. Annie was shocked at how forthcoming he was. Armin was not someone Annie knew to be outright about how they felt, at least not unless he was cornered into it. 

“I’m going to be at your school on Thursday, by the way,” she mentioned as they ate dinner, greasy take-out Chinese that Bertholdt ordered in 

“What?” Armin’s hand stilled where chopsticks hovered over his mouth. “Why?”

“The museum is setting up a booth at the undergraduate career fair,” she said. “I volunteered. You should stop by.”

“Oh…” said Armin. “I’m going to be busy then.”

Annie raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I didn’t say what time it was.” 

Armin floundered for a moment, his mouth opening and shutting. He turned his head away. “I’m busy all day on Thursdays.”

“Did he seem weird to you?” Annie asked Bertholdt on Saturday night. Armin had stayed over on Friday—making love to them both—but left early the next morning under the guise of his impending conference paper, which he was to present at the end of the semester. 

“Hmm?” Bertholdt hummed sleepily. 

“Armin,” snapped Annie. 

“Oh,” Bertholdt said. “Um. I don’t know, he seemed normal. Stressed, I guess, but he’s been stressed for weeks.”

“But you didn’t think it was weird how he brushed me off? About seeing him at school? Is he hiding something from us?”

“Annie-chan,” said Bertholdt in his most soothing voice, like he was talking to a kid. Annie clicked her tongue, annoyed. “He’s probably just tired. I’m sure if you text him on Thursday, he’d love to see you. You worry too much.”

“And you,” replied Annie, nudging at Bertholdt’s calf with her toe, “don’t worry enough.”

“You worry for me,” Bertholdt told her. Even despite herself, Annie cracked a hint of a smile. Then, “What do you think about Thanksgiving?”

“What about it?” asked Annie.

“Should…Do you think Armin would want to come home with us?”

Annie was shocked, she hadn’t considered this. Did she want to bring Armin home with them? Would he even say yes if they asked? She contemplated this, turning over on her pillow to face Bertholdt. She searched for an answer, at least a hint of one, in his face but there wasn’t any. He was looking at her with imploring eyes. 

“I can ask him on Thursday,” Annie finally said. 

“You think my parents would like him?”

“Your parents like everyone.”

Thursday came with little fanfare. Armin’s university had a prestigious arts and history program, and the students flocked to the museum’s booth with eagerness. Between answering the hurried questions of the undergraduates, Annie kept scanning the crowd absently. She searched for that specific shade of blonde, yellow like a sunflower, but it never appeared. 

At the end of the career fair, Annie pulled her phone out. She texted Armin: Are you on campus? No response.

Annie scowled at her phone in between packing pamphlets and flyers away. When she and her colleague managed to pull down the pop-up booth tent, she felt a buzz in the back of her pocket. She thought it was Armin and got hopeful for a brief, fleeting moment. Instead, it was just her boss letting them know they could go straight home from campus, that someone would come pick up the materials. 

“I’m going to look around,” Annie told her co-worker, who smiled and dismissed her with a wave. 

Annie wandered through the science building first. Psychology is science, isn’t it? she thought. She wondered if she looked suspicious, peeking into classrooms and lecture halls. Reading each door’s nameplate with careful precision. She was determined to find Armin, though. 

She did find Armin’s name on one of the office doors—Armin Arlert in bold lettering—amongst a handful of other TAs for the department but, when she tried the handle, it was locked. No one was in there. 

She tried the library next, figuring that would be the second most likely place he’d be. It was a sparse crowd on a late Thursday afternoon. Annie checked the ground floor first, weaving through endless rows of bookshelves, and when it turned out to be fruitless, she went to the second floor.

The second floor had more study spaces, desks and tables with haggard students hunched over their laptops. She was starting to think that Armin wasn’t here, after all, when, in her periphery, she saw him.

She marched over to Armin, where he sat at a table with various papers spread out messily. She tapped him on the shoulder and he jumped, whipping his head around. 

