Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

A second had passed since Mikasa severed his head and the Titans vanished along with him, but it was then that he returned to the coordinates. This time, the infinite light of the connected networks was withered, and the dark sky above him was nothing but a white void that burned his eyes. The sand beneath his feet became an endless ocean of blood, hot and dark, staining his bare feet up to his ankles. 

Eren can see Ymir there, grown and sorrowful, the white robes that cover her body, tied with golden ribbons, stained with blood beneath her feet. And her blue eyes are fixed upon him. She stretches out her hands, both hands, to try and call to him, and he runs to her, falling to his knees, the silk fabrics between his fingers, tearing at her dress. 

She placed her hands on Eren's short hair, so maternal and patient with him. And Eren's sad eyes filled with tears at the warm, kind touch. It reminded him of his mother, and in the face of that Goddess who had taken so much from him, he saw the reflection of his mother who had given him everything. 

"Is this my hell?" he asked, not wanting to hear a real answer. He was scared, and the idea of ​​spending the rest of eternity in a place that could only remind him of his sins in life terrified him. 

But the gentle touch of a mother's hands calmed him. Ymir lowered her head to look at him, and for the first time, met his eyes. "No." Her voice, soft and deep, echoed in the air; she didn't move her lips, but Eren heard her.  "It's purgatory."

"Then I died... and I left them behind, I left him behind." Eren couldn't help it, but his brow furrowed, and tears streamed down his flushed cheeks, disappearing into an endless sea of ​​red. His pulse quickened, and each memory flooded his weary mind. "I failed them... I only caused them pain... I'm an idiot. I'm so tired." 

Eren's cries echoed, without an echo to return the sound, as childish sobs escaped his throat, rubbing his hopeless face against the pristine fabric of the Goddess's dress. "I didn't want to die. I was afraid they would forget me, that the world I left them wouldn't make them happy... I wanted to be there for them, for him. He needs me. I still need to teach him to fight... I need... I need to ask for his forgiveness for everything ." 

"There's someone who did something for you once." A pair of cold hands sent a shiver down his spine, making Eren look up. Ymir was smiling, sweet and patient, her face filled with compassion. "Live for me, Eren Yeager. Be free like no one else ever could be." 

She said. And Eren felt such an intense heat from the depths of his being that it clouded his tired head, and the sensation of pain cracking his bones made him double over in suffering, his fragile, mutilated body enduring such pain. How was so much suffering possible even after death? "Ymir! It hurts! Please stop! Stop!" 

Perhaps he fainted from the pain; he remembers nothing now. The edges of the images become distorted, and the feeling of a dreamlike state lingers as he tries to wiggle his toes. There is no more light, no more blood, and Ymir's figure is gone. Eren feels his eyelids grow heavy as he drowns in a darkness that consumes him and pulls his body toward the abysmal, infinite void that promises nothing but loneliness. 

There's an old philosophy that Erwin, in his time with the recruits, always mentioned. He remembers it vividly, as if he were present in the room again: surrounded by his friends, the original Scouts formation is enjoying the stew that Hange and Sasha cooked, around long tables, and everyone is there. 

"The indomitable human spirit," he would say, explaining it as the fire that the soul naturally produces and that resides within us all, empirical proof of the existence of the human soul. It is the bubbling sensation of wanting to live even when the fear of war clouds our other senses. That spirit would always open our eyes and show us the way forward . 

And the small flame of his life, the life-giving impulses that his heart holds, reverberate through his body, painful and fast. Is his pulse racing ? It's impossible. Eren remembers being dead. 

A heart-rending scream escapes his lips, and birds fly in all directions under the orange sunlight of the setting sun streaming through the window. Eren sits limply on a bed, his body numb with pain, groaning again from the traumatic sensation of bone-crushing ache inside him. 

He feels the Scouts's jacket slide particularly smoothly over his naked body until it falls onto his legs. Was he being covered by the uniform? Eren takes it in his hands and slowly caresses the emblem of the wings of freedom on his back. 

A gasp of pain escapes his lips; his head is slowly killing him with pain, and the throbbing in his temple tortures him with a constant hammering that prevents him from thinking clearly. Is he really dead now? The fabric feels real , and the cold that prickles his naked body also seems real. 

His weary mind is a jumble of unanswered questions. What the hell happened to him? What did Ymir mean by someone doing something for him? Then he notices what's controlling his body. Hadn't his head been severed just a moment ago? Fearfully, he brings his trembling hand to the spot where he remembers feeling the light, cold touch of Mikasa's 3D Maneuver Gear blades before he died. 

He hears footsteps from the other side of the unfamiliar room. Eren is helpless there, stripped of all dignity, still naked on the small bed that barely fits his body. There are no screams, only hurried footsteps that he assumes are someone running desperately toward him. 

Eren's vibrant eyes fearfully stared at the bedroom door, and he quickly covered his nakedness with the jacket draped over his body. The wooden door swung open with a single, forceful pull, unleashing a gust of wind that whipped the curtains together. 

No. It was impossible. 

It couldn't be true. This is part of the torture that comes from atoning for his sins of murdering so many people. Hell, this is his hell , and Armin couldn't be there with his big, sea-colored eyes and pupils dilated with shock. 

– Armin? – Eren's voice escapes his dry lips as an involuntary, soft, and harsh growl, which is met with a frown from the blond boy and the noticeable trembling of his hand gripping the golden doorknob; as if it were a lifeline from the nightmare they are both witnessing. 

Another headache forces Eren to close his eyes and let out a groan of pain as he doubles over, still clutching the clothes that cover him, and waiting for an answer that means something. 

Armin, or what Eren thinks he sees as Armin , says nothing and slams the door shut again, leaving him alone in the cold room once more. The sound of heavy footsteps echoes around the room until the door slowly opens, its sound dissonant at first. 

This time, Arlert does move. He shuffles along, his hands hanging loosely at his sides, staring in deep confusion at the man sitting directly across from him. Eren looks up too, at Armin, watching him kneel beside the bed, watching him reach out to tuck a strand of his short hair behind his ear in a movement so gentle and kind that Eren feels the sting of tears dampen his eyelashes and distort the frightened face of his best friend. 

"Eren," he says, his voice calm and almost a whisper, determined not to break the silence that reigns in the room. Armin's small nose wrinkles, as do his eyebrows, and his trembling lips try to say something, but the muffled, restrained sound of a broken sob causes Eren's tears to fall as well. 

And both of them weep, fear oozing from the living pores of their skin. Armin gently cradles Eren's face in his hand, wiping away the cold tears that stream from his best friend's nature-colored eyes. "Oh, Eren. H-how is this possible...? You, your body..." 

Eren's only instinct is to let the garment covering his torso fall away, wrapping his arms around Arlert's broad shoulders to pull him into an embrace that is automatically reciprocated. Armin's arms encircle his waist as he settles in to receive Eren's face at the crook of his neck and shoulder, allowing him to wet his white shirt without reprimand. 

"I don't know, I don't know. I'm dead, Armin." Eren speaks between sobs, his babbling unintelligible as it mingles with his tears and the echo of his sobs, muffled by Armin's body. His hands clutch the fabric of Armin's white shirt tightly, his nose catching the faint scent of burnt wood and dried blood. 

" You were dead, Eren. You were dead this morning ." Armin dug his fingers into the smooth skin of Eren's waist, pulling their bodies even closer. He was almost on top of Eren's trembling body, feeling as if he wanted to fuse their bodies together from the force of the brunette boy's embrace. "Tomorrow is your funeral. What the hell are you doing here ?" 

Armin senses the natural warmth emanating from Eren's skin. The sun-kissed color of his body seems to have returned , and the post-mortem pallor has vanished, replaced by a blush that forms on the back of his neck from Eren's desperate cries. Armin feels Eren's heartbeat as he slides his hand across his best friend's chest, gently resting his palm on his left side to feel the pulse of life . 

“I was so scared, Min .” Eren pulled his face away from Armin’s body so he could meet his sea-blue eyes again . And he could see again the details that made Armin: his thin blond eyelashes, his small button nose reddened from crying, the dark bags under his red eyelids, the freckles scattered like stars across the pale firmament of his skin, his trembling lips that tried to say something but couldn’t find what to say. “I-I didn’t want to die… I was so scared, I was covered in blood, my hands were covered in blood.” 

Armin's expression slowly changed, a realization of the truth unfolding before his eyes. He pulled away from Eren, as if his skin were burning hot. Eren watched him leave, his pupils dilating in pure terror, feeling his body grow cold and exposed once more. "A-Armin?" 

"If you're alive, it only means one thing, Eren." Armin's sweet voice took on an accusatory tone , and Eren's headache returned. He was so confused and scared; everything felt real, and Armin's love slipped through his fingers like sand when he saw him practically run from the room. Even if he had wanted to chase after him, his aching body wouldn't let him go, and tears welled up between his eyelashes, falling silently and soaking the Legion emblem beneath them. 

He wasn't sure how long he waited, but the footsteps returned, and the open door revealed the sound coming from the main floor of the house. Armin was there again, a hunting knife between his fingers, his left hand raised toward Eren. Their eyes tightened immediately, and they could both understand each other's fear. 

"What will you do?"—a rather stupid question from Eren. He should get to know his Armin , the pragmatic boy he'd always admired. The answer to his question was a groan of pain followed by the thud of the knife hitting the wooden floor. 

Armin cut his palm, deep enough to open his skin down to the dermis. Blood spurted out, staining everything in its path, while cold tears of pain fell down Eren's cheeks as he screamed for him to stop. The force of his body propelled him out of bed, and he stumbled to Armin's side, only to end up on the floor. 

"Armin! You idiot, Armin!" Eren's tears choked out amidst curses as he laboriously tore open Armin's Survey Corps jacket. He ripped the fabric from the sleeves to staunch the bleeding from Armin's hand. The fall allowed Eren to slide down and onto Armin's lap, desperate to do something. 

"I-I'm not a Titan..." Is that relief? Armin's voice is soft and calm, and he exhales sharply when the fabric brushes against his wound. His sea-colored eyes search for Eren, and he gives him a wide smile that narrows his eyes into two small crescents. "The future, Eren. Your death meant there would be no more Titans. Fate didn't expect she will be revived you. You're the biggest anomaly in the timeline, and you're alive now. And I'm no longer the Colossal Titan, nor are you the Attack Titan. I'm Armin, and you're Eren. As it always should have been." 

Eren takes Armin's injured hand, his gaze lowered as he tries to focus on gently stroking it to soothe the pain his best friend must be feeling right now. A small, childish pout appears on his lips as he remains kneeling over Armin's body, not fully understanding his words and feeling the pain burning inside. "You shouldn't have hurt yourself like this just to test that, you idiot." 

Armin laughs , so happily and loudly that Eren has to look up to see him. The feeling of joy and happiness that his laughter emanates, the soft sound that echoes off the walls and makes his body tremble as he places his other free hand on Eren's, which are still cradling his wound. Small tears are forming at the corners of his round, sorrowful eyes. "You're alive, you're here. How is it possible to have a blessing after sinning so much, Eren?"

Their life together had formally begun twenty-four hours after Eren revived and both idiots made sure that it was not a dream, but a fact. 

Eren remembers Armin's despair during those hours and how every night, they both slept together like in the old days: Armin held Eren against his chest so he could feel his heartbeat, and stayed awake to make sure that no pain could steal his sleep. 

There were no books to read, but Eren would fall into a deep sleep, feeling Armin's sea-blue eyes watching him with admiration. His recovery was slow and painful for the first few months; his bones burned with pain, and his body showed him how much he hated being alive. 

Eren had forgotten what suffering was . Since awakening his Titan Shifter powers, anything that could kill him had become a tolerable nuisance that would improve in a few days; and that was a gift from heaven. Now, he was a mere mortal who had to remember what suffering was like in the flesh and bones. 

Since he wake up again, he only spent two nights without Armin, the estimated time it would take him to reach the nearest town to try to contact Mikasa and give her the news: the main task is for the three of them to see each other again before deciding anything. 

Eren, in his lonely nights, under the pale moonlight streaming through his open window, could only think of his miracle . And repeatedly recalling the words Armin had used with him, «an anomaly of fate,»he had said.

He thought about Ymir and her reasons for giving him a chance. Why would he deserve that? Armin concluded that perhaps she had allowed him to live after overhearing their conversation in a dream before the final battle. But why did she let him live? She had acted of her own free will and had the freedom to choose, and that was a great comfort to him. 

They talked a lot about Ymir, searching for human logic to explain the actions of a goddess who seemed utterly incoherent and compassionate towards a poor young soul like Eren's. Armin couldn't hide the obvious surprise in his voice when he asked, "Did you see Carla in her face?" 

“Yes.” Eren shifted in his seat, stirring the wild herbal tea in his cup. It took him a moment to compose himself, and when he looked up, he met Armin’s obvious anxiety, hungry for answers but patient and afraid to cross the line. “It was Mom. I saw her when she let me cry in her lap.” 

Eren relived every second of his death as they ate breakfast one morning after waking up. Armin hadn't held back his questions, his curiosity running high as he jotted down every tiny detail in a notebook bound in leather and sugarcane paper. 

Silence reigned as the light sound of the graphite pencil glided across the pages, Armin concentrating on finding the right words to avoid sounding like a complete psychopath trying to explain recent events. Eren watched him write and rewrite the same paper a thousand times while the tea in his cup grew cold in his hands. 

He rose gently, adjusting his wool coat over his shoulders and tucking his hair behind his ear as he gathered the two teacups to heat them; they were out of sugar, and he knew Armin liked his tea sweet. With quiet, soft steps that didn't creak on the worn wooden floor, his bare feet absorbing the freezing chill from the soles of his toes, he made his way to the kitchen to rekindle the fire that had dwindled to embers. 

Autumn began to strip the leaves from the trees as the sky painted itself in warm colors, the orange of the sun shining through the clouds that glowed red above. Eren admired the open sky and the distant village of survivors that had formed at the foot of the hill; the embers made a particular sound as they crackled in the fire that consumed them and turned into dust. 

Eren can't stop thinking. When did thinking so much become so commonplace? Probably since the memories of his father began haunting him as a teenager, and his whole life became a huge question mark that disturbs his equilibrium. He's always thinking, and since he came back to life, his head has become a chaotic mess due to the guilt it generates. 

His arms are crossed over his chest, and his sad eyes reflect the small flames that are making the tea bubble and filling the air with the scent of jasmine and gardenia. He is so focused on the crackling sound of the embers breaking in the fire that he trembles with a gasp of surprise when Armin's cold hands encircle him on a hug, closing his arms around him. 

Armin gently rests his head against Eren's shoulder, his chin barely reaching his shoulder, and Eren turns in his arms to face his best friend. When had Armin become so close to him? Still, it feels good when he adjusts his arms so their chests press together. Armin's big, round eyes study him intently, and Eren, despite being much bigger, feels small. 

"The water is getting warmer," Eren whispers. The bubble they're immersed in is so comfortable and warm. Armin hums in response and simply watches Eren's eyes in silence, the orange reflection of the fire in his pupils, his hands subtly kneading the tender flesh of his hips in an attempt at sincere caresses. 

"Is this a dream, Eren? Are you real, or has madness taken hold of me?" Armin whispers, and all their movements cease, the sound of their soft breaths the only thing they can hear. Eren feels his cheeks flush at the question; there's so much genuine feeling in Armin's eyes that it makes him nervous. The intensity emanating from his blue eyes is too much to bear. 

"Stop saying things like that, Armin," he scolds, and gently squeezes his best friend's cheeks, Eren also bites the tender, plump flesh as punishment like he used to do when their were kids. 

"You didn't answer my question." Armin ruefully cupping Eren's cheeks and gently stroking the area beneath his eyes with his thumb. "Will you still be here in the morning?" 

Eren uncrosses his arms and places them around his best friend's waist, nodding slowly. His pulse quickens, and his heart poundes in his ears. "I'll be here, Armin, always together. Remember that?" 

Armin's round eyes widened in surprise at the final words, and he let out a soft, nasal laugh as he tilted his head to the side, as if releasing a pent-up tension. "Yes, always together."

Night had settled over the cabin like a heavy blanket, broken only by the soft crackling of embers in the fireplace and the occasional rustle of a page turning.

