⌗SIA HERE! : @fushiguruuzzzz seduced me into posting guys I fell for it 💔💔 she trickered me but I got kisses so maybe I liked the trickery 😇 I love Armin so much he’s so autumn, book worm, baker boy, awkward coded I fear I have a type for losers (not complaining). Armin smau next? 😜 (yes)
Armin stood in the kitchen, his pale hands trembling slightly as he sifted flour into a bowl. Sunlight slanted through the sheer curtains, painting soft golden rectangles on the counters and wooden floorboards. The kitchen, normally quiet and still, felt alive with his nervous energy. His lips pressed together in a tight line, and his ocean-blue eyes darted between the recipe on his phone and the mess of ingredients scattered around him. He’d spent most of the afternoon trying to figure out what was wrong. You weren’t yourself today, and it was throwing him off. You were normally so expressive, so vibrant, but now… now you’d retreated into this irritable shell that had him second-guessing every move. It wasn’t just the sharp words or the tears—it was the way your shoulders slumped and your voice sounded thinner, like you were carrying something invisible that weighed you down. Armin wasn’t great at reading between the lines. He’d always been better with facts, with logic. But the look on your face today—the frustration, the vulnerability—clung to him like static. He was sure he’d done something wrong at first, but you’d muttered something about cramps and a heating pad, and suddenly things began to click.
“Periods,” he muttered to himself under his breath, glancing nervously at the batter as he stirred it. “How does anyone even… deal with this?”
The sunlight shifted as a cloud passed over the house, dimming the room for a moment. Armin leaned against the counter, his hair falling slightly into his eyes as he paused to think. He imagined you upstairs, bundled under layers of blankets, your face half-hidden but your emotions written all over the little parts of you he could see. He hated that he couldn’t just fix this for you—couldn’t just take the pain and frustration away. But he could try to make you feel better.
That’s why he was baking banana bread.
The idea had come to him like a flicker of light in the fog. You loved banana bread—always lit up when the smell filled the air, always hummed in satisfaction after the first bite. The memory of you smiling over a warm slice made his chest ache with longing to see that expression again. He worked carefully, his movements slow and deliberate. Armin wasn’t much of a baker, but he approached the process with the same methodical care he gave to his research. Measuring the sugar felt like balancing equations; folding the wet and dry ingredients together was like conducting a gentle experiment. The batter thickened under his careful stirring, the sweet scent of ripe bananas and vanilla creeping into the air like a soft promise. He glanced out the window as the oven preheated, watching the branches of the oak tree outside sway gently in the breeze. The world felt so calm out there, so steady, and he wished he could borrow some of that stillness to bring to you. Once the batter was poured into the pan and slid into the oven, Armin set a timer and leaned against the counter with a sigh. His golden hair caught the light as he looked toward the ceiling, his thoughts inevitably drifting back to you.
You hadn’t meant to snap at him earlier—he knew that. But hearing your voice break as you apologized, seeing the tears spill from your eyes, had sent a pang of helplessness through him. He hated feeling out of his depth like this, hated that he wasn’t sure how to make things better.
But maybe his baking would help.
The timer beeped softly, and Armin jumped a little, startled out of his thoughts. He hurried to the oven, pulling on mitts and carefully lifting the pan out. The golden-brown loaf looked perfect, its surface cracked just enough to let the sweet, warm aroma spill out into the kitchen. He let out a relieved breath, setting it on the cooling rack with a satisfied nod. He didn’t stop there. He rummaged through the cabinets and fridge, gathering little things he thought you might like: your favorite chocolate bar, a bottle of juice he knew you always reached for, and a heat pack he’d bought for you once but didn’t think you’d ever used. He arranged everything neatly on a tray, his meticulous nature showing in the way he aligned the items just so. Taking a deep breath, he made his way upstairs. The soft creak of the floorboards under his steps was the only sound in the quiet house. As he reached your room, the door was slightly ajar, and he nudged it open gently with his foot. You were a bundle of blankets on the bed, your head completely buried beneath the duvet. The room was dim, the curtains drawn just enough to let a soft, hazy light seep in. Your favorite pillow was propped against the headboard, and there were tissues crumpled on the bedside table—a testament to the emotional whirlwind of the day.
