Jearmin Week Day 2: Lucid Dream

He wasn't sure how he knew this, but he did.

But it wasn't a story where he was merely an actor. He lifted his right hand, finding he was able to clench his hand without thought. He was in a dream where he was in control.

He'd heard of them before, though had never experienced one himself. They weren't uncommon in the barracks; he had seen his fair share of soldiers who slept in cold sweat, tormented with dreams of the monsters that already plagued their conscious mind; reliving the nights when their homes were stolen from them. Eren in particular had them more than a few times, describing the horror of never being able to land a hit; of being able to choose to fight against them, but never being able to win.

So now that Armin was finally experiencing one himself, he knew what to expect. Or at least, he had assumed he did.

He had never thought it would hurt so much.

His body felt like the source of all pain, and in the dream that was how he imagined it to be; he was the one that brought anguish to others. That must be why Jean was crying.

Arms wrapped around his body, keeping his head and chest off of the ground. Above him kneeled his comrade, a silhouette illuminated in the sun. His form was blurry, the light casting him in a glare, and it was only when Armin squinted that he was able to make out the tears. He wanted to know why he was upset, what it was that had happened that could cause a man such as him to cry.

Armin looked around him, taking in the surroundings that didn't seem to have existed until now. It was the same location they had been in earlier, where everyone had been, when they had been attacked by Kenny and his men. It was no longer as bright out as it had been when they were fighting, and Armin accredited it to his own mind. He had hated the sun, wondering just how it could shine when people were going to die. But there was no sign of people here in his dream. Just him and Jean, whose arms supported him from falling to the ground. He wasn't sure why they were there. Had he been hurt? He had, hadn't he?

How had that turned out again?

He searched his mind, trying to bring the details to himself. But he couldn't. It seemed that even in a dream such as this, he was unable to control the inner workings of his mind. But it wasn't important. He was here, dreaming, after all. So he must have survived. He was sure that meant everyone else did too.

So he pushed the thought out of his mind, choosing to concentrate on the present instead. Jean still leaned above him, and Armin felt his tears fall onto his own face. He could at least stop those, couldn't he?

Mustering more strength than he would have thought necessary, he lifted one of his arms up, reaching for the face that hung above him. It felt like every movement his hand made towards the other's eyes made gravity angrier at him, trying to pull it down with every centimetre.

But he made it. After all, he was the one in control.

He felt his fingers brush up against a pair of lips, just short of their destination which would let him wipe the tears away. His arm fell; gravity had become too much.

"Fuck, Armin. What are you doing?"

Armin couldn't see the lips move, but the words came to him clearly. It was weird not seeing the source of the sound, but he supposed that was what dreams were like: nonsensical. You didn't always see or hear what happened, you just knew.

Another drop fell on his face, and Armin frowned.

"Stop, Jean. You're not supposed to cry."

"Armin, don't worry about me."

"But-"

"Stop. Stop talking. Just rest."

Armin's frown remained. He didn't understand. He was the one in control here, or so he thought. He should be able to fix this one simple thing.

But he couldn't, and that was when he decided he wanted to wake up. He wanted to find Jean, to make sure he was alright; make sure there were no tears. Because he knew that regardless of what had happened today, even if they won, that Jean would not rest well with the results. A boy like him, who only wanted for people to live, wasn't meant for this type of world. He didn't deserve the cut that ran down his face, nor the callouses on the fingers that ran along Armin's cheek. And most of all, he didn't deserve the blood that stained his shirt; soaking its way from the bottom up, from where their two bodies were pressed together.

He wanted to wake up right now, just so that Jean wouldn't have to suffer anymore.

But he was no longer sure he was dreaming.

So he did the best he could to make this as gentle as possible, easing the pain the only way he had left. "I'm sorry."

"It's my fault-"

"No... it's not," he sputtered out. Every word he spoke left him unable to take a breath, as if the world wanted him to choose between the two. It wasn't a hard one for him to make.

"I... Jean... I-"

"Armin, stop. You're hurting yourself."

Armin tried to protest, but it seemed he was no longer allowed words now either. And he felt a tear form in his own eye, because he wanted to tell him so many words, but it was now impossible.

And so instead he pulled Jean down, because he was no longer able to lift his body by himself. And he felt the body above him obey, leaning down until the only thing between their foreheads were a few strands of blond.

And Armin used the last of his strength to lift his head up that last distance, giving his message to Jean with a kiss.

Because that's how all dreams should end.

Thank you for reading. All feedback is appreciated.