It had been barely a few weeks since Eren had woken up in that same room, and the pain in his body gave him no respite. The bed was small, barely big enough for one person, with thick linen sheets that smelled of wild lavender and the old wood of the abandoned house.

Eren lay there, face up, his eyes closed and his face tense under the dim light of a single candle Armin had left burning on the desk.

Armin sat a few feet away, hunched over an old book they'd found on a dusty shelf downstairs. The volume was a collection of ancient sea legends, its pages yellowed and edges worn and creaking beneath his fingers.

His sea-blue eyes scanned the lines with concentration, but every few minutes he glanced up at the bed, keeping watch. He wore his usual white shirt, wrinkled from the long day, and his blond hair fell haphazardly across his forehead.

He wasn't sleeping, he couldn't. Eren's pulse was the only thing keeping him grounded, and that night, like the previous ones, he was determined to stay up until dawn.

Eren stirred beneath the covers, a low groan escaping his lips, pain shot through the back of his neck, reminding him of the sharp edge of the blades, and a shiver ran down his broad back.

He opened his eyes abruptly, his breath ragged. There was Armin, real, alive, the candlelight casting soft shadows on his freckled cheeks and the curve of his small nose. But doubt assailed him, as always: what if this was the dream of a dead man? What if Armin vanished at dawn, leaving only emptiness? Guilt tightened in his chest.

Armin looked exhausted; dark bags under his eyes, his shoulders slightly hollowed from sleepless nights and Eren felt responsible for all of it. For his pain, his weariness, this makeshift life in the mountains.

"Armin…" Eren's voice came out hoarse, almost an embarrassed whisper. He propped himself up slightly on his elbows, his long black hair falling over his shoulders. "You don't have to stay there all night. You're tired. I… I'm fine. Really."

Armin looked up from his book, gently closing it on the desk. Their eyes met in the dim light, and Eren felt a lump in his throat, he was suddenly shy, as if asking for something forbidden. He rubbed the back of his neck with a large, calloused hand, avoiding his gaze for a second.

“Come here,” Eren continued, gesturing to the empty space beside him on the narrow bed. “Like when we were kids." His voice lower. "You used to climb into my bed because you had nightmares about Titans, and I’d tell you it was okay." 

There's no answer, the eager in his heart pound. "It’s not… it’s not weird, isn't? Just… come. I don’t want you standing there alone, watching over me like I’m going to disappear.”

Armin blinked, surprised, his cheeks flushed a faint pink, betrayed by the candlelight and an internal conflict churned in his stomach: this was friendship, but there was something more to the way his heart raced at the thought of Eren's body warm against his own, he swallowed and closed the book completely.

"Okay..." he finally murmured, his voice low. "Just for a little ... the book is interesting. I can read right here too."

"Just get in the bed, Armin." Eren scold him and he got up clumsily, leaving the book on the bedside table, he kicked off his shoes and lay down stiffly on the edge of the mattress, leaving a deliberate space between them. Eren's body was larger, warmer; Armin could feel the heat radiating from his skin even without touching him. Their breaths mingled in the silence, and neither of them moved.

Eren couldn't hold back much longer and the guilt and need drove him. He turned to Armin, shyly extending an arm around his waist and pulling him closer. It wasn't a sudden movement; it was slow, almost asking permission with every inch.

Armin tensed for a moment, but didn't move away. His heart probably gonna explode if Eren still act so cute like that, he can't  take his eyes off the way Eren moves, so soft and slow, his smerald eyes looked so tired. He let Eren adjust him until his blond head rested against the shared pillow and their bodies brushed together.

"Like this... like before," Eren whispered, his voice trembling with the confusion that burned in his chest because this didn't feel like just...

He remembered Mikasa, he didn't know why. The love he'd once felt for Mikasa: that protective warmth, the desire to be close, to protect and be protected. But with Armin, it was different, it's different now, but why? Is that the way he's just trying to beg his pardon? Act like this... 

Armin is, more than he could ever describe. He knows that well, even if he tried to explain the way his heart feels just full of ... everything that makes him feel alive, since they're were kids, they're dream about freedom together, to see the world behind the walls, with his encourge and bravery, with Armin's knowledge and wit, they would be unstoppable. That's a fact, he always belive that. 

But since his titan powers claim and mark his future, all that childish dreams just dissappear like a old memory that he used to conceal himself for the destiny he was made for. And all the love for the shared freedom for him and Mikasa, make the man he's today, with all the sins he carries in his back just for love. 

All the things he did, was just a love. True love. 

For Mikasa, for Armin. To protect what he loved most. 

With a trembling breath, Eren took the first decisive step and he moved closer, resting his head on Armin's chest, his ear pressed directly against the spot where his friend's heart beat: strong, steady, alive. The rhythm calmed him instantly, like irrefutable proof that this wasn't a death dream ans tears stung his eyes, but he held them back. His arms encircled Armin's slender waist, clinging with an almost childlike need.

Armin remained still at first, the book forgotten on the nightstand, his hand hesitantly rose and rested on Eren's back, stroking it in slow circles over his shirt. He let Eren do as he pleased. Like he always do, he accepted the weight of his head, the warmth of his breath against his chest, the way his legs tangled awkwardly beneath the sheets.

Conflict raged in his mind: this was comfort, only comfort for a suffering friend. But the touch of Eren's fingers on his waist sent a different kind of warmth, one he couldn't name.  Armin swallowed and stared at the ceiling, where shadows danced.

Armin thought, like he always do. He thinks about his whatever he had with Eren often, specially the lately days they lived together. Even if he try to compare this new life, with the memories of their childhood in the Yeager's house. Of course it's not the same, no when they're shared their probably first kiss. 

Eren to Armin is whatever the people calls love. For him, it's more than a four letters and a exact definition for what he feels about Eren.

But he always been a coward. He learned the time it's not a good waiter, and the life is whatever the fuck happens when he's busy making other plans. And this happened so often, first, with Eren himself, after, with Annie and now, like always, like a spiral that moves him always to the same place: Eren again. 

Sometimes he try so hard to no think about it, about her. Because, maybe all the pain he was in, just exploded in bad times, he feels so sorry about her, for abandoned her after he just confessed his fuckings feelings for her. 

He will ever learn? 

But when he looks at Eren at his side, like now, when he's in his arms, again. All the sorrow, the pain, the tears and the concerns just fade away; probably this is his reward to his patience, to all his perseverance. To have Eren again with him, without thinking about all the things that implied. He doesn't care, he can handle that, they can handle that. Together, even the hell itself.

"Stop crying, Eren," he whispered, his voice soft but firm. "I'm here, with you"

Eren nodded against Armin's chest, inhaling the familiar scent of ink and burnt wood emanating from him and the heartbeat beneath his ear was real, steady, and for the first time in weeks, the ache in his bones lessened slightly.

Armin didn't sleep; that night he continued to watch, one hand on Eren's back and the other reaching for the book whenever possible, reading softly so as not to break the silence.  

Outside, the mountain wind whispered through the pines. Inside, on that first night together, two best friends held each other in the darkness, letting confusion and comfort intertwine wordlessly. Tomorrow would be another day of pain and guilt, but that night, Armin's heartbeat was enough for them both.

«On board the ship to Eldia, year 854.

 

Dear Armin:

 

 I’m writing to you from the sea, the salty wind blowing through the small window of my cabin, the movement of the waves constantly reminding me that we’re leaving the mainland behind.

I’ve thought about you a lot these past few days. And, of course, can't stop thinking about him. And all what he left behind just for us. 

Why you decided to stay in Marley instead of returning with the rest of us?   I don’t judge you, Armin. I just… wonder. Was it out of a need to be away from it all? Or because you still feel there’s something you must do there?

I won't lie to you. Eren's death still weighs heavily on my chest, and every night, when I close my eyes, I relive the moment my blade severed his head.

Sometimes I can feel the weight of his body in my arms when it was all over.  

I'll never forget me for what I did to the man who gave everything he was just for love.

I remember those childhood days so well…  I would just listen both of you, happy to be there. We were so young, and the world was already so cruel. Now that he's gone, I feel like a part of me is missing. 

I know you're having a hard time too. Those of us who are left from Squad 104 are still alive, and although the pain is immense, we keep going because that's what Eren would have wanted. Didn't he?

I hope you can write to me soon. 

PS: Take good care of yourself, Armin. The sea is rough these days, but I know you always find a way to navigate even in the worst storms.

Mikasa Ackerman.»

Eren wakes with a gasp that tears at his throat, as if the air itself refuses to enter his lungs ans the room is dimly lit, illuminated only by the silvery glow of the moon filtering through the thick linen curtains that Armin sewed by his own hands three months ago.

The feather mattress dips beneath his weight as he sits bolt upright, cold sweat clinging to his bare skin and making the sheet stick to his thighs like a damp, sticky second skin. 

His chest rises and falls violently. The images still haunt him: the ground trembling beneath millions of colossal feet, the deafening roar of the titans he himself summoned, distant cities reduced to rubble and ash. Bodies. So many bodies. Children crushed beneath the footprints of his own transformed feet, mothers screaming names lost in the thunder of the Rumbling.

And him,  at the center of it all, his hands stained with a red that would never truly fade.

A stifled sob escapes his lips, he brings his hands to his face, his trembling fingers pressing against his closed eyes as if he could erase the memories with sheer force. The scars on the back of his neck, still tender burn at his touch. He remembers the edge of Mikasa's blades, the heat of his own blood gushing forth, and then nothing. 

Armin stirs beside him, his warm, instantly awakening. His sky-colored eyes open in the darkness, alert, as they have been since that first night but he doesn't says nothing at first but simply sits up slowly, his tousled blond hair falling in soft, unruly strands over his forehead.

The moonlight traces the lines of his sharp jaw, the freckles scattered across his pale cheekbones,  he reaches out and places a hand on Eren's back, right between his shoulder blades, where his skin still holds the warmth of sleep.

"Again," Armin murmurs, his voice low and hoarse with sleep, not a question but a fact. His fingers trace slow circles, pressing with just enough pressure to anchor Eren to the present. "Tell me what you saw."

Eren shakes his head, his long, heavy tears gather on his dark, heavy, hot eyelashes. "They... all of them."

Eren whispers, his voice breaking, as if each word were tearing a piece of his throat. "And I... I killed them all. The innocent ones, Armin. Children who never knew Eldia or Paradis..."

His body trembles while he bends forward, elbows resting on his knees, and a deep, savage, desperate groan escapes his chest. The tears now fall uncontrollably, soaking the white sheets.

Armin slides closer, his knees brushing against Eren's, and wraps his arms around him from behind. His bare chest presses against Eren's back, the steady beat of his heart rumbles against his lover's spine. He can feel the rush of Eren's heart, he just want this pain in his heart stops, all the tears he drops, want to clean all them up.

Armin is shorter tha him, he always been, but in this moment his presence fills the entire room: the scent of burnt wood and ink that always clings to his skin after writing in his notebook late into the night, the warmth of his breath against the nape of Eren's neck.

"It wasn't just your fault," Armin says against his ear, the words precise, deliberate, as if he'd rehearsed them a thousand times in his head throughout the day. "You chose to stop the cycle. You chose an end. And it hurts. It hurts like hell, I know. I dream about them too."

Eren turns his head just enough to look at him, his green, almond-shaped eyes, reddened from crying, meet Armin's blue, round-shape ones.

There is so much pain in them, a guilt that seems carved into his soul, and Eren feels something break inside his chest, the guilty make the tears appear again, his pouty lips trembling trying to control himself. of course: he can't. "I'm sorry."

Instead, Armin raises a hand and wipes away a tear that rolls down Eren's cheek, following the path of his sharp jawline. "Eren... stop."

“Every morning I wake up and think about how many people died because of my decision,” Eren confesses, his voice barely a whisper. “Mikasa…  everyone who trusted on me. And those on the outside, the families who never asked for this war. That's what my freedom comes with, the pain.”

Armin gently turns him around, forcing him to face him directly and their knees touch now, and Armin cups Eren's face in his hands, his thumbs caressing his high, tanned cheekbones. Eren's skin is warm, almost feverish from the nightmare, and Armin can feel his racing pulse beneath his fingers.

“When I cried your death with Mikasa holding you, I cry not because you were a hero or a villain, but because you were my friend, my everything. Because I’ve loved you after all, Eren." He presses an open hand against Eren’s chest, right over his heart. “And here.” Then he brings that same hand to his own chest. “We share this. The guilt, the pain… you don’t carry it alone. Not anymore.”

Eren closes his eyes and leans forward, resting his forehead against Armin's shoulder, his breathing is ragged, punctuated by sobs that gradually subside under the steady touch of Armin's hands: one on his back, moving up and down his spine; the other tangled in his hair, massaging his scalp with slow, rhythmic movements.

The silence of the cabin envelops them. Outside, the mountain wind whispers through the pines, and an owl hoots in the distance, a solitary sound that seems to echo the emptiness inside Eren.

After a while, Armin lays him down again and settles Eren against his chest, wrapping his arms and legs around him until their bodies merge into one. The urgency to feel him closer is stronger than anything.

Eren is bigger, broader-shouldered, and taller, but now he curls up against Armin as if he wants to disappear inside him. His nose buries itself in the crook of Armin's neck, inhaling his scent, and his fingers grip the fabric of the nightgown Armin put on before going to bed.

"Please.... stay," Eren whispers against his skin, his voice muffled and broken. "Hells is such a horrible place without you by my side."

Armin put his chin the crown of Eren's head, his lips lingering on the black hair, he slips a hand over Eren’s body, caressing the warm skin, "I'll stay here, right by your side."

Eren nods against his chest, exhausted, the crying has stopped, but the guilt remains, smoldering like an ember beneath the ashes. Armin knows this, he knows it won't disappear overnight, or in a month, or perhaps even in a whole life. But every night like this, every time he holds Eren as he trembles, every time he reminds him he's not alone, the ember cools a little more. "I'll always by your side."

Outside while the wind picks up, making the wooden beams of the abandoned cabin they've made their home creak. Inside, the fire in the fireplace dwindles to orange embers, and Armin remains awake long after Eren's breathing has become deep and regular. His sea-colored eyes scan the dark-beamed ceiling, and his fingers continue to stroke his best friend's back.

Night had fallen heavily on the mountains, enveloping the cabin in a blanket of silence broken only by the occasional crackle of the fireplace and the wind rattling the wooden shutters.

Eren had finally fallen asleep, Armin watched him from the edge of the bed, his best friend's body nestled against his in an embrace that had become a habit in these months: Eren's arms wrapped around his waist with unconscious strength, his long black hair resting on his chest, as if Armin's steady heartbeat were the only anchor keeping him in this world.

Armin had kissed his forehead with a strange tenderness, a brush of lips that lasted longer than necessary, and Eren hadn't pulled away. He was asleep now, but his brow remained furrowed even in sleep, his dark eyelashes wet from the tears that had fallen earlier after dinner.

Armin waited until Eren's breathing became deep and steady. With infinite tenderness, he slid his arm out from under his friend's big body, feeling the immediate chill where warmth had once been and he stood, the icy boardwalk beneath his bare feet, and moved silently to the small table by the window.

The moonlight streamed in pale, but it wasn't enough; he lit a candle with slightly trembling hands, the flame dancing and casting long shadows on the stone and weathered wood walls. The scent of melted wax mingled with the smell of wood smoke and the herbal tea they had drunk hours earlier, outside, snow fell in silent flakes, dusting the pine trees and the path that led to the distant village. He miss his home in nights like this.

He sat down in the wooden chair, the back creaking under his weight, from the drawer, he took out a sheet of thick paper, the pen, and the inkwell he had bought on his last trip to the market. His heart pounded; guilt pressed against his chest, but so did determination.

Armin couldn’t remain silent any longer. Mikasa deserved the truth too. All three of them deserved to try it again.

«Mountains south of Marley, 854.

 

Dear Mikasa:

 

It's a pleasure to write to you again, though the circumstances couldn't be more unexpected or more painful. I know it's been months since we last saw each other on that battlefield that still haunts us , and that the weight of that afternoon still rests on your shoulders as it does on mine. There's no easy way to say this, so I'll be direct, as we always were, the three of us.

 

Eren is alive.

 

It's still weird and usually feels like a ferver dream. But it's not, the one we thought was lost forever, then, against all logic, against the destiny that seemed written, he awoke. 

