Chapter Text
The sheets were blissfully cold against Armin’s skin. They were nice, better quality than his own, but the mattress underneath him was firmer than he liked it. Still, it was a nice bed. Armin kept his eyes closed for as long as he could, trying to see if he could hear any indication that he wasn’t alone in the room. He turned over slowly, as slow as he possibly could and sighed in relief.
Bless his angels, the spot on the bed next to him was empty.
He sat up with a groan and hung his head in his hands.
Armin did not do one night stands. It was never his style, he was too awkward for casual flirting, and he did not enjoy the idea of sleeping with strangers. But it was his first night in a new city, about to start the job he’d dreamed of for so long. So maybe he found himself having a late night drink at a bar near his apartment.
And a late night drink led to meeting a handsome man who offered to buy him another one.
He rubbed his temple, already feeling a hangover coming over him. God, why had he decided to go out drinking before his first day of work? Now he had to find a way out of this stranger’s apartment, find his way back to his own and pull himself together before making his way to the office.
His phone buzzed on the nightstand and he snatched it to see a message from his longtime friend, and now colleague, Eren.
Eren: “Don’t be late, I told Levi you’re not useless.”
Armin was not sure about that statement. Because only a useless man would find himself in this situation. He picked up his shirt from the floor, his nose scrunching at the smell of tequila on it. Great. Just great. He pulled it on anyway, because the walk of shame back home at the very least demanded clothes.
He could hear the traffic outside, the steady hum of a city startling itself awake. He had moved to Mitras for the excitement, the promise of opportunity that seemed to linger in the air. But Armin was, in many ways, a simple man. He valued stability above all else, he liked routines and knowing where he stood when the morning came. Sleeping with strangers was the very opposite of stable.
The recklessness of the night was evident in the sheets tangled at his feet. He found himself praying they’d used a condom during his hormone-riddled lapse in judgment. He yawned, stretching his arms over his head and nearly flinched at the sound of the bathroom door opening.
The man who he’d come home with last night was shirtless, wearing only the towel around his hips. His mullet hair was damp and pushed back, and he smelled of an earthy scent. He quickly looked over his toned shoulders, his fantastic six-pack and further down-
He shook himself out of his thoughts. He was half-naked in a stranger’s bed, hair tangled, deeply embarrassed.
The stranger was incredibly handsome though. A sharp nose, and even sharper gaze. Armin couldn’t help but mentally pat himself on the back.
“Morning,” the stranger said roughly, his deep voice sending a shiver up Armin’s spine. The same voice he’d used to whisper dirty things to him late at night, tangled in between sheets he had no business being in.
“Morning,” he cleared his throat. God, he sounded terrible.
“How’d you sleep?”
Armin was trying really hard not to look at this stranger. Or to remember all the things they’d done last night. But as he flexed his arms over his head, his muscles pulled tightly… it was very hard not to. It was as if he’d stepped out of a painting, composed and perfect. The artist in him wanted to study him for hours.
“Good,” he lied. His sleep was restless, his dreams consumed with a beautiful man with steady hands who knew how to touch him in all the right places.
Armin tore away his gaze and reached for his phone once more. The screen lit up.
7:30AM.
His heart dropped so fast it felt like it hit the bottom of his stomach. He had to be at work in an hour. An hour.
And he had no idea where he was.
His clothes also smelled like tequila, and his phone was about to die. He was fucked. So, so incredibly fucked.
He didn’t think he’d ever sprung out of bed so quickly, running to find his clothes scattered across the floor. He needed an address, a charger and a miracle. He needed to find a way out of the apartment, immediately, and get to work before he got fired before he’d even arrived.
And where were his socks?
“You in a rush?” the man leaned against the doorframe casually.
“Work,” was Armin’s very detailed answer. He could feel self-consciousness creeping in, a flush spreading over his cheeks.
He shoved his feet into his shoes without bothering to tie them and bolted for what he hoped was the right hallway, half-missing a cat that was lying near the door. Was that cat there last night?
“Hey!” the man called after him.
Armin grabbed onto the doorframe to stop himself and turned to face him, “Yes?”
The man walked up to him, his delicious scent invading Armin’s senses as he got closer. His hips swayed with every step, and he briefly wondered if he’d let the towel slip just a little farther down. Armin felt entranced as he placed his glasses on the bridge of his nose, gently setting them in place.
