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You weren’t supposed to be home yet.

The apartment’s quiet when you push open the door, your bag still slung over one shoulder. You don’t announce yourself — why would you? It’s home. You just expect the usual: maybe Armin on the couch, gaming, snacking, sprawled out with his headphones on.

Instead—

You round the corner into the bedroom, and everything stops.

He’s there. On the bed. Legs tangled under the blanket, shirt pushed halfway up his torso, laptop perched precariously on his knees. The screen glows with light — and the unmistakable sounds that had been coming from it a moment ago? Gone. Slammed silent by a frantic tap of the spacebar.

You freeze in the doorway.

So does he.

For half a second, his blue eyes are wide, pupils blown, cheeks tinged pink — and then he blinks, composes himself way too fast, and tilts his head with a lazy, devil-may-care smirk.

“Well,” Armin says, adjusting his glasses with one hand, the other very much still under the blanket, “this is awkward.”

You stare. “You’re kidding.”

“About what? Getting caught, or enjoying the hell out of the look on your face right now?” He shifts slightly, the laptop sliding off his knees to the side. “To be fair, you didn’t knock.”

“You didn’t lock the door.”

He grins, unfazed. “Didn’t think I needed to. Thought I had at least ten more minutes of alone time.”

You make a face — part disbelief, part secondhand embarrassment — and turn, hand hovering near the doorknob.

“Oh, don’t be like that,” he says, voice dropping low and velvety. “You walked in. Might as well own it.”

“I wasn’t trying to—!”

“To what?” he interrupts, tone playful but charged. “Catch me? Join me?” His smile turns sharp. “Get ideas?”

Your breath catches. His gaze drops for a second — not subtle — and then returns to your face with a gleam of mischief.

“Y’know,” he muses, casually pulling the blanket a little higher, like that helps, “if I’d known you were coming back so soon, I would’ve waited.”

You say nothing.

“Or maybe I wouldn’t have,” he adds, shrugging with zero shame. “Maybe I wanted to get caught.”

He shifts on the bed, pats the empty spot beside him with infuriating confidence. “Come here.”

You blink. “Seriously?”

Armin looks you over, gaze lingering. “Dead serious. I mean, you’re already in my head most of the time. Might as well join the fantasy properly.”

You open your mouth — probably to argue — but nothing comes out.

He laughs softly. “Thought so.”

And then, just like that, he leans back into the pillows, smug and glowing with zero regrets, clearly waiting to see what you’ll do next.