 

He told me everything through tears, with his voice bbreaking and his green eyes filled with a terror I hadn't seen in him since we were children. 

 

Now he lives here in Marley with me, in this remote place where no one looks for us. Every day he carries the guilt like an  slave.

 

We need you here and I need you here. Even if just for a moment. Come see us somewhere safe, just the three of us like before. He doesn't say it out loud, but he needs you. So do I.

 

With all the love, despite everything,

 

Armin Arlert.»

Eren wakes before dawn, as he does every morning since winter began to tighten its icy grip on the mountains.

The cabin creaks under the weight of the frost coating the thatched roof and old wood; the south wind whistles through the cracks of the poorly fitted windows, carrying with it the damp scent of frozen earth and snow-laden pines. He sits up slowly, his body still stiff from the nightmare that has visited him again.

His bare feet touch the uneven floorboards, cold as the metal of a sword, and a shiver runs down his broad back beneath the thick wool shirt Armin lent him.

He moves silently around the main room, which serves as bedroom, kitchen, and living room and the fireplace still holds faint, flickering orange embers; Eren kneels before it, adds two dry logs, and blows carefully until the flames once again lick the wood with a soft crackling.

The glow illuminates his face: his thick eyebrows furrowed in a permanent expression of weariness, his green eyes sunken with dark circles that don't disappear even with rest, his black hair longer now, falling haphazardly over his forehead and brushing against his high cheekbones. Every movement hurts a little; his body resists accepting that he is alive.

He prepares breakfast because that's what he does now: he takes care of the house while Armin goes down to the village once a week for supplies and news that's never good.

His large hands, calloused from years of wielding swords are now slicing vegetables with meticulous precision on the worn wooden board, the knife moves up and down, the carrots, potatoes and a ripe, red tomato that Armin brought yesterday. He can't help but think about Sasha, her warmer presence beside him while she's teaching him how to prepare the most delicious stew of all the times. She once said. 

Eren eyes get watery for tears, and his mind transforms that memory into the heavy, thick hot blood squeezing from Sasha's body that night, and remembering the hard punch he receives from Levi. He can feel a ghost-pain in his face. 

Only if he was wrong, if the destiny didn't push him to do what he do. He could been happier?  

The knife slips from his fingers and falls with a thud against the tabletop, and he accidently cut his hand, the burning sensation crossed all his body, like if the blood is trying to mean something. 

Eren bends forward, placing his open palms on the table, and a low groan escapes his throat, sweat beads on his forehead despite the cold air seeping in through the half-open window. 

Armin appears in the doorway of the next room,  he walks barefoot to the table, his steps silent on the cold floor, and stops about a meter away, respecting the space Eren sometimes needs.

"Let me see that." Armin spoke gently, without accusation. His voice is calm, as always, but Eren detects the weariness beneath, the same guilt he carries, though Armin hides it better. "Are you okay? It doesn't seems deep."

Eren nods without looking at him, his hands tremble enough to stain the cloth red. "I'm sorry, I just ... I didn't pay attention." His voice trembling too, closing his eyes to avoid the gentle touch of Armin's in his wounded hands.

Armin takes another step closer, his warm touch that transmits through the wool. His own voice sound so tired, he moves his hands to cover Eren's  wound with a cloth to stop the bleeding. "Don't worry, just be careful." Armin's eyes look up to search Eren's eyes when he didn't receive a answer. "Hurting yourself won't take away your sadness and the memories."

Eren look at him. The sadness of his blue eyes filled with a despair that hasn't lessened in the months they've been in the cabin, his own heart hurts for that, he can't never handle the sorrow of Armin's heart, it's too much. "I-it's not like that..."

Before letting go of his hands, Armin brought his wounded hand to his mouth and placed a chaste kiss on the cloth-covered back of his hand, looking directly into his eyes, those sea-colored  deep eyes that made him cry again. Armin smiles, a little enough to make his heart warm again. "Okay. Just be careful now."

Now, Armin is help him to finish breakfast for both. The silence remains, and the occasional crackle sound of the fireplace and their breaths in compass of the nature outside the cabin. Eren's head turn enough to see the profile face of Armin beside him, the focus of his eyes in the things he's cutting, the way his blonde hair moves with the soft and iced breeze. 

How much sorrow can he take? He asked himself sometimes. How much sadness it's too much sadness for Armin?

They eat sitting at the small table, facing each other, the soft orange light of dawn streams through the window, casting long shadows across their faces, Armin eats slowly, watching Eren as if measuring every change in his expression. He needs to be aware of the feelings Eren's could never talk about it out loud. 

After a few minutes, he puts down his fork and leans slightly forward, his elbows resting on the wood. He need to bite the inside of his own mouth before continued, he's a terrible liar. "Eren… what do you think about telling this to Mikasa? The time has passed since your comback and I think we could..." 

"No." Eren says, his gaze lowered down.

“It’s been almost four months,” Armin insists, his voice low but firm, his fingers close around the edge of the table, as if he needs to anchor himself. “She thinks you’re dead. Everyone thinks you’re dead.  It’s unfair to her.”

“I’m a monster who killed half the world, that's  the last thing she know about me.” Eren finishes, his voice cracking on the last word. He roughly pushes the plate aside; the clatter of the crooked plate echoes through the cabin. “What do you think she’s going to say, Armin? That she forgives me?”

Armin exhales slowly. "She would do that, she loves you, Eren." He runs a hand over his face, rubbing his eyes hard and the guilt gnaws at him too; Eren knows it. But Armin was always the one who thought of others first.

Eren get up abruptly of his sit and the chair scrapes the floor with a squeak. He walks to the window and places his hands on the frame, staring out, the snow-covered mountains, the bare trees, the distant smoke from the village rising in gray spirals. His broad back tenses beneath his shirt. "When I said to you that my last wish was to her live happily, free. I was so dead serious about that, I didn't do anything but hurt her again and again." 

Eren finally says, almost in a whisper. Leave her alone, Armin. Let her believe the sacrifice was worth it.”

Armin sits for a moment longer, watching him. Then he gets up, approaches from behind, and without a word, wraps his arms around Eren's waist in a brief but firm embrace. His hands rest on Eren's abdomen, not possessively, but simply supportively.

Eren tenses at first, but then leans back slightly, allowing Armin's forehead to rest between his shoulder blades. It's an odd kind of contact, something they've allowed each other for months: hugs that last longer than necessary, clumsy kisses on the forehead or temple when the pain is too much. Nothing more. 

"Fine," Armin murmurs against the fabric of his shirt. "Sure, you're maybe right. "

Eren closes his eyes. His head hurts, the headaches been so bad lately. "I haven't been so scared in my life, Armin. When I literally fought Titans twice my height." 

Steam still hung in the cabin air like a soft mist, heavy with the scent of wild herb soap and damp wood.

It was one of those late autumn afternoons when the sun filtered weakly through the windows, tinting everything a pale gold that softened the shadows, Eren had spent nearly an hour in the metal tub Armin had dragged into the center of the main room, the hot water offering some relief from the lingering aches in his bones and the tension that never left his broad shoulders.

Now he sat in the tiny tub, shyly, his brunette hair still wet and heavy, falling in dark, glossy strands past his shoulder blades. Drops of water trickled down his neck and disappeared beneath in the warm water again. He feels so vulnerable now, but it's just Armin look at him. 

Armin stood behind him, a dry towel in one hand and, in the other, the small blade fragment they had carefully stored wrapped in a rag inside a wooden box, a remnant of the ODM equipment Armin had used in the final battle, the metal still held a lethal edge, though now it served a purpose as mundane as cutting hair.

The idea had came to Eren that very morning, when they ate breakfast in silence, had run his fingers through his long hair and murmured almost to himself, “It’s too long. It bothers me when I’m working around the house.” he said and Armin had been surprised; in the months they had been there, he had never mentioned changing his appearance.

The long hair seemed part of his new identity, something that separated him from the Eren of the past, the Titan, the boy who had carried the weight of the world.

"Are you sure?" Armin asked, his voice low and gentle as he carefully ran the towel through Eren's wet hair, drying it with slow, meticulous movements. His fingers brushed against the exposed nape of Eren's neck, warm and slightly flushed from the bath.

The touch was natural, almost automatic after so many nights sharing space and comfort, but it still sent a little flutter through Armin's stomach. "You don't have to cut it if you don't want to. I like how it looks on you like this."

Eren turned his head slightly, just enough for Armin to see the profile of his face: the sharp jaw, the straight nose, the almond-shaped green eyes that still held deep shadows but, at that moment, seemed calmer. A crooked half-smile appeared on his lips."I want to do it, min."

Eren replied, his voice hoarse from the steam and something more intimate. "Not all of it. Just... shorten it a little."

Armin nodded, though Eren couldn't see him clearly. He set the towel aside and carefully picked up the blade fragment, testing the edge with his thumb. The metal gleamed in the firelight.

"Okay. I'll do it. Sit up straight and don't move around too much." He positioned himself behind Eren again, closer now, his chest almost touched his friend's broad back as he leaned forward slightly for a better angle.

The first cut was tentative and a dark strand fell to the floor with a soft thud, Armin worked with concentration while the fingers of his free hand holding Eren's hair to guide him, gently separating strands. Each brush of his fingers against the scalp elicited a small sigh from Eren, who closed his eyes and let him work.

The atmosphere enveloped in the crackling of the fire and the scent of soap that still clung to Eren's skin. Armin cut carefully without rushing, leaving his hair a little longer than it had been in the Survey Corps days: now it reached just above his shoulders, with the uneven ends falling in soft layers around his face and neck. It was something softer, more human.

"You know…" Armin said after a while, his tone slightly joking to lighten the mood, "if you keep cutting your hair like that, I could grow mine out again. Back to the old days, when I was the shortest and had long hair. That way we'd even things out."

Eren let out a low laugh. "You're still the shortest, Armin." The sound vibrating in his chest and making his shoulders twitch slightly. Armin had to stop the blade for a second to avoid hurting him. "But don't even think about it, Arlert." Eren replied, still chuckling softly. "You look better now. More... you. I don't want you to go back to being that kid who cried about everything."

Armin smiled, though Eren couldn't see it. "I was such a crybaby, i still am." He continued cutting, his fingers gliding more confidently through the damp strands.

The silence that followed wasn't awkward; it was comfortable, charged with an intimacy neither of them had planned but which made itself felt with every touch. Armin leaned closer to even out one side, his warm breath brushing against Eren's ear, Armin's heart was beating a little faster than usual, and he knew Eren felt it too: the closeness, the shared warmth, the way their bodies seemed to  fit each other.

When he finished, Armin ran his fingers through the freshly cut hair, gently arranging the layers. Eren looked lighter, less burdened by the past, though his hair still retained enough length for soft strands to fall across his forehead and brush his jawline."There,"

Armin murmured, not quite moving away. His hands lingered a moment longer in Eren's hair, stroking the ends with his thumbs. "It suits you. You look... good."

Eren turned in his head to face him directly. His green eyes met Armin's blue ones, and for a moment neither of them spoke. Fire crackled behind them, casting dancing lights across their faces.

Eren raised a hand and touched his own hair, then reached out and brushed his fingers toward Armin, brushing a blond lock that fell across his friend's forehead.

There's was so much confidence and intimacy in the way they look at each other, the full naked body of Eren was there but there's no eroticism in Armin's eyes, because he's so into his green eyes.

"Thank you," Eren said, his voice lower, softly. His fingers lingered on Armin's temple, an awkward but sincere touch. "For... this. For taking care of me, thank you Armin."

Armin felt his cheeks grow warm, he tried to ignore the full blush that appeared in his cheeks for Eren's words. 

It wasn't the first time something like this had happened between them, but each time it felt new, uncertain. He leaned forward slightly and placed a soft, almost hesitant kiss on Eren's forehead, right where his freshly cut hair began.

The kiss lasted a second longer than necessary, their lips brushing against the warm skin, Eren didn't pull him away; instead, he closed his eyes and let out a stifled sigh.

"Always," Armin whispered, his forehead resting briefly against Eren's. "I'll always be here for this... for whatever you need."

They stayed like that for a moment longer, their breaths mingling in the confined space, the scent of soap and fire enveloping them, neither of them named what they felt; their emotions still floated in a hazy territory, somewhere between deep friendship and something more tender.

Eren finally stood up from the bath tube, taller and broader than Armin, the tiny drops of water falling from his naked body while he research his towel, in that instant he felt lighter.

Any embarrassment he might have felt before now seems far removed from his mind. He knows that during their time as recruits, they had both seen each other naked, and the unspoken trust of that fact allows him to move freely around Armin.

Although his ears are still as usual, he doesn't say much as he dries his hands with the towel and gets up from the small stool to go to the kitchen to find something to tie up the hair lying on the floor. 

"I'll make the tea," Armin said, a small, crooked smile lighting up his blue eyes. "Put some clothes,  I'll wait here."

Eren nodded, watching him as he moved toward the kitchen with more confident steps, his freshly cut hair moved with him, soft and slightly tousled. "Sure, mom." 

He can hear Armin's laughing for that. 

Armin adjusted the strap of his bag over his shoulder as he descended the steep path that wound from the cabin to the foot of the mountain.

The morning air was sharp, heavy with the scent of damp pine and earth stirred by the recent melting snow; the sun barely peeked through the gray clouds, tinting the landscape a pearly gray that stretched down to the valley. His steps seemed heavier; every distant sound, the caw of a crow or the crack of a branch, made him tense, waiting for the sound of a horse's gallop bringing news . Or worse, silence .

The small bookstore was located on the outskirts of the refugee village, a settlement that had grown haphazardly after the end of the war: makeshift shops converted into houses of wood and stone, streets of dirt compacted by thousands of feet, and a central market where survivors were trying to rebuild something resembling normality. 

Armin pushed open the wooden door with his shoulder; the tinkling of the bell echoed inside the warm, dusty shop. The place was small, crammed with crooked shelves he'd helped repair weeks before, filled with books rescued from ruins or brought back by travelers. The smell of old paper and dried ink enveloped him, familiar and comforting, though never quite.

"You're early, Arlert," greeted the owner, an older man from Marley with a scar across his left cheek, without looking up from the ledger he was checking behind the counter. His voice was hoarse, marked by the accent that Armin had learned to ignore.

Armin forced a brief smile, hung his shirt on the hook by the door, and took off his heavy coat. He still felt a little dishonest coming to this place knowing what he'd  had to lie about  to get his job.

"I wanted to organize the new shipments before the people arrived," he replied, forcing his Marleyan accent to keep up appearances, his voice calm and precise, as always.

He rolled up his white shirt sleeves and went to the pile of boxes in the back corner, his pale, long-fingered hands beginning to sort volumes with methodical movements: one of ancient history here, a treatise on botany there.

The work was simple, repetitive, and allowed him to pay for Eren's medicine and the weekly food they both needed. But every time a customer came in—a father with a frightened child, a old woman with calloused hands—guilt pierced his chest like a splinter.

He couldn't live surrounded by those people . Sadness drowned him in silent waves; he saw in every unfamiliar face those whom Eren had crushed, those whom he himself had condemned by choosing the path of the Colossal on his first mission.

The low laughter of children running through the aisles of the small shop reminded him of the screams he never heard but imagined with painful clarity. The screams he once chose to ignore in order to  defend love.

Armin did his best while smiling, recommending books, taking exact change, but inside he felt empty , a ghost pretending to be normal . 

At midday, while eating a piece of bread and cheese in the back storeroom, Armin allowed himself to think about the letter. Had Mikasa received it yet? Eren absolutely refused to let her know anything; the fear in his green eyes was raw, visceral.

“I’m so scared, I loved her so much that I let her go,” he had murmured the night before, as Armin hugged him from behind in bed, his arms around Eren’s wide waist in a contact that no longer felt strange to them. 

There was a pang in his chest. Armin  always underestimated  the love Eren felt for Mikasa, and that he would leave everything behind for her without hesitation. Just as he would for him.  He proved it over time, during the harsh winter they lived together under the same roof. 

Leaving his love behind for him.  How could that be possible? 

Armin had kiss him temple gently, an awkward, warm touch that lasted longer than either of them would admit, and he hadn't pressed the issue, seeking solace from the words that reached his heart.

At dusk, as the sun sank behind the mountains, painting the sky orange and purple, Armin locked the bookstore and began his return journey.

