He loves me.

It's hot. It's hot pressed against the door of the air tank supply closet. Even though his jacket's discarded on the ground, shirt pushed up above his nipples, and briefs and pants pooled around his ankles – sweat clings to Armin in the worst of places and it is unbearable and yet he still finds himself begging for more; voice muffled by the palm of his hand, the other braced against the door as Jean presses the length of his cock against the cleft of Armin's ass and licks a warm trail of saliva up the blond's neck. One of Jean's hands is wrapped around the front of his chest, fingers pinching and pulling at his nipple a bit too hard but its good anyway and even if Armin didn't like it he didn't have the heart to tell the taller boy to stop. Another hand was gripping his hip, again too roughly, as Jean ruts against his backside like an animal in heat. And maybe that's what he is.

The higher ups actually encouraged same sex relationships between trainees – said it was a good way to relieve stress and all around improved people's moods. The cruder trainers would make jokes "won't die a virgin at least" as if implying they would die the moment they graduated, as if not getting laid would be his greatest regret. Armin remembered reading once, in a book, about how Bonobo monkeys have sex as a form of stress relief and often would kiss and grind and rub as a form of comfort when in situations of grave danger. So for the adults to encourage such actions amongst them – it made Armin feel like a caged animal more than he already was.

But this isn't sex and it definitely isn't making love, no matter how much Armin wishes it to be so. This is fucking, in the crudest use of the term and Armin is being used as a form of stress relief – he knows this. Knows it because Jean never touches him there; and besides Jean is straight and loves the type of girl that is pretty and strong-willed – like Mikasa and Christa. Armin isn't any of those things. He is weak and far from being a girl.

He loves me not.

When they are around the other trainees, Jean doesn't even give him a second glance and that is what hurts more than having his body used every day. It is human nature and teenage hormones that drives Jean to pull Armin into the nearest secluded spot and expect sexual pleasure from him. And it is Jean's cocky attitude and stubbornness that prevents him from returning the favor to Armin. It is his crude personality that makes him leave Armin still hard and aching with nothing more than a 'thanks' and a small wave over his shoulder as he goes off to hang with Marco and Connie and all of the other guys. Armin wonders why he can't be Jean's friend too, wonders why Jean won't even look him in the eye – and Armin thinks maybe it is because Jean might find him attractive. Why else would Jean choose him as a stress reliever?

He loves me.

It is well past curfew and this time they are in the woods and Armin is braced against a tree, his nails digging into the bark in anticipation as he listens to rustling of clothing as Jean makes short work of jerking his pants down a little and pulling his erection free from the opening in his boxers.

Armin hates how much he craves and anticipates moments like these – it isn't good for him. It isn't good because he wants more than a quick rut in the woods – he wants Jean to hold him and kiss him and tell him that he is more than just a sex doll.

When they first started this, it was only kisses. Just short, sloppy make outs and Jean would touch his hair and Armin would let out short breathy sighs at how gently the boy would run his hands along his scalp. But it quickly evolved to more and at the same time less. Soon Jean expected the blond to jerk him off, or blow him under the covers, or to just stand and face the wall while the brunet grinded against him and then came on the small of his back.

Just thinking about it made Armin feel sick and he couldn't help it when the tears started to well in his eyes and so when Jean suddenly whipped him around to face him, he panicked and stumbled back – his back scraping against the rough wood of the tree as he frantically covered his eyes to hide how miserable he felt and for Jean to maybe not notice that he was crying; that he was weak.

But Jean did and Armin couldn't do much as Jean gripped his wrists, pulling his hands away from his face, far gentler than he had been moments before and Armin blinked up at Jean through teary eyes – the taller teen looking so surprised and maybe even a little bit guilty, before he was dropping Armin's wrists and walking away.

He loves me not.

Jean stopped coming after that and Armin wasn't sure if he should feel relieved or heart broken. Things went back to being surprisingly normal; back to before they started this volatile relationship – if it could even be called that. Still, sometimes Armin would catch Jean looking at him from the corner of his eyes and the brunet always looked so guilty and the few times they would lock eyes Armin could see the regret and inner turmoil swirling in his eyes.

But the words 'I'm sorry' never came and Armin knew it wasn't because Jean wasn't – it was just in his personality; he wasn't one for apologies.

Armin actually missed Jean touching him, and it made him wonder if he was a glutton for punishment – because being with Jean was painful because he loved him so much his heart hurt and he had no idea how Jean felt about him but he was sure however the brunet felt about him, it definitely wasn't love.

He loves me.

Even so, Armin couldn't stop the small smile that wormed its way onto his lips, as he plucked the last petal off the small flower he held in his hands. He was crouched in the forest, skipping breakfast in favor of getting some alone time to just think; to breathe.

Love was a silly thing to feel in a world like this; so many people died day in and day out – with no warning and so gruesomely.

To die old and in love was next to impossible and all they had in these cage of walls were sex and the hope that you live to see another day.

With a sigh, he dropped the petal-less stem to the ground before standing up, still holding that last petal in his hand – love.

It was better to give it up, and so he blew into the palm of his hand – watching as the petal swirled away and into the wind to be carried away and never seen again.