threads of intimacy ?ˋ°?*?? eren jaeger

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THE DINING HALL is quieter than usual, the buzz of conversation softened by the gentle hum of rain against the tall windows. It's one of those steady, unrelenting drizzles, not quite dramatic enough to cancel plans over, but persistent enough to slow the world down a notch. You find a seat near the back wall, tucked away between a crooked coat rack and the window. The light outside is silvered and soft, like everything's been blurred just slightly out of focus.

You're not sure why the project is still clinging to you. It's only been one class, one assignment, and yet the memory of Eren Jaeger's voice — that sharp, strangely intimate stillness he carried — hasn't left you alone. There was something in his silence that felt less like distance and more like deliberation, as though he's always listening but rarely giving anything back. You've known people like that before, but not quite like him.

As you stir your coffee absently, your eyes wander across the room. That's when you spot him.
Armin.

He's alone at a small table by the window, a book open in front of him though his gaze isn't on the page. He's not reading. Just staring. Thinking, maybe. A slow sip of tea in his hand and the faraway look of someone balancing thoughts that probably don't belong to this exact moment. You remember his name easily, the kind of person you don't forget after even one conversation. Not because he's loud or demanding, but because he has that rare ability to make silence feel comfortable instead of awkward.
You cross the dining hall and approach his table, hesitant for a second. He notices you before you speak, offering a quiet, polite smile. His features soften with recognition.

"Hey," he says gently. "You looking for someone?"

"No, I just saw you over here." You pause, shifting your tray to your other hand. "Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all." He gestures to the chair across from him. "Company's welcome. Kind of a gray day to sit with your thoughts, anyway."

You settle into the seat, tucking your knees in slightly. "Yeah. It's definitely the kind of weather that makes everything feel heavier."

Armin huffs a laugh. "Or quieter."

You sip your coffee and study him for a second. He doesn't press you with questions, doesn't force a conversation to start. He just sits, book still open in front of him, but his attention now slightly turned in your direction. You appreciate that about him, there's no pressure here.

"How've you been?" you ask.

His gaze flickers briefly out the window, then back to you. "Busy," he says simply. "Classes, scholarship stuff, family things. It all sort of stacks, doesn't it?"

You nod, sensing the truth beneath his answer even if he doesn't name it. "Still, you always seem like you've got it together."

"Looks can be strategic," he replies with a faint smile. "But thanks. That means something."

You take another sip of coffee, then lean forward slightly, lowering your voice as if to make room for what you're about to say.

"Actually... I wanted to ask you something. About Eren."

Armin's expression doesn't change drastically. No dramatic stiffening or surprise. But his fingers shift on the side of his mug. Subtle, careful.

"What about him?"

"We're partners for a psych project. On intimacy and vulnerability," you explain, your voice barely louder than the soft clatter of plates being cleared a few tables over. "It's a semester-long thing. We only met officially yesterday, but..." You trail off, searching for the right word. "He's not exactly easy to read."

Armin's quiet for a moment. He sits back slightly, folding his hands on the table, his brows furrowing just enough to make you feel like he's thinking carefully about how to respond.

"That sounds like a cruel topic for him," he murmurs. "Not your fault, of course. Just... ironic."

You tilt your head, curious. "So he's always been that way?"

He doesn't answer immediately. Instead, Armin takes a slow breath, as if deciding what belongs to him to share and what doesn't.

"Eren and I grew up together," he begins. "Same neighborhood, same school. He was the first friend I ever had, really. The kind that makes you think you'll know someone forever."

He stops, gaze distant again. Rain drips steadily down the windowpane behind him, trailing down in faint, trembling lines.

"But life got messy. People grew in different directions. Or maybe... Eren started building walls before I realized what was happening."

You don't say anything, you're not sure you need to. His words hang in the space between you, not heavy exactly, but fragile. Like something breakable being held out in trust.

"He's smart," Armin continues, softer now. "More than he lets on. And thoughtful, in a way that isn't always obvious. But he's been through things. Things I won't pretend to know the full story of. What I do know is... he keeps most people at arm's length, and not because he wants to be cruel."

"Then why?"

Armin's eyes meet yours, and something in them sharpens.

"Because some people never learned how to be close to others without getting hurt. So they decide it's safer not to try at all."

You let that settle, watching the way his hands wrap back around his cup.

"That's why you're not close anymore?" you ask gently.

Armin gives you a tired smile, one that doesn't reach all the way to his eyes. "Maybe. Or maybe we just stopped trying. I don't think either of us really wanted to lose the other. But sometimes wanting isn't enough."

There's a lump forming in your throat, a strange ache that doesn't quite have a name. You wonder if Armin realizes how deeply he feels things, even when he hides it well.

He clears his throat and looks down at his book again. "Anyway. If you're working with him... just be honest. Eren hates dishonesty, even more than he hates vulnerability. He can smell performance a mile away. But if you're sincere, even if you're messy, uncertain, he'll respect that."

You nod, slowly. "Thanks. Really."

Armin shrugs one shoulder, though the motion is quiet, thoughtful.

"Just don't expect to fix him. He's not broken. Just complicated."

You leave the dining hall with the feeling that something important has shifted. Maybe not about Eren, exactly, but about how you'll approach him. Not as a puzzle to solve or a challenge to unravel, but as someone layered and real, with edges you'll have to respect even if they cut.

And maybe Armin, for all his softness, carries just as many sharp corners.

You're beginning to see that everyone does.