His boots crunched on the gravel of the uphill path; his bag felt heavier now, loaded with supplies and a new book he had managed to steal from the library; an old tome of marine geography that still retained its smell of salt and adventure.

The climb was exhausting, but Armin did it with determination. Eren couldn't go beyond the foot of the mountain unless accompanied. Armin had forbidden it from the very beginning. The Marleyans had been savage at the end of the war: impromptu lynchings, enraged mobs shouting for justice against any Eldian who seemed suspicious.

They would recognize Eren Yeager in an instant, even without his longer hair and stubble. His eyes  couldn't lie, Armin often thought as he climbed.

Perhaps Eren had been right . Perhaps there would never be true peace between them, and the thought chilled her to the bone, but he kept it to himself;  he didn't want to burden Eren any further.

The cabin finally appeared among the pines, white smoke billowing lazily from the chimney, and when Armin pushed open the door with his shoulder, the heat hit him immediately, along with the aroma of vegetable stew and dried meat that Eren had prepared during the day.

The table was set with two plates, the fire was burning, the laundry was washed and folded on a chair, and Eren stood by the fireplace, stirring the pot with a wooden ladle. His tall, broad figure was silhouetted against the flames; his black hair fell loose, and he turned at the sound of the door, his green eyes—still marked by dark circles , still heavy with sadness —softening at the sight of him.

"You're here," Eren said, his voice husky but warm. He set the ladle aside and approached in two long strides, not quite touching him at first. They only looked at each other for a second, the air between them thick with all that they left unsaid.

Then Eren extended his arms and hugged him, a firm and prolonged hug that Armin returned without hesitation; he knew the worry he felt every time he had to leave, he wasn't sure what that meant yet.

But  his hands settled on Eren's back, feeling the tense muscles beneath the fabric, and he allowed his friend's chin to rest on his shoulder. "I'm here, Eren."

Eren tensed for a moment, but didn't pull away. Instead, he tightened the hug a little more, his fingers gripping Armin's shirt. "Armin," he whispered.

And Armin felt the warm breath against his ear.

They separated slowly, as always: a brush of hands that lingered a second longer, without thinking too much. Nothing clear. 

It's been two winters since Armin came up with the idea of ​​having a small farm for himself after seeing his resounding success tending the flowers in the cottage garden the previous spring. «A farm is a whole new level!» He said.

Eren complained at first, but it was  foolish to think  Armin would propose something like that without knowing it wouldn't be entirely successful again;  he places his complete trust in Eren. He always does.

The farm is modest, a handful of hectares of fertile land surrounded by tall pine trees that whisper in the wind, a wooden corral that Armin repaired with his own hands, a wire chicken coop and a narrow stable that always smells of clean straw and warm milk.

They have the basics to survive without depending on anyone: a brown cow that gave birth a few weeks ago to a clumsy, long-legged calf; a couple of hens that peck impatiently at the dusty ground; and Jeannette, the chestnut mare with a long mane and dark eyes that Eren brought from a distant market because he reminded him of Jean with the way she looked at him with that mixture of loyalty and stubbornness.

All the animals adore him, if he were to boast. They follow him with their eyes as he walks around the yard, they approach his voice as if they understand every word, and Eren, though he feels foolish admitting it, swears they make a real effort to respond. A soft moo here, a low whinny there, a nervous flapping of wings.

Armin isn't here. He left at dawn, leaving Eren alone with the housework and the animals. The afternoon sun falls obliquely across the fields, painting the new leaves that cover the ground gold and warming Eren's back as he works in the stable. The warmth of spring is beginning to be felt.

His shirt is rolled up to his elbows, the fabric clinging to his chest with sweat, his short black hair is tousled by the wind and stained with straw, his almond-shaped green eyes reflect the golden light coming through the half-open door, and his large hands handle the pitchfork with firm but careful movements, lifting the dirty hay to replace it with fresh. 

"Come on, don't play hard," Eren murmurs as he kneels beside the calf, which wobbles on its thin legs, clumsily searching for its mother's udder. The little animal lets out a low, trembling moo, and Eren smiles involuntarily, a soft curve forming on his full lips. "Yes, I know. You're hungry. Your mother's here, see? I'm not going to leave you alone."

He cleans the ground around him with rhythmic movements, the pitchfork digging into the straw with a dry sound that mingles with the distant buzzing of birds outside. The stable is warm, filled with the sweet scent of hay and the faint aroma of fresh flowers that wafts in from every direction. Jeannette, from her adjoining stall, stretches her long neck and whinnies softly, as if trying to get his attention. Eren turns his head toward her, his expression softening even further. 

"Stop looking at me like him, Sorry but I can't take you for a walk today," he says aloud, leaning the fork against the wall and reaching out to scratch her broad forehead. The mare half-closes her eyes, enjoying the touch, and Eren feels the warmth of her breath against his palm. "Armin scolded me for calling you that. How could I not when you look just like him?"

He pauses for a second, a blush barely rising to his tanned cheeks. He continues talking to himself, as if the animals were the only safe audience for his thoughts that no longer fit inside his chest. 

"It's strange, isn't it? I always end up thinking about Armin," he continues as he goes back to cleaning, his voice low but clear, each word accompanied by the rhythmic clacking of his fork. "Lately I always do that. But you should see him cook! It's even funny how small he looks next to me, even though he's my age."

The squealing of pigs from the background breaks the silence that follows his words, and Eren remembers that  no one  will answer him. He continues cleaning, this time preparing Jeannette's bedtime meal. "I miss our recruit days; this is the closest I've come to being fifteen again." 

The dry clinking of buckets and the sound of water flowing to refill the trough where the mare will drink is all that answers him. "Is this my only way of knowing what's real and what isn't? Knowing he could disappear makes me a little desperate."

The cow moos softly from its corner, a low, comforting sound, and Eren lets out a short, almost embarrassed laugh. "Well, despair is a biig word. But it terrifies me that everything is too perfect to be real."

Eren wipes the back of his hand across his sweaty forehead and continues cleaning, the muscles in his arms tensing beneath his shirt. "Armin is taking care of me like I'm some kind of fragile thing now. He just... looks at me . With those sea-colored eyes that seem to swallow the whole sky, and I..."

He stops himself when he realizes his own words will say something he doesn't feel,  or perhaps something  he feels deeply. But saying it aloud gives a  voice  to that thought lingering in his mind, allowing doubt to take root in his heart and try to displace what  he's certain  are his feelings.

He pauses for a second, holding the bucket full of horse feed, catching his breath—a breath he never noticed escaped.  To say that out loud would be to admit it.

"I want him to be more than my best friend, but what if I ruin everything?" he muses to himself, and shuffles over to the stable where the mare wags her tail eagerly and starts eating immediately after he offers her his handful of food. "What if this is just guilt talking, or the fear of being alone again?"

The words escape before she can stop them. "It's just stupid to think that way about your dad, isn't it, Jeannette?" Silence falls for a moment. Then Jeannette whinnies loudly, shaking her mane, and the calf stumbles against its mother's legs with a sharp moo. 

Eren stood still, feeling the heat rush violently to his cheeks. A deep, obvious blush burned his skin all the way to his ears, and he brought a hand to his face, covering his green eyes as if he could hide from himself. 

"Idiot," he scolds himself aloud, his voice hoarse and embarrassed. "Dad? Really? I'm an idiot. I can't even call him that in my head."

He punches himself hard in the face, and the clucking of the hens, almost alarmed , snaps him back to reality. The word hangs in the warm air of the barn, heavy and sweet at the same time. "Well, maybe I can if it's for all of you, he's your dad ... in a way, i guess."

He lowers his hand slowly, watching as the calf settles against its mother's flank, and Jeannette observes it with those big, patient eyes. The blush doesn't fade and remains, tinging his cheeks as a shy, almost childlike smile forms on his lips. 

"But only you will know, he mustn't know, 'kay?" he whispers to himself, resuming his work with slower movements. "Whatever the fuck all this means, I don't know what this is yet,  but I know I want to find out with him. Only with him." 

The afternoon wind stirs the dry leaves in the yard and the sun descends a little further, lengthening the shadows over the small farm; the arrival of spring lengthens the sun's stay in the sky.

Armin stops in front of the wood and stone cabin, his heart beating with that strange mixture of tiredness and anticipation that has become commonplace, his boots sinking into the soft earth, and calls out in a soft voice, "Eren? I'm home."

Silence answers him, and the cabin door is ajar, the fire in the fireplace reduced to embers, and the kitchen table still clear of dishes. Armin frowns, his blond eyebrows drawing together above his eyes, and a slight worry tightens in his chest.

He leaves the errand bags on the table and goes out again, following the path that leads to the small farm; the air smells of warm hay, turned earth and the sweet warm milk that the cow has been producing for weeks.

The afternoon wind stirs the dry leaves at his feet, and the low sun filters through the cracks of the stable like a golden, magical ray, drawing lines of light on the fresh straw. 

Then he finds him there . Eren is asleep on a pile of clean hay, his large, tanned body stretched out with a childlike nonchalance that makes Armin's chest clench.

The calf is curled up against his chest, its thin legs folded under its belly and its head resting on Eren's strong arm, as if he's were its safest refuge.

A ray of sunlight falls directly upon them, bathing Eren's short, black hair in a golden halo that highlights every tousled strand, every thread that falls across his sweaty forehead. His long, dark eyelashes cast soft shadows across his heat-reddened cheeks, and his full lips, slightly parted, release a slow, deep breath.

The rolled-up shirt sleeves have ridden up a little, revealing a strip of firm skin at the waist, and Eren's large hands tenderly encircle the calf's body.

Armin stands still in the stable doorway, his breath caught in his throat. He observes every detail: the way Eren's shoulder muscles relax beneath the damp fabric, the gentle curve of his exposed neck, the way his brows furrow slightly even in sleep, as if still carrying the weight of memories Armin knows all too well. It's beautiful . So beautiful it hurts to look at him .

And with that thought comes the confusion, the same one that has been haunting him for weeks: this warmth in his chest is not just friendship, it is not just relief at having him alive.

It's something deeper, something that makes his fingers tremble when he brushes against Eren's back at night and his eyes linger on his best friend's lips when he speaks. Since when? Since the first time Eren snuggled against him seeking comfort? Or long before that, when they were children and Armin already felt the world revolved around those green eyes? He doesn't know. And he doesn't want to know now, not when Eren seems like an angel on earth. 

He approaches silently, his boots barely making a sound on the straw, kneeling beside them and, with infinite care, sliding his arms under Eren's body.

The calf protests with a low, sleepy moo, "Sorry buddy." but Armin gently moves it to its mother's side, who watches everything with calm eyes. Eren is heavier than he looks; his muscles still retain the strength of the former Titan, and Armin grunts with the effort, his blond cheeks turning a pale pink as he lifts him into his arms.

Eren's long legs dangle, and his head falls against his shoulder, his warm breath brushing against his collarbone. Armin feels the living, real weight, and his heart fills with such great tenderness that it almost drowns him. 

"Come on, angel," he whispers against Eren's hair, though he knows he can't hear him. "Let's go to bed." 

The walk back to the cabin is slow. Armin walks with firm but careful steps, feeling every breath Eren takes against his neck, the heat of his body seeping through his shirt.

The sun had almost set when she entered the room. The interior was cool and dark compared to the brightly lit stable. Upon reaching the bedroom, he pulled back the blankets with one hand and gently placed Eren on the mattress, handling something fragile and precious. Eren was precious. The sheets sank beneath his weight, and Eren barely stirred, a soft moan escaping his lips. 

Before Armin can straighten up and continue preparing dinner, pretending that everything is still just friendship, a large hand closes around his wrist.

Eren, still half asleep, pulls him down with gentle but determined force, and Armin loses his balance as he falls onto the bed, his smaller body trapped beneath Eren's. His best friend's long legs entwine around his, pinning him to the mattress with unconscious possession, just as he had been cuddling the calf minutes before.

Eren's chest presses against his, their hearts beating strong and steady , and Eren hides his face in the crook of Armin's neck, his breath warm and regular. 

Armin remains motionless for a second, his pulse racing, a soft smile slipping across his lips, filled with a tenderness he cannot contain. His free hand rises and slowly caresses Eren's black hair, his fingers tangling in the short strands.

There is no confusion now, only warmth . Only the certainty that, whatever is being born between them, he doesn't want to escape. 

"Well," Armin whispers against Eren's temple, his voice barely audible in the dimly lit room. A little smile in his lips. "Do whatever you want with me. I'm not going anywhere."

Eren sighs in his sleep, almost satisfied by his words , squeezing his legs tighter around him, and Armin closes his eyes, sinfully enjoying this.

Eren's weight is like a living, comforting blanket , and his heart swells until it hurts from pure tenderness.

Outside, the wind falls silent, as if the whole world had decided to grant them this moment. They both fall asleep like that, intertwined. 

The axe fell with a sharp, precise thud, the razor-sharp blade slicing the dry wood into two perfect halves that separated with a clean crack, Eren straightened, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cool evening air descending from the mountains. The setting sun painted the sky a beautiful clear blue.

His brunette hair, now cut to shoulder length thanks to Armin's help weeks ago, clung damply to the back of his neck, the thick wool shirt clung to his broad, muscular back, still marked by the faint scars that would never truly fade away. Each woodcut was a ritual: an attempt to tire his body so his mind could rest, so the memories of the past—the screams, the blood that never quite washed away—would be diluted by the physical exertion.

Inside the cabin, Armin was preparing dinner, Eren could hear the soft clinking of pots and pans and the crackling of the fire in the fireplace, a domestic sound that, for a moment, made him feel almost normal. Armin hadn't mentioned a word about Mikasa since that night Eren begged him. «Leave her alone,» he had pleaded, and Armin had nodded with that calm look that concealed so much.

Eren raised the axe again, the muscles in his arms tensing beneath the fabric. He didn't hear the horses' hooves until they were too close and two figures dismounted at the edge of the clearing, and Eren's heart stopped.

Mikasa Ackerman herself stood there, bathed in the light of the rising sun, the same red scarf wrapped around her neck like a shield against the world, her new long black hair framed a face thinner than Eren remembered, her gray eyes—those eyes that had always been his anchor—wide open, filled with a shock bordering on pain. Jean stood beside her, one hand on the reins of his horse, his face serious and tense beneath the brown hair disheveled from travel.

But Eren barely registered him. It all came down to Mikasa.

The axe slipped from his hands and fell to the ground with a thud, Eren took a step back, his chest heaving violently. His deep, almond-shaped green eyes instantly filled with tears he couldn't hold back. "Mikasa…?" his voice came out broken, barely a choked whisper.

She didn't respond with words but she ran to him. Her boots touched the damp earth and some flowers, and in two strides she was hurtling toward him. Eren caught her in midair, his strong arms encircling her with a desperation born of years of guilt and loss, the embrace was immediate, fierce, like when they were small children: her face buried in his chest, him wrapping himself completely around her, his big hands gripping her back as if afraid she might vanish, Mikasa trembled against him, her shoulders shaking with uncontrollable sobs. Eren's tears fell hot onto her black hair, soaking her red scarf. "Eren." she said. 

Though his whole body trembled with emotions he couldn't control, Eren's anger toward Armin—for lying to him with those big, blue eyes, agreeing to his plea never to see anyone from his past life again, even if he could call the love of his life "past life"—was palpable. 

Mikasa hid her face against his chest, whimpering his name against his skin, cold tears wetting her cheeks like when they were children, when she cared for him and watched over his safety on the battlefield, when the world didn't seem so vast or so cruel.

Eren understands  why Armin gave him a moment like this, although in his own sadness and denial he could not accept reality, that crushing reality that weighs on his heart of not being able to have this woman in his arms again, as he would always have wanted. 

"I'm sorry," Eren whispered, his voice breaking, his lips pressed to the top of her head. "Mikasa, I'm so sorry... I made you..." He even cant think about it, he press her body thighter.  "I forced you to... to do everything. I failed you. I failed everyone. Every life I took, every city I destroyed... it was for me. Because of my choice. Forgive me. Please, forgive me."

His prayers are those of a humble sinner, weeping beneath the mantle of the woman he loves most. Destroyed in body and soul by the weight of the consequences of his actions, his body feels weak and he ends up falling to his knees before her, who holds him with as much love and tenderness as the last time. Her cold hands try to wipe away the endless tears that escape from her eyes with tenderness and compassion. Eren doesn't feel worthy of that compassion, but he accepts it when he raises his gaze to lose himself in the gray of the infinite forest that Mikasa's eyes represent to him. 