“There. Now you can run to work.”
Armin felt his cheeks heat up, his stomach twisting as if it had a mind of its own. Every instinct screamed at him to lean in, just like last night - to press against the scruff on his chin, to kiss him recklessly and without thought. But a sharper voice in his head reminded him: you are definitely getting fired.
He couldn’t find any words that wouldn’t make him sound stupid, so he smiled and ran to the elevator, not sparing another glance to the man behind him.
In a small stroke of luck, he ran outside to find he wasn’t that far out from his new apartment. While that definitely raised concerns about seeing this man again, it was very much the least of his concerns. After running for two blocks, shoelaces untied and half his buttons mismatched, he finally made it through the door.
His shower was completely focused on getting rid of the scent of alcohol, washing his hair and scrubbing furiously at his skin. Subway? No, he’d probably lose his breakfast. Cab? Too expensive, but it would have to do if he wanted to make it on time. He wrestled an outfit from the closet, buttons straightened, shoes tied, and with one last glance at the clock, he bolted out the door.
He managed to flag down a cab immediately, bless Mitras. A rush of color, movement and towering buildings invaded his senses as he slid into the backseat. People ran through the streets, cars honked at each other, vendors called out. It was exhilarating. The kind of chaos that made people feel part of something.
Armin had no idea how he was going to make it alive through the next twelve hours. But he let his forehead press against the window, and let the city blur past, reminding himself he’d already made it here. There was no stopping now.
Once he reached the Celsior Building, it was difficult to not be starstruck. A massive skyscraper that gleamed like a jewel, every panel catching on the morning light. The revolving door was polished so well, you could see a perfect reflection of yourself framed by sleek black marble and minimalist greenery.
The second he walked through the door, he was greeted by two friendly and familiar faces.
Mikasa began straightening his collar and jacket, “I thought we had agreed you’d be here ten minutes early.”
“Sorry, I ran into some… problems.”
Eren was wearing a bright smile, despite the early hour. He had always looked like a model. He was the kind of guy who everyone turned to look wherever he went, a man with countless silent (and not so silent) admirers.
He held Armin’s bag as Mikasa finished straightening out his clothes, “You’ll want to head straight to Levi’s office. That’s where you’ll meet Historia, his assistant.”
Mikasa, concerningly enough, seemed stressed. She adjusted his clothes multiple times, combing through his hair with her fingers. He chuckled, “I don’t look that bad, right?”
“You look great,” she deadpanned as she adjusted his glasses once again.
“Just don’t show fear around Levi, understand?” Eren handed him back his bag. “Any sign of weakness, and he’ll pounce.”
Armin knew to expect a boss like Levi Ackerman to have high standards. But how scared exactly did he have to be? Mikasa took a glance at her watch and began nudging him towards the elevator, “Head there right now. Come find us for lunch.”
“Yes ma’am,” he smiled.
He took the ride up to the highest floor, and checked his reflection on the polished steel door of the elevator. He fought the urge to mess with his hair. The glass wall opposite the door gave view to the whole city, with the buildings becoming smaller and smaller as the elevator climbed. It made Armin feel giddy.
Once the elevator opened, it revealed a young woman, who Armin presumed was Levi’s assistant. She looked perfectly put together, light blonde hair pulled back, and clothes tailored precisely.
Armin put his hand out, “Hi, I’m-”
“Armin Arlert,” she finished smoothly, clasping his hand with an easy confidence. “Trost University graduate, majored in Fashion Design and minored in Journalism. You used to work for Muse Magazine.”
Armin blinked. Once. Twice. “Um, yeah, that’s me.”
She smiled politely, “Historia Reiss. I’m Levi’s assistant.”
He let out a soft nervous laugh, “Looks like you’ve done your research on me.”
“Of course I did. It’s my job to know everything,” she turned and started walking down the hallway, “I assume you already got all your credentials sorted out. You’ll be working with me, over here.”
She opened the door right at the end of the hallway to reveal the office space. The room was divided into two areas. At the front, two wooden desks sat in front of each other, cluttered with a laptop, folders and magazines. Just behind them sat the main office: a large, polished desk with a perfect view of the Mitras skyline.