He seemed to shrink in on himself when he registered her. “Annie,” he said weakly. “What are you doing here?”

“I texted you,” she replied. Her words came out perfunctory, cold. “You didn’t answer. You didn’t stop by our booth, either.”

“I’m busy,” Armin said simply. He regained his even tone, so placid that it infuriated Annie.

“So, what? You’re too busy to just come say hi?” she asked, crossing her arms firmly over her chest. Her eyes narrowed, she looked askance at him. “Are you hiding something? What is it that you’re working on?”

She leaned in and, almost like it was reflex, Armin slammed his laptop shut. He quickly gathered up as many of his strewn-about papers as he could, hiding them from her view. 

“I’m not hiding anything!” he retorted, taking on a sharper tone than he’d ever used with Annie. It took her aback. “Is it so shocking that I’d be busy? What does it even matter to you if I am hiding anything?”

Annie didn’t know what to say. She stared at him, trying to reconcile this strange Armin with the one she knew so intimately. 

The air hung painfully heavy between them—it was stale and bitter-tasting—then  Armin dropped his neck down. His head lolled and he shut his eyes, rubbing a finger over the bridge of his nose. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally said. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that, I—“ He let out a shuddery exhale through his nose. “I’m tired. That’s all.”

Annie felt herself soften. Armin had a charm that Annie hated. He had an innate ability to  bend people’s will to his own, an ability that Annie didn’t understand. She was a victim of it, nonetheless. She found herself reaching for him. She pinched his face tenderly, the fat of his check squished between her fingers.

“I know,” she murmured. “I’m sorry, too. I should’ve just respected your boundaries.”

“It’s fine…” Armin said.

“We’re worried about you.”

“Worried about me? Why?” Armin inquired and he sounded genuinely confused. 

“Why?” Annie repeated incredulously. “Because that’s a normal thing to do in a relationship.”

“You and Bertholdt are in a relationship,” corrected Armin. He looked down at his lap. 

Annie was stunned to hear these words, coming out so detached, from him. He’d never laid such plain terms out, never drawn a line so distinctly in the sand. 

“Is that really how you feel?” Annie asked. She had a strange sensation churning in her gut. “That you’re so removed from us?”

“Am I not?”

Annie took a step back. She wanted to understand him, this alluring man before her, but she couldn’t. No matter how many times she wracked her brain, combed through each of their interactions, it always felt like they were disjointed. Maybe he isn't such a mystery after all, Annie suddenly thought. Maybe his intentions have always been quite clear. 

“Fine,” Annie finally said. She gave him a blank look. “I’ll leave you be, then.”

Armin regarded her with a weary expression for a moment that seemed to crawl by forever. “Fine,” he said. 

“Did you get a chance to ask Armin about Thanksgiving?” Bertholdt asked while he cooked dinner that night. Broccoli roasted in their cast-iron, the scent of garlic wafting through the room.

“No,” Annie said. She had been nursing a glass of wine that night. It was an unusual occurrence for her to drink on a weekday, but Bertholdt didn’t comment on it. “It seems like he’s too busy, anyway.”

“Oh,” said Bertholdt, unable to hide his disappointment. “Okay.” 

The days grew shorter and shorter, the first sign of true winter cold was emerging in the chilly air. Armin stopped staying the night. He came around but rarely, and when they fucked, it was in a removed sort of way, like he was simply going through the perfunctory motions of sex. 

“We’re leaving for Texas on Wednesday morning,” Annie told him, the weekend before Thanksgiving. “We won’t be back until Sunday.”

“Okay,” Armin said. He was sitting on the edge of their mattress, pulling his discarded underwear back on. 

“Do you have any plans?” Bertholdt asked, trying to breach some sort of understanding. 

“Not really,” Armin said. The words he said sounded mechanical. “Me and my grandpa might go over to the Jaegers for dinner, but other than that I’m just going to be working on my conference paper the whole time.”