Her cold hands try to wipe away the endless tears that escape from her eyes with tenderness and compassion. Eren doesn't feel worthy of that compassion, but he accepts it when he raises his gaze to lose himself in the gray of the infinite forest that Mikasa's eyes represent to him. 

"Eren..." Her voice was a broken thread, heavy with a pain she'd held back for a whole year. The soft and smooth way of pronouncing his name has always been more than special for Eren, it is the music he needed to be able to begin to heal his heart with the unpayable debt he owes her for forcing her to bear his sins. "You're alive. You're here. I thought… I thought I'd lost you forever. Every night I wake up screaming your name. I forgive you. I forgive you for everything." 

They wept like two children. Mikasa knelt down to Eren's face, holding his cheeks so she could look at him closely. Eren reached out to touch, with deep fear, the scar on his face, a scar he himself had inflicted.

All the shared memories flooded Eren's mind like a tide, causing him to wrinkle his face as he tried, in vain, to hold back the tears that escaped his eyes. They were both kneeling among the scraps of wood and the flowers of the small garden that Eren had so carefully tended the past year.

Eren sobbed openly, childlike hiccups escaping his throat as he buried his face in Mikasa's neck inhaling her familiar scent, a lost home. She held him just as tightly, her fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt, her body trembling against his big one. "I missed you so much, Eren." 

Armin appeared in the doorway of the cabin, his apron stained with a little bit of flour and his face pale with the surprise he himself had orchestrated. His sea-colored eyes met Jean's for a moment, a silent exchange of understanding, nor him or Jean move, they  let the reunion unfold uninterrupted.

"I never meant for you to suffer like this," Eren continued, his voice choked against Mikasa's shoulder, tears welling in his eyes. "I wanted to protect you. To protect everyone. And I only caused more pain. I'm a monster, Mikasa. "

Mikasa shook her head, clinging tighter. Her tears, hot and salty, soaked Eren's neck."You're not a monster. You're Eren, the one who was always there, even when the world was falling apart. I love you, I've always loved you. And it hurts… it hurts so much to know you were alone through this. But not anymore. You're not alone anymore."

They remained embraced in the clearing, the mountain wind whispering through the pines like a silent witness while the sun sank lower, painting the sky red and purple, and the smell of dinner wafting from the cabin mingled with the scent of earth and chopped wood. Eren wouldn't let go of Mikasa, nor she of him while their bodies trembled together, their broken sobs slowly turning into ragged, exhausted breaths.

Jean finally approached Armin, placing a hand on his shoulder, "i know now why are yu always make them back to each other, i didn't see Mikasa cry like this even after Eren's death one year ago."   

Armin stood in the doorway of the cabin, this was the first time since Eren had been revived that Armin had wept with such raw pain, so devoid of any restraint. The knot in his chest, which he had silently carried for months split suddenly. "Well, you know them, Jean. They always been like this. The three of us are such a crybabies."

Without hesitation, Armin advanced toward them with quick but trembling steps, leaving Jean behind for a moment. His arms encircled them both at once: one hand resting on Mikasa's  waist, the other on Eren's back, pulling them toward him, the embrace became a three-way hug, tight, protective.

Eren was in the center, enveloped by the two who loves him most. Mikasa turned her head slightly to rest her cheek against Armin's shoulder, her tears still falling and Armin buried his face in Eren's black hair, and let out a choked sob that shook his entire body.

"I love both of you." Amin murmur, his voice came out broken, trembling, heavy with a pain he had suppressed all year. "Forgive me for not telling you sooner, but I couldn't bear to watch you suffer alone any longer. I love you. I love you so much it hurts."

If Armin questions himself about all this, about causing so much pain to his two best friends, it's something he'll never forgive himself for, not since he learned of the pain they both endured after his death so many years ago.

But if he truly considers it from the perspective of his own love for them both, he knows this is for the good of them all, even for himself. The way the three of them loved has always been so complicated, intricate, and full of pain, as if they were all destined to suffer for love. 

Perhaps he does. Perhaps Armin is destined to suffer for love every time his heart feels like it's going to skip a beat. Hearing Eren cry with such desperation, like a small child in Mikasa's arms, only grants Armin the satisfaction of knowing that, perhaps, he was right to bring them back together after so long, because it was what Eren's heart needed to begin healing everything in his life.

Having known Eren for so many years, no one else could have the responsibility of showing him things the way he's meant to see them. Even if they're painful, even if they're not the things Eren expects. 

And he will understand Eren's anger once the tears dry and his childish hiccups cease, and night falls upon them like a blanket protecting them from the outside world, where the intimacy of the moon gives them the opportunity to open their hearts. Armin knows that no one could give Eren what he needs like he can, because that's why he's always been by Eren's side. 

To show his the freedom of the world beyond its walls, even the invisible ones that rise up in his heart as a defense of his fragile feelings.

Armin can only yearn to protect him as if it were his last breath, and to allow Mikasa and him to cry like this in his arms is all he needs to know that it was all worth it in the end, that everything he and Eren did was ultimately forgiven by the one who matters most to them both.

The scythe of reason has always tormented his mind, and the constant reminder of his sins throughout his life is what robs him of sleep when Eren isn't by his side. 

Eren sobbed harder at the sound of it, his bigger body trembling between them. His arms opened slightly to include Armin in the embrace, pulling him closer until all three bodies were entwined. Armin's tears soaked Eren's hair, mingling with Mikasa's that fell onto his chest. "I've miss you, too."

Mikasa put her head against Eren's shoulder, her hand moving up to stroke the back of Armin's neck in an automatic gesture of comfort. Her tears continued to flow, but her voice couldn't remained firm despite the sobs.

Armin tightened his embrace, his forehead pressed against Eren's temple, tears still streaming down his freckled cheeks,his  body trembled visibly, the sobs releasing months of silent restraint. It was a deep, painful cry, almost childlike in its intensity, as if the boy who had once wept for the Titans had suddenly returned. 

"Always together," Armin whispered between sobs, repeating the words they had said so many times in the cabin. "Always together, Mikasa, Eren."

The three of them remained like that for long minutes, embraced in the center of the clearing as night fully descended upon the mountains and the cold wind whispered through the pines, but none of them felt the chill.

There were only tears, broken sobs, bodies trembling together, and words of forgiveness that came out repeatedly, choked, sincere. Eren, in the middle, taller and broader than the other two, felt small for the first time in a long time, protected and overwhelmed by the raw love that surrounded him.

Jean, who had been standing a few steps away by the horses, lowered his gaze, and a deep shyly and a heavy sadness gripped his chest as he watched his three friends—the last remnants of the 104th Squadron—weeping so vulnerablely, so openly makes  the  lump in his throat was almost unbearable. 

With quiet, respectful movements, Jean took the reins of the two horses and led them a little farther, toward a makeshift post near the side of the cabin on the little barn. He carefully tied their leads, gently stroking the animals' necks to calm them after their long journey, he said nothing and  gave them space, leaning against a nearby tree with his arms crossed and his gaze fixed on the ground, patiently waiting for them to come for him when they were ready. 

Until Eren appears in front of him, with his green eyes reddened by the tears that still wet his long eyelashes, his cheeks flushed from the violent sobbing he had just been experiencing. Jean observes everything about him: his posture, the clothes soiled from work, how his skin has become more tanned over time, the way the spring mountain air stirs the unruly strands of his hair. 

The setting sun dips to the east, directly behind Eren, and the remaining rays of light cast a small glow on him. Jean believes this boy is merely a reflection of his own sadness. Perhaps he is, but before Eren can open his lips to speak, Jean embraces him. 

Jean wraps his arms around Eren, resting his chin on his friend's shoulder, inhaling the wildflower scent emanating from Eren's hair, basking in the warmth of his body and the soft rays of sunlight kissing his skin.

Eren returns the embrace almost immediately, closing his arms around Jean's back and patting him gently, affectionately, like old friends reuniting after a long journey home. Tears well up in Jean's eyes, and he clicks his tongue in annoyance, hearing Eren's mocking laughter as he notices his soft, quiet sobs. 

"You' suicidal idiot. I hope you're happy now." Jean scolds him, but there's no real anger in his voice. On the contrary, there's so much sadness and happiness building up in a vortex that it pulls from his chest, and he focuses on feeling Eren's heartbeat against his own, as real proof that this is happening, and that Eren won't just vanish from his arms. "I just wanted a normal life in the capital, but you're too good at trying to convince people with your bravery and pride." 

"A normal greeting would be boring from you, wouldn't it, Jean?" Eren let out a stifled laugh, tears welling in his eyes again as he pressed Jean's body against his own, and they both remained silent for a few seconds. "Let's go inside, you wouldn't be able to stand the mountain cold, Jean-boy." 

As they break the hug, Eren receives a punch to the stomach as a scold for the nickname, and they share a silly laugh even as tears begin to chill their faces.

The sun is no longer on the horizon, and the sky remains illuminated by the last few seconds of its presence; night grows from the west. Armin's voice, trying to get their attention, makes them turn and walk to the bathroom. Mikasa is waiting for them at the door, and Armin raises his arm to get attention. 

The cabin was much bigger than anything Eren could remember living in, especially since he spent most of his life in dungeons—more than the average person could endure.– The cabin belonged to a Marleyan family who fled upon hearing of the impending Rumbling and became their new home, along with Armin after he rescued him following his apparent death. 

The cabin's skyscrapers were tall, and it had two floors with the bedrooms on the upper floor. The wooden columns are the main support of the house, and the large room is warmly heated by the large fireplace that manages to warm every corner of the house. 

It's not like his childhood home. He can't see his mother in the kitchen, the characteristic aroma of bread wafting from the window, inviting him to steal a small piece before Carla pulls his ear for disobeying her. Nor does it have the faint scent of medicine his father used to carry around, clinging to his clothes and spreading through the living room as they read books until dinner was ready. Nothing in the cabin, on a continent so far from home, could remind him of the feeling of belonging.

But then there's Armin, with the books he brings from work, and the aroma of the dinner he often prepares when sadness consumes Eren. And it's these sensations that allow him to remember what home meant to him. 

The cabin welcomed the three of them with the embers from that morning's fire warming the place sufficiently, even though it was the warmest time of spring, preparing for summer.

The nights in the mountains were especially cold during the solstice. The sound of cicadas and crickets chirping from outside the cabin broke the silence in the living room, the large windows opened wide enough to allow air to circulate and keep the cabin cool, and the light scent of damp earth and wildflowers filled the air. 

Eren and Mikasa are on the small sofa in front of the fireplace, embraced and intertwined like two things that cannot be separated for the moment. Eren holds her against his chest, his hands supporting her body and resting his head on hers, so he can perceive the natural and clean scent of Mikasa's hair. The crying of the afternoon has finally subsided and the tears have dried; their breathing has returned to normal. 

They are covered by a small blanket, their legs comically intertwined as a way to avoid separating. Eren doesn't remember ever having the opportunity to be like this with Mikasa, nor to enjoy this closeness that allows him to feel her breath against his chest, to perceive the body heat that naturally emanates from her. In their time as recruits, he had rejected every possibility of having this level of intimacy with her, of receiving her gentle touch without pushing her away, out of pride, out of fear. 

Jean and Armin are seated across from them. The long dining table is incomplete; some empty plates and unset silverware await their turn, waiting to be used, but no one makes the effort. Armin is too absorbed in the scene before him, in the possibility of having the two people he loves most in the world together again.

He can see the gentle way Mikasa's pale hand slides over Eren's large hands, a small caress spreading across the back of his palm. He notices Eren's soft breathing and how the comfort of the other's body heat makes him doze off on Mikasa's head, his eyes closed as if lost in the gentle sensations. 

Armin again question himself for the reasons of  his actions, and as the voice that torments him asks him again and again if this was the right decision for them, and seeing the tranquility on Eren's face, he knows it was a good decision, although he could understand the frustration that Eren must feel for his little lie, or his gentle betrayal, he knows that what would be hardest for him to accept was his need to see the woman he loves most. 

Armin always underestimates Eren's love for Mikasa. But if there's one thing he's learned after being by his side for so many years, it's knowing what Eren himself wants, even without him realizing it yet.

He knows him as well as the back of his hand or like every paragraph from his favorite book, and he's always dedicated himself to watching over those dreams and desires he shared with Eren since they were children, talking about the beauty of the world on the shores of the lake in their homeland, before the world became too big for them, and too cruel as well. 

The image in front of him makes his stomach churn. Their closeness is the reason he could endure all the pain in the world, because for Eren, Mikasa is everything, and he is too, but… she is still her, and he knows it.

He knows that the only reason Eren's sadness was so deep and heavy for his fragile heart was his constant remorse for having failed her, for forcing her to take on the worst role in history for his own whims. Armin knows that Mikasa would never consider Eren's dreams a mere whim; she is not so different from Armin. 

Armin snaps back to reality when he senses Mikasa's heavy gaze upon him, and her gentle, soft gray eyes look at him with such gratitude that Armin knows for sure that this was the right thing to do, that it was necessary for everyone that this could happen, regardless of the consequences. 

Jean, on the other hand, is too engrossed in observing the small details of the residence. His hazel eyes move gently around the cabin as he ponders the subtle scent of freshly cut flowers nearby. He notices that the house is filled with small bouquets of various wildflowers scattered as decoration, and he can't help but conclude that only someone like Eren would have such a tender touch. His heart feels a pang of tenderness that makes him click his tongue. He's disgusted by how tender Eren can be when he chooses to be! It's as if this is a new, contradictory version of the last vestige of Eren, that cold, calculating maniac who created an entire army because of his whims to protect them. 

Then, as he places his hands on the wooden table and the noise draws everyone's attention, Jean lets out a sigh of annoyance while giving Eren a scolding look. "Fine, sorry to burst your bubble of fantasy, but someone here owes us more than an explanation." 

“Well, I think this is all partly my fault too.” Surprisingly, Armin is the one who breaks the silence and eases the tension between Jen and Eren’s challenging stares. His comment draws everyone’s attention, and the sudden focus turns his ears pink. “I mean, I was the one who brought Eren’s body back after the battle, I admit it.” 

“What the fuck did you do?” Jean’s voice sounds incredulous as he stares at Armin with his mouth almost open and his eyebrows furrowed, waiting for some indication that his words are a joke, but he only receives confirmation when Armin tries to hide between his shoulders. 

“I’m sorry, okay? I just wanted to give him a proper burial, you know?” Although the answer is directed at Jean, Armin’s round, blue eyes instinctively seek out Eren’s almond-shaped, greenish eyes. Their gazes meet for a second that seems to last forever. A trembling sigh escapes Armin’s lips. “After the battle, I knew they wouldn’t let us give him a proper funeral, because, you know… so that night I spent my time searching for him among the rubble.” 

“You’re fucking crazy.” Jean says it as if it were obvious, almost a painful statement, because Armin is the smartest guy he’s met since Erwin’s death, and he feels almost personally betrayed by him. “Only someone like you would do something like that, Armin.” 

“She told me someone had done something for me, I guess it was this, Armin.” Eren shifted enough to right himself, pushing Mikasa against the feather pillows to free himself, stretching his body. Although he felt the inevitable chill of losing body heat, the blanket Armin gave him kept him warm nonetheless. Eren coughed a little and took a long breath. “I don’t remember much of what I saw, it was a very short dream. I actually thought it was hell.” 

“Eren.” Mikasa’s voice sounds worried, and she looks up to meet Eren’s profile, his sharp jaw and long brown eyelashes brushing his cheeks with each blink. Eren returns her gaze and gives her a gentle smile, taking the liberty of gently caressing Mikasa’s cheeks, running his thumb along the scar on her pale skin.

“It was quite disturbing,” Eren continued, everyone listening to his story. “An endless sea of ​​blood and an intense emptiness in the sky. I only saw Ymir in front of me… but I don’t remember much now.” 

«Live for me, Eren Yeager, be free like no one else ever could be,» Armin quoted, interrupting Eren’s raspy voice. Their eyes then met, and a soft, compassionate smile appeared on Armin’s lips as Eren’s eyes subtly widened in surprise. “I remember when you told me the night after you came back.” 

