Shingeki No Oneshots

ArminxReader ~Mere~

ArminxReader

||Mere||

Modern AU

Warning: Explicit language

••

My fingers quickly tack against my phone, trying to send out the important message to Mr. Ackerman before the rain cuts the given WiFi in the train station.

I usually like the rain, but to my dismay, it's causing me to be late today. Every time it down pours train schedules begin to run a little late, and the usual fast, bullet-like speed demons slow down a bit, falling behind normality.

"C'mon, send," I mutter to myself. A certain clacking sounds, and people begin brushing past my shoulders. "Fuck." The train is here. Then, miraculously, the iMessage explaining why I'm late sends out. In a split second, as I gather my purse higher on my shoulder and walk inside the train, the dots appear, indicating he's seen the message and is now responding.
I let out a breath. Who cares if he's a little irritated, now I won't be in extra trouble from being late without informing him.
As I sit down next to an older man, a message pops up.

iMessage: Mr Ackerman
8:06 AM

Get a fucking car then dumbass. If you're not here within 15 minutes, you're fired.

I smile. It usually only takes under 10 minutes to arrive at the office, even with rain.
I lean my head against the window, watching raindrops shatter onto the window, gaining on one another and combining to make a bigger rain drop.

I've tried distracting myself, but it's Monday again. I usually never dread work. I guess the only times I do is when Mr. Ackerman has a meeting and I'm responsible for gathering his paperwork or creating the presentation. But other than that, I quite like my job. If only he didn't allow that new hire to step in. It's nice, usually, to have another intern on hand. Then I'm not so lonely, and I wouldn't have to run both Mr. Ackerman and Mr. Smith cups of coffee. But the thing is, he's not just a new-hire. He's switching companies. He may not be a CEO, but he still obtains few authorities.
Most of the time, I'm happy to serve someone who's switching into our company. It gains myself a greater chance of being promoted. But with this new one, I don't want to be at his beck and call. Ever.
I don't want to see his blonde hair and blue eyes again.

I don't know when we first met. Probably some time in grade school, when I first arrived in the new suburban town. I guess I 'knew' him since then, but we were never friends, never talked. But if someone were to ask either of us if we knew each other, we'd answer with a simple 'yes'. Up until the class trip, we hadn't spoken a word to each other. I would always say a quick 'hello' to his girlfriend though, she was quite nice to me. Looking back, I envied their love. How he would look at her. They were always together. But just a few years later I had learned that it wasn't mutual.
Anyway, after our class trip without his girlfriend, we began to ask how each others day was going and simple gestures like that. Things to indicate we were becoming acquaintances. The class trip was toward the end of the year, and of course since we weren't friends, we never talked until school had began again. Soon, when school did start back up once again, we found out we had several classes together, and we would reminisce together about the school trip. It was nice. We began to grow a sturdy friendship. Time came around, and it was suddenly December. December was the month that hosted one of the dances where it was tradition for girls to ask guys instead of the latter. I kept going over it with my friends– should I ask him? Of course it would be platonically- I didn't 'like-like' him of course. They encouraged me to, but I never did, because not too long after I was asked to belong to someone. His name was Jean, or something like that, and he was in my friend group at the time. Right after that, I scrapped that idea. The idea to ask the blonde boy that I would never admit caught my eye. Why had I even said yes to Jean? I hardly even liked the kid. He was a loser, and the only redeeming quality he had was he was able to go a maximum of 18 hours without being drunk. However, as we continued to date, I did begin to realize why I said yes to him. He was...almost perfect. But my eyes kept trailing to him. They kept noticing what he liked to do, what his favorite books were, what his favorite color was, noticing when he was having a bad day, noticing when chess meets were. Our friendship continued to grow. After Jean broke up with me, I didn't know what to do with myself. But all this time, I realized I didn't love him. I loved the idea of him. I wanted the little blonde boy. I still do, I always have since then. Eventually, we gained phone numbers and social medias, and my seemingly fake feelings for Jean vanished. I was distracted by him. Soon after, I had found out before all of this, him and his girlfriend had broken up.
Why was I happy? I kept asking myself this question. I can't like this blonde boy. I can't. I won't. I don't. But I did.

Then, I learned his schedule. I learned that he likes to be complimented. I learned that he doesn't like seafood, but only when his mother cooks it a certain way. I learned that he was unhappy in his relationship, and why. I learned that he doesn't actually like being on the chess team, but more so his parents wanted him to. I learned what games he likes to play, what goes on at home, how he deals with things, when he's having a bad day. I love it when he's about to cry, and he talks to me about it. I love it when he's feeling hopeless, and he confides in me or comes to me for advice. I love it when he tells me secrets, knowing that I won't tell another soul. I love it when his bright, sea-blue eyes sparkle with interest. I love it when his long brown and blonde eyelashes flutter every time he opens those gorgeous eyes. I love his unkept eyebrows and I love how he cut his hair short to feel more confident, but it's more unkept from when he had longer hair. I love his short stature, and how he feels embarrassed about not having much muscle, even though he still looks fine. I love how he has confidence that he'll grow taller than he already is. I love how he wants to become an architect for an important business like his father. I love how he likes to hear a 'good luck' from me when he has a tennis meet that day. I love him. And I love everything about him.

I keep telling myself while others tell me as well: oh, it's just a mere crush. You'll get over it by highschool. But it's not. It's not mere. As I step in the office, it's not mere. As he brings me into his arms, repeating how long it's been since we've seen eachother; too long, too long. It's not mere.

Because I can't help but almost tear up at his voice. His smooth voice, that has obviously went through puberty. He's grown taller, a lot taller. Now, I have to completely look up at him. His blonde hair isn't short anymore. It's long, very long, longer than it ever has been. It's tied up into a messy pony tail, it tucked under his collar just a little. His face shows sharpness, while his eyes still bright.

"Armin," I finally breathe.

He gives me that smile, that heart melting smile, with those white teeth that have always been perfectly shaped.
"[Name]. I can't believe it's you. I didn't think I'd ever see you again."

My mouth attempts to curl up, giving him a crooked smile.

It's not just mere, and it never has been.