“When’s it due?” Bertholdt asked, even though he knew. He was just trying to prompt Armin, to usher in a conversation or any kind. 

“December,” stated Armin. “At the end of the term. I have to present it at the department colloquia dinner.” 

“Are you nervous?”

“Not really,” Armin said, in a rather cryptic manner. “I know the subject well.”

In the end, even after all of Annie’s reminders, the three of them waited far too long to buy plane tickets at a reasonable price, so Annie, Bertholdt, and Reiner loaded up the Subaru and began the fifteen-hour drive to Austin. 

The three of them had the route home down to practically muscle memory at this point. They switched off every five hours, and whoever was driving got aux privileges. 

“Doesn’t this bring back memories?” Bertholdt asked wistfully, when they were stopped at a gas station off the side of the freeway to use the restroom and refuel on snacks. 

“Memories of what, exactly?” Annie eyed him with an amused, tired smile painted over her lips. 

“I don’t know,” mused Bertholdt. “Of everything, I guess. Childhood, college. It’s always been us three, huh?”

It was dark by the time they arrived at the Hoover’s. Warm, golden light shone through the paneled windows, familiar and homey. Mr. and Mrs. Hoover clamored excitedly to greet them when they came in, hugging all three of them tightly and tugging their luggage from their hands.

The Hoovers House for Wayward Kids, Annie and Reiner always called Bertholdt’s childhood home. As kids, it had always been one of the only places Annie and Reiner truly felt safe. A home with a roof, and a hot meal, and unconditional acceptance, and Bertholdt. 

Mrs. Hoover had a big dinner already prepared, and they all held hands before they ate. Reiner kicked at Bertholdt’s ankles under the table, and they kept opening their eyes to make faces at each other while Mr. Hoover said grace, snickering like they were kids again. Annie rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t hide her fond grin.

“Are you seeing your father this week, Annie?” Mr. Hoover asked. 

“Yes,” Annie said as she spooned big helpings of mashed potatoes onto her plate. “I’ll visit him on Friday.”

Mrs. Hoover nodded, clasping her hands together. “He’ll be happy to see you. He talks about you often at church, you know?”

Mrs. Hoover said nothing about Karina Braun. Instead, when addressing Reiner, she said, “Are you still living with that nice girl, Reiner? What was her name again?”

“Ymir,” supplied Reiner. “And, yes, I am. Her girlfriend also moved in about a year ago.”

“Y’know, Mrs. Hoover, Reiner has a boyfriend,” Annie said, elbows perched teasingly on the table. She enjoyed the way Reiner sputtered in embarrassment. 

“What! How could you not tell me that, Bertholdt?” she exclaimed. “That’s wonderful. What’s he like?”

“He’s—“

“He’s unemployed,” Annie cut in before Reiner could reply. 

“Shut up!” hissed Reiner. “He’s not unemployed, he’s in a band.”

Annie snorted. “Same difference.”

“I told you, they’re, like, one gig away from really exploding!”

Bertholdt laughed unguardedly, and at night, when Annie and Bertholdt were squished together under the sheets in Bertholdt’s childhood bedroom, Annie confessed, “I’m happy to be home.”

Bertholdt hummed in agreement, pressing a kiss on the crown of her head. “Me, too.” He paused. “Next year, let’s invite Armin, too.”

Annie curled into Bertholdt’s chest, tucking her head in the safe crook of his neck. She traced a line over Bertholdt’s collarbone, the delicate ridge it created, and said nothing in response. 

Thanksgiving Day was a lively affair, it always was at the Hoover’s. Ever since the sudden death of their son, Marcel, back in high school, the Galliard’s were always invited, too.

It was good to see Porco and Pieck, their childhood friends who stayed in Texas while Pieck completed medical school. Porco socked Reiner square in the bicep when he saw him. 

“What’s up, loser?” 