“Well, she was pretty explicit about her desire.” Jean speaks again, stretching his tired body in the chair. The sound of his bones stretching catches everyone’s attention, but he doesn’t care much. The tension in his body disappears like a ghostly pain that shouldn’t have existed in the first place. He wasn’t someone who was used to welcoming someone who should be dead; he was someone who was used to pain and grief. But seeing Eren’s green eyes there taught him something: never to trust the suicidal madman from the 104th. 

“Yes, it was.” Armin shifted back in his chair, his body moving forward, resting his forearms in his lap and letting his head fall with a tired sigh. “I think a lot about it, trying to understand what the hell her words meant, and the only conclusion I can come to is that perhaps the founder spared your life because of it.” 

“What do you mean?” Mikasa asked, her soft voice echoing strongly in the room, adjusting her body so that she could rest her head against Eren’s shoulder, a warm gesture. 

“The story of the Founder Ymir ends when she is killed defending King Fritz from death, sacrificing herself when they try to assassinate him,” Armin says, glancing up at the ceiling for a moment, lost in thought. “Maybe she saw what you did for Eren inside the Founder, Mikasa. She was omnipotent, wasn’t she? That means she was definitely there.” 

Mikasa's cheeks flushed a bright pink that spread across her face, and she looked away for a second, leaving both Armin and Jean puzzled, but neither said anything. Eren broke the silence. "So she spared my life out of love? I remember when I was a child, before I came back to life, I saw myself as a child, crying in my mother's lap." 

“Carla? Did you see her?” Mikasa’s gaze snapped up, unconsciously grabbing Eren’s arm, surprise etched on her face. Eren’s impassive expression remained calm as he nodded. “But… why?” 

“I don’t know,” Eren admits with a soft sigh. “I guess I just wanted to be able to die in the arms of someone who loved me, again.” He gives Mikasa a deep look after those words, and everything around them disappears, blurs, and Eren is focused on the small tears forming in Mikasa’s gray eyes. 

He takes her in his hands and buries his face against her chest after hearing the first hiccup that escapes her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” he apologizes, a lump in his throat making it hard to breathe. 

Jean and Armin watch. Once again, the fog of sadness descends upon them like a veil of sorrow that weighs heavily on their hearts. And once again, Jean decides to break the spell. 

“If we still  talk about this won’t benefit anyone.” He concludes, slightly loosening the tie that’s suffocating him and stretching like a cat against the table. Armin beside him just nods, his gaze fixed on his hands. “Eren, you’re an idiot, the biggest idiot of all.” 

The heads of the other three move in perfect synchronization to look at Jean, two with confused expressions and one with his brows furrowed in anger. Eren grunts in annoyance. "Excuse me?" 

“You’re an idiot, you’ve always been the squad’s idiot.” Jean continues, not looking directly at Eren and instead staring at the ceiling to avoid everyone’s gaze. He can hear another growl from Eren; his annoyance almost reaches him. 

“Jean, what the…” Armin’s trembling voice makes him let out a wry laugh as he shakes his head, mocking him with every action. When he looks back at Eren, he finds his eyes filled with fury, and small tears hanging from his thick eyelashes. 

“But,” Jean adds, a half-smile playing on his lips. “I’m happy you’re here, I’m truly glad you’re back. I don’t care if it was because of you, because of Ymir, or because you weren’t meant to die there, Eren. Even though I hate to say it, it makes me happy to see your face again.” 

The room falls into a tense silence for what seems like an eternity, and then, with Armin's sigh of relief, Mikasa's controlled breathing, and Eren's boisterous laughter, everything returns to normal. Jean smiles too, feeling his cheeks turn pink but managing to hide it. 

“Jean-boy! You’re so sweet, you almost made me cry again.” Eren tries to control his laughter, taking long breaths to continue speaking; he pulls Mikasa into his arms when laughter strikes again. “Did you change so much over a couple of tears? You’re such a crybaby.” 

“I’d rather you be a crybaby than see you back in that depressed-child attitude.” Jean emphasizes this point by running his hands through his hair, trying to mimic Eren’s posture and voice. “«Fight, fight, you must save Eldia.» What the hell was that monologue, Eren!” 

Jean can't contain his laughter when he successfully dodges one of the fluffy pillows Eren throws at his face, and everyone laughs at his poor imitation. The atmosphere lightens again, and the quiet cabin becomes a home filled with boisterous laughter for the first time in a long while. 

Night settles outside the cabin, and the waning moon shines in the night sky, its pale light filtering into the dining room. The remains of dinner lie on plates on the forgotten table, and the faint aroma of herbal tea fills the air, accompanied by the crackling of the fire as conversations are light. 

Eren finishes pouring the tea into the ceramic cups stored on the shelves and offers the steaming brew to everyone at the table. He keeps the rest close to him so he can hold the teapot and warm his body a little. 

The night passes slowly and the conversations flow smoothly; memories of their youth resurface, trying to recapture the most precious part of an adolescence stolen by pain. The scent of home and the subtle crackling of the fire, turning to embers, mark the time for bed as owls hoot from the nearest trees. 

Jean lost the bet and has to sleep on the small sofa among the fluffy, lavender- and jasmine-scented quilts that Eren threw in his face with a soft "Try not to snore too much, Jean-boy." 

Mikasa, for her part, got the benefit of being the favorite and the guest room was relegated to her, with Armin gently making the bed quickly and squashing the pillows to make them soft for her, all amidst small shared laughs that can't help but remind them of their times when they repeated the same routine at the Yeager house during the gentle springs they spent together with Eren.

"If the bed were bigger, we could sleep together," Armin says. 

"Like when we were kids." Mikasa finishes arranging the quilts and sinks down onto the soft bed Armin made for her. They gaze at each other in the soft glow of the oil lamps, and when they smile at one another, everything feels right. "I missed you so much too, Armin. It was strange not seeing you for a long time." 

Armin couldn't help but smile, the sadness reflected in his eyes. "I'm sorry for let you wait so much. But this was best for him, for you, and all that mattered to me was knowing you could see each other again, Mikasa." 

"I know." Mikasa opens her arms, and with that small gesture, Armin moves closer, wrapping his arms around her in a tight hug where they squeeze each other. She buries her face in her best friend's shoulders. "Thanks for handle this up, Armin." 

"I'd do anything for you,"  for him he wanted to say, but swallowed the words, a lump forming in his throat. The noise of boisterous laughter and shouts from downstairs made them gently break their embrace, as if they didn't really want to let go completely. "You'd better get some rest before tomorrow." 

She nods gently as she shifts under the covers, and Armin takes the trouble to extinguish the candle so she can sleep. Before leaving silently through the door, he stops when he hears his name whispered. He turns his head to see Mikasa's face dimly illuminated by the pale moonlight. 

"Take good care of him, Armin." She asks him; it's an innocent plea. 

"I will." He whispers his reply as well. "Good night, Mikasa, get some rest." 

Their room feels smaller and more intimate under the dim light of an oil lamp on the nightstand. Armin waits patiently for Eren, adding blankets to get through the cold night, although they will be useless in the morning when everything is over on the floor. They both always end up too hot; Eren's body is an endless source of body heat that makes them quite comfortable in times like these. 

"Oh god, I hate him." Eren quietly enters the room, smoothing down the strands of his disheveled hair, and speaks aloud with a gentle smile. "Mikasa should have come alone! I didn't want to see that horse-faced Jean." 

Eren lies down first, his large frame filling most of the plush mattress, his loose nightshirt riding up slightly over his tanned torso as he turns onto his side.

"You've miss him so much, Eren." Armin slips in beside him with careful movements and a soft laugh, turning off the lamp until only the silvery glow of the moon shines through the half-open window.

"No i don't." Eren says, but a little smile appeared in his lips.  They lie like that for a moment, their breaths synchronized in the darkness, until Armin breaks the silence with a low, trembling voice, turning toward Eren and placing a soft hand on his chest to feel the steady pulse beneath.

"Forgive me, Eren," Armin whispers, his sea-colored eyes shining in the dim light as he gently strokes the cloth over his best friend's heart with his thumb. "I broke the promise I made to you. I shouldn't have contacted Mikasa without telling you. I thought it was the right thing to do."

Eren stirs slightly, turning to face Armin, his face close in the darkness, his almond-shaped green eyes still red from the day's accumulated tears. He frowns in a mock pout, his lips forming a childish sneer as he raises a hand to gently push Armin's shoulder, though the touch lacks real force and ends up becoming an affectionate caress that stops at the crook of his neck.

"You're such a traitor, Armin," Eren muttered hoarsely, feigning anger as his fingers traced the line of his best friend's collarbone. "You left me crying like an idiot in front of them. I should be angry with you all night."

Armin lets out a small sigh, almost a stifled laugh, and moves closer, entangling one leg with Eren's under the sheets to close the distance between them, he feels the warmth emanating from Eren's skin and the slight tremor that still runs through his broad torso, and rests his forehead against Eren's, his blond eyelashes brushing against Eren's dark ones in an intimate and silent touch.

"I know," Armin replies softly, guilt tinging every word as his hand rises to gently stroke Eren's cheek. "I was selfish. I wanted you to heal, even though it hurt but if you want to be angry, I accept it. I deserve it."

Eren is silent for a moment, the feigned pout softening on his lips as his green eyes close and a single tear escapes from the corner, rolling warmly onto the pillow. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he wraps a strong arm around Armin's  waist, pulling him against his chest until their bodies are pressed together, their hearts beating against each other in a rhythm that gradually synchronizes.

The closeness overwhelmed them both; they were still trembling with the strong emotions they had in their chests since that morning, but this closeness they shared under the intimacy of the moon and in the silence of their room allowed them to confuse their minds and their hearts. 

Armin accepts the gesture, noticing how Eren's soft breathing clashes with his own and how his large, green eyes observe him with more than just a childish gleam after his little tantrum; there is something beyond his pupils that he tries to decipher like a code that will give him the answer to happiness, his or Eren's. 

Eren's heart was pounding so hard in his chest that he was embarrassed for Aemin to feel its thump against his own and have all his confused feelings exposed. Although he assumed he could be vulnerable, he was like an open book to Armin's eyes, who took their time analyzing and studying him with such patience that it ignited something in him unlike anything he had ever felt before. 

Armin's eyes are as blue as the clear sky on a summer morning, like the sea that stretches out a few kilometers from the mountain, and they shine with such magic when the sun filters through the gentle waves of the beach, Eren thinks. 

He also thinks of Mikasa's deep gray eyes, of the gloomy winter nights as the pristine, incorruptible white snow falls on the mountain pasture; she is the closest thing to an angel that Eren believes he has ever been to, she is so much to him that he cannot describe it with mundane words that are enough to talk about her. 

She has meant so much to Eren, that he was always so afraid of corrupting her and turning her into a horrible monster like himself. She is the purest thing Eren could ever touch with his dirty, blood-soaked hands, and when that very morning he wrapped his hands around her holy body, covered in the blood of innocents, he knew that nothing would ever be the same again. 

Because he is no longer the same man she loved, and his sins have absolved him of all humanity. 

And Eren can see in her eyes all the guilt his heart once had to bear when he was still alive. When he was still human, able to repent for his mistakes as long as she could forgive him. But now her forgiveness only lets go of the most human part of what he once was, and she forgives his impure soul with such love that it brings him peace. 

But now Eren gazes into Armin's shining eyes in the moonlight, and he knows that he too shares his sins, that he isn't a god he must protect from his worldly heart, but someone just like him. He carries the same pain, the same sins that caused so much suffering; his hands are stained with the same blood that Eren has on his own. 

Mikasa's hands are pure with justice, but Armin's hold him with their blood-stained hands. And they hold him, who is far from being redeemed from his sins. 

"Idiot," Eren finally whispers, his voice hoarse but heavy with forgiveness as he buries his face in Armin's blond hair, inhaling his familiar scent of books and clean skin. "I know why you did it. I forgive you, Armin. I always forgive you. Just… don't leave me alone with this again."

Armin nods against Eren's neck, his arms wrapped tightly around Eren's broad back, feeling the day's sadness ease slightly in that warm, close embrace. They remain like that, entwined beneath the sheets, their deep, slow breaths filling the room as the moon continues its course outside.

And the farewell unfolds in the clearing under the morning sun, the cool breeze rustling the dry leaves at their feet, the scent of damp earth mingling with the smell of horse and leather.

Armin and Jean prepare the horses; he gives them small bags of provisions for the long journey back home, and although Jean tries to refuse at first, Armin's puppy-dog eyes and visible concern eventually win out. 

Mikasa and Eren are observing everything as the girl checks the last details of the things they brought for both of them and puts her red scarf inside her bag; she is not using it to go out but adjusts the coat around her neck. 

"Please, be safe there." Eren says softly when their eyes meet, and it's enough to melt into an embrace that unites their bodies like two magnets. She puts her arms around Eren's broad shoulders, and he closes his around her waist, melting into one last goodbye before leaving. 

"I'll come back, and I'll send you letters." She promises in a muffled whisper against his chest, and raises her gaze so their eyes meet, her cheeks flushed and her ears pink. "I hope you do the same, home awaits you." 

Eren simply gives her a gentle smile and hugs her tightly again, burying his face in the soft, straight, black hair that falls to her waist, gleaming in the morning sun. "I will send you letters too." 

"Eren." She calls him and meets his gaze once more. "Take good care of yourself, and take care of him too." 

Eren's eyebrows rise in surprise at that last bit and he bites the inside of his cheeks, but he nods obediently, leaving a soft kiss on Mikasa's exposed forehead; it's a light touch that makes him close his eyes when his lips perceive the warm skin of her face. 

"I'll come home someday." He promises. 

Their hug ends when Jean's voice calling for both of them breaks the moment, and they exchange one last soft glance. Mikasa's face is still flushed, and she lowers her gaze as Eren smiles as cutely as ever. 

The two of them leave at the same time, he accompanies Mikasa's movements with one hand on her lower back and tears threatening to spill from the corners of his eyes. 

Eren stands with Armin between the riders, his tall, broad frame appearing more vulnerable than ever as he watches Mikasa and Jean adjust their mounts, their hands brushing his one last time in a lingering gesture that conveys the promise to return, to not let distance again shatter what they have barely begun to heal. "Be safe, please." 

"Yes, don't forget to write to us regularly." Armin tries to decipher Eren's gentle gaze, the way his green eyes observe Mikasa's figure, how the sun is making that enchanting green shine in his pupils and how love seems to overflow from his pores, so sweet and painful. 

"Come home when you're ready." Jean says as he adjusts his hat, and approaches them both so he can hug them at the same time, holding Armin's shoulder with his right arm and Eren's waist with his left arm to melt into an  embrace, which is reciprocated by both. 

"Don't cry for me, Jean-boy." Eren mocks even as tears wet his eyelashes and he tries to hold back his sobs by pressing his lips into a thin line. "We'll come back someday." 

"You're an idiot." Jean scolds him as they break the hug, and they both share a broken smile, a grimace that tries to mimic genuine happiness, but they both notice the tears in each other's eyes. "And you, Armin, try not to go crazy over this guy." 

Armin can only hold back a genuine laugh and nods, his nose wrinkled from the tears that sting his eyes. 

It's Mikasa's turn to say goodbye now, and there aren't enough or the right words to try and say goodbye because it's not a goodbye, but a small pause in their lives. It's so difficult to say goodbye to someone with whom you've shared your whole life together. 

The three of them melt into a tight embrace that completely breaks them, and tears soon begin to fall down their faces. The morning sun makes their cheeks blush more easily, and the crystalline drops sparkle on their faces. 

As they parted, Mikasa looked at them both, holding their hands. A gentle squeeze as she tried to catch her breath. "Take care of each other. I love you both. I always will." 

Jean and Mikasa disappear into the horizon with their arms raised in a final farewell to the distance, and the forest swallows their figures while the sun continues to shine above their heads and the silence is overwhelming. 

Armin wraps a light hug around Eren's body, seeking to offer him support as the sound of his hiccups and sobs grows louder, and tries to comfort him.

Eren clings to him desperately, his calloused fingers closing in the fabric of Armin's shirt, his face buried in the slender shoulder as his sobs intensify, the weight of parting mingling with gratitude for having had that night and the terror that it might be the last.

Armin holds him tightly, his hands stroking the broad back in slow, steady circles, his sea-colored eyes closed with a deep emotion that makes him clench his jaw to hold back his own tears, whispering silent words of comfort against Eren's black hair as the mountain wind envelops them. 

