It’s 2:08 AM when Armin’s phone buzzes.

He’s barely awake, face half-buried in his pillow, when the screen lights up with a familiar name. Eren. The preview shows one line:

“they’re playing that stupid song u hate. I hate it too. come get me?”

Armin exhales sharply. He told Eren not to go. Said it was a bad idea. Said he’d end up doing exactly this—getting too drunk, too annoyed, too surrounded by people he didn’t actually like.

He stares at the screen. It lights up again.

Eren: “please? i don’t wanna be here anymore.” Eren: “i’m outside. alone. everyone else went back in.” Eren: “i miss you.” Eren: “wait not like— nvm. i’ll shut up.” Eren: “you coming?”

Armin wipes a hand down his face. He’s already sitting up. He hates how fast he moves when it’s Eren. Hates that he still keeps his shoes by the door in case this happens again.

He types back one word:

Armin: “location?”

Eren sends it in under a second. Armin doesn’t even need it—he already knows which house it is. Of course it’s that house. Of course Eren went somewhere loud and miserable. Of course he called Armin the second it stopped being fun.

He grabs his keys. Slips on a hoodie—Eren’s, probably. Doesn’t care.

In the car, he doesn’t play music. He drives in silence. Steady. Focused. Lowkey furious. He knows the second he sees Eren, he’s going to say “I told you so.”

But he’s also going to let Eren sit in the passenger seat, lean against the window, and talk about how annoying everyone was.

Because that’s what they do.