“Good to see you, Porco,” said Reiner through gritted teeth. 

“You’ve lost weight.” Mrs. Hoover kept chastising Reiner. She loaded his plate up with turkey and all the fixings. “You need to eat as much as you can while you’re here.”

On Friday, Annie went to see her dad. Each time she came home, Mr. Leonhart looked a little older, and it startled her to see the effects of time aging him. He made them a simple lunch in his studio apartment over the big grocery store, and they ate in quiet understanding. 

“I’m proud of you, Annie,” Mr. Leonhart said, hugging her tightly at the door. 

Saturday was spent lazily lounging around the Hoover’s living room. They watched old war documentaries with Mr. Hoover in the morning, and then watched all of the Cars movies in the afternoon. They sprawled out on the impossibly large L-shaped sofa and debated which anthropomorphic car was the hottest. 

Before they knew it, it was Sunday, they were packing the Subaru back up, and the Hoovers were waving them off from their porch. 

“Drive safe!” Mrs. Hoover called. “We love you!”

Annie took the first driving shift, then Bertholdt. Reiner sat in the back, munching on sunflower seeds. They were halfway through New Mexico when Reiner said, “Hey, Bertholdt, do you remember that crazy fight Eren had with his roommate when we went out a couple months ago?”

Bertholdt felt his hands go rigid over the vinyl steering wheel. He snuck a glance at Annie, sitting beside him in the passenger’s seat. Her eyes were wide, face unmoving. 

“Yeah,” Bertholdt began to say. “Why?”

“Well, Eren asked about the people he was seeing, and he told me that Armin said he couldn’t tell him about it because it was for research.”

Time ceased to move. A long, long beat of silence passed. 

“Research?” Annie repeated slowly. The word felt unbearably sticky in her mouth. 

“A couple weeks ago, he left out this paper he’s been working on and it’s about, like, the psychology of polyamory, or whatever. Isn’t that crazy?”

The world Bertholdt knew shifted violently beneath him. 

Annie was standing in their living room, her hands crossed firmly over her chest, when Armin came in. Bertholdt sat behind her on the couch, trying to fight back tears.

“We don’t know if it’s true,” Bertholdt had reasoned, the night they found out. 

“Of course it’s true, Bertholdt!” Annie had shouted, near hysterical. She was fuming, pacing around the room in a heady anger that Bertholdt had never seen from her before. “We let him into our home, he took advantage of us!” 

“So,” Annie’s voice was deathly serious. “Do you want to explain yourself?”

Armin’s face fell, he faltered. “Explain,” he started, swallowing down a lump in his throat, “what?”

“I don’t know,” Annie said, throwing her hands up. “Why don’t you first try explaining why your roommate found a paper on the psychology of polyamory in your house?” 

A million emotions passed through Armin’s face at once. Shame, thought Bertholdt. Grief. He was already mourning them. 

“I—I—“

“It isn’t true, Armin, right?” Bertholdt felt like he was pleading, begging for all of this to be some kind of mistake. Something they’d laugh about.  

“Well, Armin?” Annie demanded. 

“I didn’t use you as research, I swear! All of the data I collected was from before I met you, and the paper isn’t about the psychology of polyamory, it’s on the psychological patterns associated with engaging in non-monogamy!”

“You think that’s the issue?” Annie asked, her voice cracking in disbelief. “You think we care about the semantics of it?”

Armin fell silent. His head dropped down, he bit down hard on his bottom lip. 

“You had no right,” Annie continued. “I don’t want to see you anymore. This—“ She gestured wildly between the three of them. “—whatever this was to you, is over.”

Armin looked between the two of them—Annie’s face contorted in rage, and Bertholdt’s head bowed in remorse—before he began to slowly nod. 

“I understand,” he finally said in a resigned, gentle tone. “I’m sorry, I never meant to hurt anyone."

There was no reply. 

When Armin finally turned and left, their front door shut with a thud, and, just like that, he was gone.