The early morning hours were still a gray veil over the mountains when Armin woke Eren with a gentle touch on his shoulder, his hand firm yet soft on the worn fabric of his shirt. The air inside the cabin carried the floral scent of spring dew, and the fireplace held only a few embers that flickered faintly. 

Eren and his emerald-green eyes swollen from interrupted sleep, searched Armin's with a mixture of confusion and silent curiosity. Armin, his face marked by the deep dark circles etched by weeks of sleepless nights, simply nodded once and offered him a light coat. No unnecessary words were spoken; the silence between them was a language of its own, forged over years in this fragile, stolen peace.

Armin adjusted the worn leather reins as Eren mounted carefully, his strong thighs pressing against the animal's flanks for balance. It was the first time Eren had ventured outside the invisible perimeter of the cabin, that invisible boundary they had drawn for safety, for fear that the Marleyans or some survivor might recognize the monster that had unleashed the Rumbling. 

The horse exhaled white steam into the frigid air, and Armin took the reins with one hand, guiding it on foot along the narrow path that descended between dark pines and moss-covered rocks.

His boots crunched on the dry leaves, each step sending a faint echo that faded into the low mist. Eren, sitting upright, felt the rhythmic sway of the horse beneath him, the icy wind whipping his face and awakening sensations he had forgotten: the sting of real cold on his cheeks, the scent of damp earth and pine resin filling his lungs. 

For a moment, he could only recall those first cold, panic-filled expeditions with the Scouts so many years ago. And a pang of pure nostalgia pierced his chest like a painfully vivid memory, while the mare's breathing and the echo of the rustling branches were the only sounds. 

His heart beat with a mixture of fear and anticipation; the outside world, after months of confinement, seemed vast and threatening, but Armin walked ahead, a slender and determined silhouette against the gloom, and that was enough to anchor the irreversible present.

The sky was slowly lightening from gray to a pale blue as the sun struggled to break through. Armin led the way without pause, his broad shoulders beneath the light coat moving with purpose, his blond hair tousled by the breeze, and the freckles on his pale nose standing out more in the growing light. Eren watched from behind, noticing how the muscles in his arms tensed as he held the reins, how his boots left deep ruts in the mud of the path. 

They reached the coast just as the sun began to break the horizon. Armin stopped the horse with a gentle tug on the reins and helped Eren dismount, his firm hands holding his friend's arms to steady him on the soft sand, and the landscape unfolded before them like a broken and remade promise: the beach stretched endlessly, fine golden sand crunching under their boots.

Eren took a few unsteady steps toward the shore, his boots sinking into the cold, damp sand, and stopped there, his chest heaving. His green eyes opened wide, absorbing every detail: the brilliance of the rising sun painting the crests of the waves gold, the way the light danced on the water like millions of shards of glass, the pungent smell of the sea filling his lungs and reminding him of childhood dreams of freedom. 

Silent tears welled on his dark eyelashes, not from pain this time, but from a raw and overwhelming emotion, from awe mingled with a guilt that wouldn't fade, but which for a moment softened before such beauty. He stretched a trembling hand toward the horizon, as if she wanted to touch the rising sun, and the wind dried the tears on his flushed cheeks. "The sea..." he could barely manage to utter those words. 

Armin stayed a few steps behind, observing everything with his sea-colored eyes fixed on Eren's figure against the dawn, his own emotions swirling silently. 

Seeing Eren there alive under the golden light, with that expression of childlike wonder softening the harsh lines of his face: his dark eyebrows relaxed, his full lips parted in a faint smile, generated in Armin a deep emotion that flooded his chest like the warmth of a bonfire. 

His hands, still gripping the horse's reins, loosened; his tense shoulders relaxed, and for the first time in weeks, he breathed without the eternal lump in his throat. This was his greatest gift to Eren: not words, not promises, just this moment stolen from the world that pursued them, a dawn that returned to Eren a fragment of the freedom he had sacrificed everything to attain. 

Armin stepped forward, standing beside Eren on the sand, and let the sea breeze envelop them both, the roar of the waves drowning out any dark thoughts. In that instant, the pain subsided, and only their shared heartbeat remained. “Happy birthday, Eren.”

The sun had already climbed high when the day on the beach unfolded before them like a symphony of light and water, with waves rising and falling in gentle rhythms, almost like the flowing, undulating notes of a distant melody caressing the salty air. 

Armin couldn't take his eyes off Eren as they walked through the fine sand, which sank under their boots with a soft, constant crunch. 

Eren's black hair, tousled by the sea breeze, shimmered with drops of foam that the sea had thrown into the air; his emerald green eyes reflected the shimmering water as if the entire ocean had been poured into them, silver and gold flashes dancing in his pupils every time a wave broke nearby. 

Armin felt a strange warmth in his chest as he watched him, a warmth that expanded like the tide itself, but he attributed it only to the relief of seeing him alive and here, far from the cabin and the shadows that pursued them.

Eren slowly kicked off his boots, his bare feet sinking into the damp sand, and ran to the water's edge, a low laugh escaping his lips before he could stop it. Armin followed him, rolling up his trousers to his knees, and they both stepped into the cold water that lapped at their ankles like tongues of liquid crystal.

They played like children they'd never quite been, splashing each other with open hands: Eren threw handfuls of water that sparkled in the sun like scattered diamonds, and Armin responded with a wave that soaked Eren's shirt, making the fabric cling to his broad torso and revealing the outline of his muscles beneath his tanned skin. 

The waves rocked them with a hypnotic rhythm, the water rising and falling in gentle curves that mirrored the sky, and Eren bent down to pick up a pearly shell, turning it between his calloused fingers as the sun made it gleam like a forgotten jewel from the depths of the sea. “It’s similar to the one you showed me once.” 

Armin watched him silently, his heart pounding with an unquestioning intensity: the way the midday light softened the harsh lines of Eren's face, the way his shy smile curved his full lips—all of it stirred in him a deep, almost painful tenderness, as if every detail about Eren were a note resonating directly in his soul, a note he couldn't name. "The first time we went to the sea, I still remember it." 

Eren gave him a look that Armin couldn't decipher, but his eyelashes fluttered with sadness in every blink, and as he lowered his green gaze to the crustacean in his hands, a melancholic smile appeared. "The first time," he repeated softly. "I was so obsessed with the future that I don't remember enjoying the cold water that summer." 

Armin didn't know what to say; there were no words to console the deep sadness that dwelled in Eren's chest. Words are never enough. But he placed his hand over Eren's, and they hid the shell between their hands. Eren didn't look at him. 

Later, under the full sun that warmed the sand until it was lukewarm, they spread out a threadbare blanket that Armin had brought in the horse's saddlebag and had breakfast together: bread softened with seawater, wild fruits they had collected along the way, and some cheese wrapped in leaves. 

Armin spent more hours in the library to get exotic and native Marleyan fruits, and had to exchange some books for the only thing that mattered to him today: Eren's surprised face, with his lips shining and eyes wide with surprise at the sweetness of the fruit he held in his hands. 

Eren was sitting cross-legged, biting into the bread with real appetite for the first time in weeks, his hands dirty, and Armin couldn't stop staring at him, his elbows resting on his knees, his chin in his hands. 

A wave of sorrow swirled in his heart, and he couldn't help but wonder if this wasn't enough for a birthday like Eren's. There was no family around, no Mikasa's laughter, no jokes from old comrades; just the two of them, alone in this vastness, and Armin feared that his presence, his clumsy attempt at a gift, would ruin the whole day. How could he compensate for the love Eren had always had at home, surrounded by love, now reduced to this remote beach? 

But Eren pretended not to notice anything, or perhaps he really didn't; he chewed with his eyes squinting from the sun, his face relaxed, and Armin swallowed his own unease, letting the moment flow like the waves. 

Armin knows that Eren's eyes cannot lie. 

The day passed in serene exploration of the coast as they walked together along the shore, collecting smooth stones that the sea had polished into opaque mirrors, and Eren threw them into the water to watch them jump on surfaces that reflected the sky like a living canvas. 

Armin followed three steps behind, the wind ruffling his blond hair and caressing the freckles on his nose, and felt an emotion growing inside him that filled him like the rising tide: the last time they had both seen the sea, on the shores of Marley during the war, Eren's sadness had been heavier than any joy, his eyes clouded by the weight of the impending Rumbling. 

He remembers his long hair, his youthful skin, and the deep sadness he carried without anyone noticing. And he blames himself for not noticing it sooner. 

Armin then wonders, if he had noticed, would they be here now? If anyone had noticed the sadness of his responsibility, would the future be the same? 

Eren had chosen to die rather than speak, even though he always longed to speak. No one listened to him. 

He remembers that morning when he couldn't sleep at night, and he saw the faces of so many people who were no longer there. And Armin cries like he did when he was a small child, silently, and the world was cruel. It has always been cruel, but he has always had Eren by his side to make it more bearable. 

Now, however, Eren ran barefoot across the sand, the wind whipping his shirt against his broad back, and Armin remembered how that beach in Eldia had become a military zone with the port, barbed wire, and soldiers where before there had only been childhood dreams of freedom. 

There was no longer any need to become a weapon, a threat, to secure funding for the enemy's military. No more death, no more threats, no more pain—all of that ended with Eren. 

And now, at last, Eren could see the wonder that the world had promised them since childhood, and Armin felt his chest swell with an inexplicable warmth, a silent devotion that made him follow Eren's every move as if the entire universe orbited around him.

In the afternoon, they rode together at a slow pace along the seashore. Armin trailed behind, his arms around Eren's waist for support, and the animal moved forward with the waves lapping at its hooves, leaving ephemeral footprints that the water instantly washed away. 

The rhythm of the gentle gallop blended with the constant roar of the ocean, creating a melody that seemed to rise from the horizon itself. Eren turned his head slightly, the profile of his face silhouetted against the shimmering sea.“Do you remember my last birthday at home?”

Eren asked in a low voice, almost lost in the wind. “You always gave me an old book you found in the attic, and I could only wait to read it together.”

Armin smiled against his back, taken aback by the question. He rested his chin on Eren's shoulder and answered with a soft murmur. "Your last birthday at home was at the regiment. Sasha stole supplies, and we celebrated until Captain Levi scolded us."

Eren leaned back slightly, his body heat seeping through the fabric, and closed his eyes for a moment, a soft laugh escaping his lips. “Yes, that was actually my last birthday at home.” 

The horse slowed down, and the sound of the sea filled the silence that had fallen. Armin held Eren close to his chest, subtly taking the reins from his hands. He noticed the heaving in Eren's chest and the way his lips pressed together to hold back tears. 

The Scout regiment is undoubtedly a sensitive topic for both of them. Armin knows that Eren has carried a lot of guilt ever since, but he can't help but remind him that they were the family who were always there for him in difficult times, and that they chose to stand by him until their hearts could no longer tolerate the injustice. 

And the pain of losing the beacon of courage that always drove them to be better. Even so, Armin is proud to retain, to some extent, the regimental commander. 

Seeing Eren like this, the way the sunset light painted his skin gold and made soft shadows dance on his dark eyelashes, told him that, for now, the world was offering them this stolen grace. And Armin, without fully realizing it, clung to that moment like a boat on the endless ocean, guided only by Eren's presence beside him.

The sunset descended upon the beach like a slow, golden tide, enveloping everything in a fluid symphony of light that merged with the ocean, soft, undulating notes that seemed to emerge from the horizon itself and caress the salty air with eternal delicacy. 

The sun sank into the sea, tinting the sky a deep orange that dissolved into soft pinks and violets, while the now calmer waves licked the shore with silver foam that shone like dissolved pearls. 

They both stayed on the shore, sitting on the sand still warm from the day, their legs stretched out into the water that lapped at their ankles with a cool, lingering touch. They were exhausted, their bodies heavy with a fatigue, their muscles relaxed but aching from playing in the waves, their skin covered with a thin layer of salt that clung to their damp clothes and disheveled hair. 

From his position, Armin couldn't stop watching him. He was sitting next to him with his knees bent and his arms wrapped around his legs, looking like an angelic and ethereal being, a figure carved in the very light of twilight that no sunset could match. 

His emerald green eyes captured the last reflections of the sun as if the entire ocean had been poured into them, liquid flashes that danced in his pupils with every gently breaking wave. 

The day's sun had left its mark with small new freckles that dotted the bridge of his nose and cheekbones like golden constellations that contrasted with the skin tanned and flushed by the wind and heat. 

Eren's cheeks were a deep, warm pink, accentuating the soft curve of his full lips, slightly parted in a calm breath; his short black hair, sprinkled with fine sand and drops of seawater, curled slightly at his temples, and everything about him radiated a beauty that took Armin's breath away like an unexpected wave. 

It was more beautiful than the sunset before them, more alive and eternal than any horizon. 

That warmth he had felt all day, the tenderness that compelled him to follow Eren's every move, the way his presence filled the void like the sea filled the beach, now became impossible to ignore. 

Armin could accept with a painful pang and a silent, profound recognition that his feelings for Eren were no longer just those of a best friend, but something imminent, vast, and overwhelming, like a tide rising without permission. 

He loved him. In a way that terrified him and completed him at the same time, a love that seeped into every glance, every accidental brush of his shoulders, and that Armin couldn't quite name, only feel as a current pulling him towards him.

The day had been a haven of stolen intimacy; they had explored more of the coast, walking barefoot through puddles that reflected the sky like broken mirrors, collecting soft seaweed that Eren tangled in his fingers with childlike curiosity. 

They had grown tired together, laughing under the weight of the sun that burned the back of their necks, and now, in this shared silence, only the murmur of the waves and the beat of their breaths remained. 

Eren broke the silence with a low, tender voice, turning his head slightly to look at him. His eyes, softened by the twilight, shone with genuine gratitude. 

“Thank you for today, Armin,” he said, his voice warm and soft like the foam that lapped at his feet. “I wasn’t expecting anything like this. You’ve given me the sea for my birthday.”

Armin was surprised, blinking as he looked away for a moment, his face reddening beneath his freckles. 

His hands, resting on the sand, clenched slightly into shy fists, and he felt an embarrassed warmth rise up the back of his neck. It wasn't a big deal, he thought, compared to birthdays of yesteryear in Shiganshina, with the house filled with laughter and the feeling of belonging somewhere.

“It’s nothing special,” he replied humbly, his voice low and almost embarrassed, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand while avoiding Eren’s gaze. “It’s the best I can give you right now, but there have been better times…” 

Eren then looked directly at him, capturing his gaze with that quiet intensity, and Armin felt trapped; he had been staring at him again, lost in the details of his angelic face. He lowered his eyes shyly, his cheeks burning, and shifted on the sand, crossing his arms over his chest in an awkward, vulnerable gesture.

And he just smiled with a tenderness that softened his whole face, extending a hand to briefly brush against Armin's hand, a light touch that sent a warm current through them both.

Time stood still with that gentle touch. As if the sea and sky conspired to envelop them, the waves whispered confidences, the sea breeze rocked them with a shared caress, and the distance between their seated bodies seemed to shorten without either of them forcing it. 

Armin felt the weight of his feelings like a boat adrift in that ocean of emotions, and was painfully aware of how Eren, with his mere presence, made him feel whole. 

The sunset was slowly fading, the sun was now nothing more than a red disc sinking into the horizon, tinting the water with coppery and deep violet tones that mingled with the white foam, and the sea wind brought with it the salty smell of the low tide, an eternal whisper that seemed to mark the passage of time like the invisible hands of an old clock. 

Eren watched Armin, who was sitting with his knees bent and his arms resting on them, his blond hair tousled by the wind and sprinkled with fine sand that shone like stardust under the last rays. 

With his sea-colored eyes that reflected the entire sunset, a living and deep ocean where the setting sun sank into golden and orange waves, creating a magical glow that seemed to make the world stop just for him. 

Eren felt the confusion that had grown in his chest for months, those complex and silent feelings, which had slowly mutated from the purest friendship into something he was afraid to say out loud, to finally take responsibility for his feelings.

But everything became clear at once the instant their eyes met, and it was as if the sea reflected in Armin's eyes had washed away all doubt with the thin, blond eyelashes that framed those pupils dilated by the contained emotion, the small nose sprinkled with freckles that the sun had accentuated that day, the soft lips slightly chapped by the wind, the thin jaw that tensed shyly.