“This is my desk,” Historia said, as she sat down at the vinyl desk at the right of the glass doors. She pointed to the identical desk right across from her, “And that’s all yours.”
His own desk. Something was oddly thrilling about that.
It was ample, the monitor and keyboard on the end of it only took up about a third of the desk space. The raised front of the desk had a vinyl top that curved slightly outward, separating the workspace from the rest of the room.
For a single moment, Armin felt completely out of place. There he was, a kid from Shingashina, with a desk of his own in the offices of one of the most prestigious fashion firms. He knew impostor syndrome well, it’d plagued him for most of his life, but he still hadn’t learnt to totally shake it.
The door to the office opened, and the click of polished black shoes on the floor made Armin look up.
Levi Ackerman.
If you worked in the fashion industry in any capacity, you knew who Levi Ackerman was. He’d spent a decade making a name for himself as the most sought after designer, eventually landing himself the role as Chief Editor for Celsior. Levi’s fashion signature was being unapologetic. While everyone else rushed to follow the trends in order to appease the crowd, Levi set his sight on making the trends.
He was nothing short of a genius.
“Reiss, the deadline for the new line got pushed, I need the swatches on my desk before lunch and…” Levi paused. He turned slowly, focusing his gaze completely on Armin.
And he was absolutely terrifying.
“You are?”
Armin basically forgot his name as he was pinned under that gaze. This was the man he had admired for so many years, and he was staring at him like he was the greatest inconvenience he had ever encountered in his life.
“Armin Arlert,” Historia completed for him. “He was hired for the new Styling Assistant position.”
“I see.”
Armin briefly wondered if Levi could see he’d had a one night stand before work, was fighting a mild headache, and his legs were still aching. It wasn’t possible. Right? He gave him a once over before looking back at him.
“Reiss, show him the office. Have him back here in twenty.”
Historia snapped to her feet, folder tucked under her arm, and gave Armin a brisk nod. He didn’t dare ask questions, he just fell into step behind her. Her stilettos clicked sharply against the marble and she already had a checklist in hand, flipping it open as they walked.
“There’s a lot to learn, so you might want to take notes.”
Armin fumbled trying to pull his notepad from his messenger bag as Historia continued, “Most important rule: you do not ask questions. If Levi wants something, it gets done without excuses.”
She glanced towards him as they continued walking through the bustling office, “He wants you to ship silk fabrics from across the world in one night? They’ll be waiting when he arrives.”
Armin uncapped his pen with his teeth, “Even if it’s… literally impossible?”
Historia handed someone a paper with precise efficiency without breaking her stride, “That word does not exist in Levi’s vocabulary. You either get it done, or go home.”
They walked past the main cubicle space into a bustling marketing floor. There were mood boards lining the walls, assistants darting around carrying around sketches and discussion filled the air. It was bright and lively, exactly what people imagined from an office that worked exclusively in fashion.
“This is the marketing department, run by Hange Zoe. They’re eccentric, and they are not to be interrupted unless asked.”
Armin couldn’t help but let his eyes wander around to see if he could catch a glimpse of them. As the art director and head of marketing of the company, Hange Zoe was nothing less than a legend. A name that transcended fashion for their uncanny ability to create a fantasy and sell it to perfection.
He didn’t get the chance to find them as Historia led him to another elevator, “One floor down are the studio rooms. This is where all the sets, stylists and models are, you’ll be spending a lot of time here.”
They stepped off the elevator into a wide, open studio space. Sets were scattered across the floor with backdrops against the walls, and mannequins were dressed in fabric. Stylists moved quickly between racks, pointing at models, moving sewing supplies. There was a faint smell of perfume, starch and paint.
It was perfect.
Armin felt as if he’d stepped onto a movie set, the space he’d dreamed of working in for so long. He wasn’t sure where to keep his gaze as models, stylists and designers moved around the space.
A woman with fabulous short blonde hair approached them, “All studio rooms are full for noon.”
Historia didn’t flinch at the annoyance in her voice, “Push Jean up by an hour, and tell Wagner we’re gonna have a chat about scheduling.”
The woman then turned her attention to Armin, but addressed Historia instead of him, “Who’s this?”
