You really hadn’t expected Armin to be such a lightweight. He’s a soldier, for God’s sake, and a veteran at that—you’d think he’d have a little more control, even under the influence of alcohol—but it only took him three drinks or so to get totally, ridiculously wasted, at a little party with the rest of the scout regiment. You didn’t think you were much of a lightweight either—and you’re sure you didn’t drink that much—and yet you’ve ended up somewhere this morning you couldn’t have predicted in a million years.

You can’t help but notice, as you start to come to, that wherever you are is freezing, and not particularly comfortable. As you groggily sit up and open your eyes, you’re left in, essentially, a state of shock. You’re in the back of a carriage, parked outside the bar you’d been drinking in. It’s incredibly early, maybe 5am or so, and you were fast asleep on the seats. And next to you, is none other than Armin Arlert. Particularly, a half-naked Armin Arlert.

You stare in disbelief at him, as you realise you’d been laying on top of him, as he slept diagonally on the bench seat of the carriage. He stirs a little bit as your weight shifts off him, and that’s when the pounding in your head starts to kick in. What the hell happened last night? It’s all foggy.