“Hey,” Armin said softly, his voice carrying a careful warmth as he stepped inside.
The smell of the banana bread hit you before his words did. It curled into the room like a comforting hug, and you froze for a moment before peeking your head out from beneath the duvet. Your eyes, still a little red from earlier, widened when you saw the tray he was holding.
“Oh, Armin,” you breathed, your voice breaking.
You sat up slowly, your blanket still wrapped around your shoulders. When your gaze flickered over the tray—the banana bread, the chocolate, the drink, the heat pack—your lip trembled. Tears welled in your eyes again, spilling over as you covered your face with your hands.
Armin panicked, setting the tray down quickly and kneeling beside the bed. “Wait—why are you crying again?” he asked, his voice tight with worry. “I didn’t mess up, did I?”
You shook your head, trying to compose yourself but failing miserably. “No! No, it’s perfect, Armin. It’s just—you did all this for me? Even after I yelled at you and acted like a total mess?”
He blinked, his cheeks flushing a soft pink. “Well, yeah,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I just… I wanted to help. You’ve had a rough day, and I thought maybe this would make it a little better.”
You sniffled, letting out a watery laugh. “It’s not just today, it’s—ugh, stupid hormones. I’ve been all over the place because of my period, and I feel bad for taking it out on you.”
“Oh,” he said, his expression softening with understanding. “So… that’s what this is about?”
You nodded, wiping at your cheeks. “Yeah. Sorry I’ve been so weird.”
He smiled, small and shy, as he reached up to brush a tear from your cheek with his thumb. “Don’t apologize. I mean… it’s not your fault, right? I’m just glad I didn’t make things worse.”
You pulled him into a hug, burying your face against his shoulder. “You made it so much better.”
A few moments later, the two of you were tangled up under the duvet, sharing the banana bread he’d baked. The golden light from the window wrapped around the room like a soft blanket, and the sweet, comforting taste of the bread melted on your tongue. You shifted slightly under the weight of the duvet, leaning to the side and resting your cheek against the cool edge of the pillow. Your gaze wandered to the window, where a curtain of soft gray clouds had draped itself over the sky. The once steady light filtering through the room had dulled, replaced by a muted, silvery hue.
Outside, the first drops of rain began to trail down the glass, catching what little light remained and refracting it like tiny prisms. They started slowly, clinging to the pane for a moment before slipping downward in winding, unpredictable paths. Soon, more joined in, cascading in uneven rivulets that raced each other to the bottom, leaving streaks in their wake. The faint sound of the rain tapping against the window filled the room, rhythmic and persistent, like a whisper you couldn’t quite ignore. Your lips pressed into a thin line, a flicker of irritation crossing your features as you watched the rain build in intensity. It wasn’t just the rain itself—though you’d always found its presence more of a nuisance than a comfort—but the oppressive weight of the grayness it brought. It reminded you of the low mood already pulling at you, dragging you deeper into the haze you’d been trying to escape all day. Armin noticed the shift in your expression almost immediately. You’d always had such a transparent way of showing how you felt, whether you meant to or not. The way your brows knitted together, the slight tilt of your head as you stared out at the rain with an almost accusatory look—it was so you, and yet he couldn’t help the pang of worry that rose in his chest.
“I know you don’t like rain,” he said softly, his voice cutting gently through the ambient hum of the weather outside. His lips quirked into a faint, unsure smile, his blue eyes scanning your face for any sign of another emotional landslide. “But I can’t really stop it from happening. Please don’t cry.”
His words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you just blinked at him. Then, the corners of your mouth twitched, betraying the beginnings of a smile.
“Shut up, Armin,” you said with a playful nudge, your voice carrying a warmth that hadn’t been there all day.
The sound of your laughter, light and airy, spilled into the room like a welcome guest. Armin’s chest swelled with a quiet pride at the sight of you smiling, your mood lifting even just a little. He leaned back against the pillows, the two of you tucked close together under the blanket as the rain continued its gentle dance against the window. And though the gray clouds lingered outside, a different kind of warmth spread through you—a steady, comforting glow that had nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with the boy sitting beside you.