They both turned to Armin expectantly. After a beat, he put his hand out with a nervous chuckle, “Armin Arlert. I’m the new styling assistant.”
The woman smiled as she took his hand, “Oh you’re Levi’s new assistant?”
He nodded, “That’s me.”
She tucked her hair behind her ear, “Hitch Dreyse. I’m a stylist here.”
“Do not make her acquaintance, Armin,” Historia warned, gently grabbing his bicep to keep him moving. “She will plague you with endless requests.”
Hitch did not seem bothered by the comment, laughing brightly, “Good luck blondie!”
He let himself be dragged throughout the space, and Historia quickly pointed at one of the sets where a freckled man was setting up a camera, “That’s Marco, lead photographer. Absolutely lovely, but do not get on his bad side.”
Armin didn’t have time to ask why he couldn’t get on his bad side as he was dragged along the sets. She pointed at a brawny blonde man, “That’s Reiner. You need help with set design, he is who you call. Can be unpredictable at times.”
“Who’s unpredictable?”
A tall woman with a scrutinizing stare stopped them in their tracks. She looked at Armin as if he was the most annoying thing she’d ever seen. That gaze might have even rivaled Levi’s.
But Historia seemed undisturbed, joyful even. She rested her hand on the woman’s shoulder, “This is Ymir. She’s one of our exclusive models.”
Ymir stared at him, not offering a hand, “Nice to meet you, Blondie.”
“My name is-”
She waved a hand, “Don’t care. You’re Levi’s new assistant?”
He nodded and she clicked her tongue, “He’s a tough one. Picky. Too much of a perfectionist.”
Armin already had a feeling, but he wasn’t about to talk about his boss on his first day there. He tried to shift the conversation, “So you’re an exclusive model here?”
“Most of our models come through casting,” Historia explained. “That’s Mikasa’s role. But occasionally, we bring in models who are exclusive to us. They may have other contracts with different brands, yet they still serve as representatives of our own brand.”
“Just means I’m good at my job,” Ymir grinned.
Historia rolled her eyes, “Yes Ymir, you’re great at your job. And I have a tour to finish.”
To Armin’s surprise, Ymir leaned down and pressed a kiss to Historia’s cheek, “See you later.”
Historia did not feel the need to explain anything as she walked away, but Armin could infer well enough. He followed suit, but before they could move on, a woman in a ponytail stepped right into their path.
She looked Armin over, a gleam in her eyes, “Historia, I’m offended! You weren’t going to introduce me to the new guy?”
Historia sighed, “I’m on a time crunch here. Sasha, meet Armin. Armin, this is Sasha, one of our stylists.”
Sasha held out her hand with a smile, “A pleasure! It’s been a while since we had someone join the team, it’s always good to have some alternate perspectives coming in.”
Armin nodded dumbly but before he could reply Sasha had fluttered away. Historia kept walking, “Ok, we’re finally reaching the end of this tour. I heard you’re friends with Eren, so this part of the office won’t be a surprise, but I’ll show you to one of the fitting rooms.”
She came up to one of the rooms to the side of the studio, a vinyl number on the door showed it was dressing room number five. She knocked on the door, a gentle tap of her knuckles against the wood.
Armin valued stability, routines, and knowing exactly where he stood. He was good at keeping things in order. He should have known chasing excitement would throw him off balance, because chaos was not his forte and it never had been.
And yet somehow, in less than twelve hours, he had managed to turn his neatly ordered life completely upside down.
The door creaked open and Armin froze.
He could have melted straight into the floor. The man standing in front of him was impossibly beautiful: a sharp nose, enticing scruff on his chin, mullet combed to perfection. Broad shoulders and an intense gaze.
“This is Jean,” Historia introduced, blissfully unaware. “He’s one of our exclusive models.”
Armin blinked. Jean? Eren’s self-proclaimed nemesis Jean? And the man who-
Jean’s eyes locked on him, and for a brief second, his composure cracked. His eyes widened, a flicker of panic flashing across his face before he forced himself back into a neutral expression. Armin didn’t miss it. Not that it would’ve been hard to recognize the man who’d been in his bed last night.
“Jean, this is Armin. He’s Levi’s new styling assistant.”
Armin swallowed harshly. Yeah. He was completely, utterly and irrevocably fucked.