“Armin,” his voice escaped like a snatched sigh from his chest, so soft it was lost in the sound of the sea breeze. Eren was frightened by the trembling in his hands. 

Armin seemed fragile and eternal at the same time, his pale skin now flushed from the day outdoors, his freckles like faint constellations that Eren wanted to trace with his fingers, and that hunched posture that betrayed an infinite tenderness in his behavior, his delicate hands nervously intertwined, his shoulders lowered in an almost self-protective gesture, as if he were afraid of breaking the moment.

“Eren…” He answered, as he always did whenever Eren called his name. And their gazes remained connected by a taut string that could soon snap.

Eren felt a wave of sensations that made his skin crawl as he held his hand against the hand of that man who gave so much for him, who does everything to continue protecting him.

Then he realized what it was: a love that had grown in silence, nourished by the nights when Armin wiped his tears when no one else was around, by the hands that held him in the darkness of nightmares, by the shared guilt that united them as redeemed sinners before a punishing god. 

He can't help it, but he compares all this emotion that rumbles in his chest with galloping force to what once made him tremble with emotion. And he thinks of her, she with her gentle gray eyes that cared for him when he himself couldn't bear the injustice of the world. 

And he thinks of her love, of how her sweet voice and strong presence left such a mark on his heart, like an iron cross on his flesh. And he thinks of all the love he once felt for her, how deeply he loved Mikasa for so many years, that he once considered giving up everything for just a small part of that love. 

But he didn't, because being free was far more important than love. And he wanted her to be free too, and when Mikasa wept in his arms, forgiving him for all his sins, he realized that perhaps he was only looking for a reason to be forgiven. 

And this was different, that mutation that he allowed himself to feel because Armin represented all the new life he now knew. 

Armin was the only one who had seen his worst sins and still chose to stay, because he was a sinner just like him, the one who carried the weight of everything he did as a titan. 

With him, he could be as free as he wanted, with nothing to hold him back. With Armin, he could share more than just love; he could live his freedom in company. 

“Thank you for bringing me here,” Eren said in a low, husky voice, breaking the silence with a tenderness that softened each word. “It’s more than I deserve, after all. I know you’re worried I won’t enjoy it, but it was really nice today, Armin.” He played absently with the sand. “But we’re alone now, we were all together before…” 

Armin looked up, surprised, “You deserve more than an afternoon at the beach.” and his blur eyes met Eren’s again, the reflection of the sunset dancing in them like a living spell. 

The blush on his cheeks intensified, and he lowered his gaze with that shyness that Eren found infinitely endearing. 

“I’m not alone, Eren,” Armin replied softly, almost a whisper that blended with the sound of the waves. 

“As long as you’re here, I won’t be. I don’t mind being on the beach with the others, I just wanted you to be able to enjoy the sea properly.” Armin rubbed the back of his neck with one hand as a small, humble smile curved his lips. “You were so sad before, I just hoped to see you happy today. Even if it wasn’t like other birthdays.” 

Eren nodded, his chest tight with an emotion that filled him with a sweet and deep melancholy, as if time itself had slowed down to allow them this moment. 

Everything seemed magical in that moment, the way the wind rocked Armin's hair as if the ocean were blessing it, the residual glow of the sun that made his freckles look like fallen stars, and Eren, for the first time, allowed himself to feel it all without guilt.

The sea breeze enveloped Armin and Eren in an invisible embrace, laden with salt and that subtle magic that made the world seem suspended, a dream from which no one wanted to awaken. 

Armin's chest trembled with every heartbeat, a knot of feelings he couldn't quite name, but which flooded him like a rising tide.

Unsure, he swallowed and looked down at the sand, where the shadows of their bodies merged into a single silhouette in the fading light. He wanted to speak, he wanted to say everything, but fear paralyzed him. Should he speak? 

Eren was his best friend since childhood, the boy the whole world had dreamed of, and now everything depended on one wrong word and everything would be tense, broken, and Armin wouldn't be able to bear it.

Remorse gnawed at him from within. Loving the same man as his best friend, the woman who had given everything for Eren and for him. It was a guilt that burned him like the setting sun, but it didn't stop him. Because Eren was everything to him.

And when he looked up and saw Eren's eyes shining with that soft intensity, with that tenderness that seemed to illuminate the entire sunset, Armin finally mustered up his courage.

Armin knows that he has always been a very fearful guy, to say the least, very, very cowardly. 

He has not been a good speaker of his feelings, despite having read so much and having such a large vocabulary; he has always chosen to murmur his thoughts within his books by candlelight. 

He's never had the courage to do anything that involves being vulnerable, even though he's always been a weak man. He's been forced to take risks so many times, to set aside all his timidity for the greater good. 

Armin truly came to know the world when he met Eren that morning in the alley, when his emerald eyes observed him with curiosity and poor judgment for not being brave enough to face his bullies. 

Courage and bravery were forged in him when Eren convinced someone who was truly brave to join the Scouts as a suicidal idea. 

Eren was the bravest boy Armin knew. 

And that's contagious. 

The sea whispered around him, the waves singing an ethereal invitation to return, to be honest, and when his voice came out low, almost drowned out by the murmur of the ocean, he murmured his name. “Eren…” 

And his hand trembled beneath the touch of their fingers. “Do you still feel the same way about Mikasa? Despite everything… I know she loves you as always, and you… you’ve always needed her. Is that right?”

The words floated between them like the foam that the sea left on the shore, magical and fragile.

Armin waited, his heart pounding with an anxiety that tightened his throat as he watched Eren's every reaction with painful precision, how his eyes opened slightly, the dark eyelashes blinking once, twice, and how the silence stretched out, heavy but not cold, just surprised. 

Eren didn't respond immediately, and that delay alarmed Armin; his chest tightened with a dull fear that rose up his spine, but he didn't look away. 

Eren was the only reason he could endure the world's pain, and if that meant sharing it with Mikasa, he would accept it. He just wanted him back, here with him.

But he would wait. He would wait eternally if necessary, even if the answer broke his heart into a thousand pieces. Because he loved him madly, with a devotion that made him capable of anything.

Because that's what Eren always instilled in Armin. He gave him the ability to do anything without fear, because he gave him courage and bravery. 

Armin knew him so well he could read the surprise in the slight furrow of his brow, in the way his fingers froze between his own, refusing to withdraw. And in that silence, the sea continued to sing.

Armin felt guilt gnawing at his conscience again, but he couldn't stop it because his feelings were a vast and deep ocean, and all he wanted was for Eren to speak. To say something. Anything. 

The sea breeze, heavy with salt and freshness, ruffled Eren's black hair as he sat with his knees bent, his arms resting on them, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the sun was slowly sinking, leaving a trail of liquid fire on the water. 

Eren felt the weight of Armin's question fall on his chest like an unexpected wave and did not look up at him, although he knew for sure that he only gave a whole life together, that Armin's eyes were staring at him, dilated with anxiety and fear. 

Shame burned in his cheeks, flushed by the day's sun, a heat that extended to his ears and made him lower his gaze even further, fixing it on the sand that cooled between his bare toes. 

Talking about it again, in front of Armin, felt painfully intimate; his feelings had changed so much since the Rumbling, since his death and return, that putting them into words felt like reopening a wound that was only just beginning to heal.

“I still love her,” Eren began, his voice low and solemn, hoarse with pent-up emotion and the wind that brushed against his lips. “Everything I did… I did for her. I wanted to give her the same freedom I felt in my heart, even if it meant I would become the monster.”

The words came out slowly, each one heavy like the waves breaking near his feet, splashing cold drops that mingled with the sand. “I have loved her since we were children, in the purest way that someone like me could love someone like her.” 

As he spoke, Eren felt the confusion and sadness that had accompanied him since waking up in that bed ease a little as they were spoken aloud before the endless sea. “She has always been like an angel. Pure, strong, willing to carry everything for me.”

It was a strange and profound comfort. Saying it, releasing it to the wind and the murmur of the ocean, made the burden lighter, as if the water carried away some of its weight with each receding tide. 

He knew those words were confusing and painful for Armin, and that hurt him too. It hurt him deeply, because Armin was his anchor now, but he couldn't lie to him. Not to him.

He's never been a good liar anyway. 

“You knew it then, and you know it now. That part of me hasn’t changed,” Eren continued, still not looking directly at him, his voice gaining a calm solemnity as the sun disappeared completely, leaving the sky a deep violet dotted with the first stars.

The sea responded with its eternal rhythm: a larger wave broke nearby, sending a cool breeze that ruffled their hair and carried the intense smell of salt and seaweed. 

Eren closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the tears that weren't falling accumulate behind his eyelids, a mixture of relief and sadness that overwhelmed him. 

Speaking it aloud in front of that infinite horizon gave him a comfort he had not expected; it was as if the sea absorbed his confusion and gave him back a little peace, allowing him to release the sadness he had carried since his resurrection. 

Even so, the shame remained, preventing him from looking up at Armin, at those eyes that reflected the sea and everything that Eren felt but still couldn't fully name.

The wind sighed between them, carrying with it the distant echo of a seagull, and the sunset faded completely, leaving only the constant murmur of the ocean as witness to the words that had remained floating in the salty air, heavy and liberating at the same time.

“But.” The word hung in the salty air like an unfinished promise, and Armin unconsciously held his breath, his lungs pressed against his ribs as he waited for something more to follow, for silence not to be all Eren had to offer him. 

Then something happened that he hadn't anticipated: he felt Eren's fingers moving between his, not to withdraw but to hold on with deliberate gentleness, and when he looked up at him, Eren was no longer looking at the horizon.

He looked at him and smiled.

It wasn't a big or exaggerated smile, it wasn't the smile Eren used when he won a fight or when he challenged the world with that youthful arrogance that had defined him for so long. 

It was something completely different, something Armin didn't remember seeing with such clarity before, or perhaps he had seen it and never known how to name it: a slow smile, almost shy at its edges, that began at the right corner of his lips and spread with a gentleness that seemed to cost him something intimate, something he had kept hidden in a place where the light did not easily reach. 

The slight wrinkles that formed at the corners of his eyes were not from ordinary joy, but from something more complex and truer. 

The dim light of the violet sky bathed him from above, and the sea wind had tousled his jet-black hair over his forehead, some strands falling over his eyes without him doing anything to move them away, and in that disorder there was a careless beauty that struck Armin's chest with a force he did not expect. 

Eren was beautiful in a way that didn't seem to be aware of itself, and that particular smile made him more than beautiful; it made him real and his in a way that Armin didn't yet dare to fully grasp.

He felt something unravel inside him, some knot he had been tightening since the moment he had uttered the question, even before, since they had reached that shore and sat together while the sun died over the water. 

His heart was beating too hard and too fast, and he had to make a conscious effort not to look away, to hold on to those clear eyes that now met him with a frankness that was almost unbearable.

"Those feelings have changed," Eren said, his voice having a different texture now. His eyes never left Armin's as he spoke. "Lately, something has shifted within me, and I can't quite explain it, and I don't know if I have the words to do it justice."

He paused briefly, his fingers lightly squeezing Armin's, a gesture so small and so charged that Armin had to glance down at their clasped hands for a moment to make sure it was real, that he hadn't imagined it. 

The sand between their bare feet was already cold, the tide leaving its wet trail near them, and the constant murmur of the ocean enveloped them both.

"There's so much to live for now," Eren continued, and something in his voice cracked slightly, not from pain but from something akin to astonishment, as if the idea still felt strange in his mouth, still new against his teeth. "Before, I didn't care about dying; I cared about freedom, I cared about you all living."

The hand that wasn't holding Armin's moved slowly toward the sand, her fingers digging in as if she needed to anchor the weight of what she was saying to something tangible and cold. "But now I'm afraid, Armin. I'm truly afraid, not of pain or death, but of not getting to experience all that I feel I'm missing."

The wind passed between them at that moment, carrying the words out to sea, and Eren let out a slow breath, as if he had been preparing for what was coming since before he started speaking, since perhaps before he had come back to life. 

His smile had not completely disappeared from his face; it persisted on the edge of his lips with that same shyness as before, sustained now by something that resembled bravery.

"But love is stronger than fear," he said, his voice firm this time, with a quiet conviction that didn't need volume to be felt. "Stronger than anything I know, even stronger than my desire for freedom, and that's saying something because that desire was the only thing that kept me going for years." 

His eyes narrowed slightly, not from sadness but from something more akin to wonder, as if he himself were discovering the truth of his words at the very moment he uttered them before the ocean and before Armin. "And it's your fault."

He said it looking directly at him, with that smile that was now returning stronger, more open, more luminous under the darkened sky where the stars were beginning to multiply silently above their heads. 

It was an accusation that was actually a confession, 

The problem was that Armin had been so completely absorbed in the sound of Eren's voice, in its soft, velvety texture, that the true content of what he had just heard took several full seconds to reach his brain and organize itself into something coherent. 

Armin blinked once, then twice, and something inside him did the mental equivalent of going back several lines and rereading a paragraph carefully.

The words landed in his consciousness with a delay that was both comical and devastating, and the effect was immediate and completely out of his control. 

The color rose to his face all at once, from his neck to the tips of his ears, a wave of heat so sudden and so violent that for a moment he thought he could literally feel the moment his cheeks changed temperature. 

His eyes opened in a way that was neither elegant nor composed, completely round, reflecting the starry sky and the sea and Eren's smile.

Eren's smile disarmed him in a way that no battle had ever managed to disarm him, because it was genuine in a way that he rarely allowed himself to be, because it revealed something tender and scared and enormous that lived behind all that hardness that the world had demanded he build. 

Armin understood at that moment that he would carry that smile with him for the rest of his life no matter what came next, that he had waited for it without knowing that he was waiting for it, that it was the answer to a question he had never been able to fully formulate.

And he opened his mouth and closed it and opened it again.

His fingers, which a moment before had held Eren's with a serene warmth earned through much emotional effort, suddenly tensed involuntarily, and he had to make a conscious effort not to let go of his hand as if it suddenly burned, because letting go would have been a clumsy and absurd movement.

The instinct to look away was so strong that it almost won, almost made his eyes escape towards the sea or the sand, but something kept him there, anchored and unable to move completely, like a small animal trapped in a very bright light.

"I... it's just that you..." he began, and his voice came out in a register he hadn't planned, slightly higher than usual, with a crack in the middle that completely gave him away. 

He stopped. He frowned with a concentration that would have been appropriate for solving a problem of military strategy and was completely disproportionate to forming a simple sentence. "What you said, I mean, when you say fault… because I …" He stopped again. 

The words become jumbled before reaching her mouth, stumbling over each other as if they'd forgotten the order in which they were supposed to come out. "It's not that I've... I mean, what I want to say is..."

The silence that followed that last unfinished sentence was probably the most eloquent that Armin had ever produced in his entire life, and that was saying a lot considering that Armin was, by nature, someone who used words with precision. 

The cold sand beneath his feet was still there, the sea was still singing, the stars were still multiplying, and Armin sat in the middle of it all with his jaw slightly dislocated and his eyes still too wide open, unable to produce a single complete thought.

Then Eren laughed.

It was a low, genuine laugh, almost surprised at herself, that came from her chest with a warmth that Armin hadn't heard from her in a long time, perhaps since before everything, since when they were children and the world was innocent.

Eren's head fell slightly forward with the weight of that laugh, his brown hair swaying over his forehead, and when he looked up again his eyes shone with something that was unmistakably tenderness, although Eren probably wouldn't have called it that out loud.

And Armin felt the heat in his face reorganize into something more manageable, the knot in his chest loosen enough to let him breathe normally, the words that had been stumbling in his throat suddenly finding the order they had lost. 

He let out a long sigh that was half surrender and half self-indulgent laughter, a small, embarrassed laugh that escaped before he could decide whether to let it out, and ran his free hand over his face in a gesture meant to hide what was already completely obvious to both of them.

When he lowered his hand and looked at Eren again, his eyes were calmer, but his cheeks were still flushed. 

Now there was determination, the same determination that had led him to ask the initial question, that had kept him staring at Eren without looking away while he waited for an answer that could have broken his heart.

"Does it mean something else?" he asked, and this time his voice came out whole, low and direct, without hesitation. His eyes met Eren's over the constant murmur of the ocean. 

Eren cleared his throat. Then, with a naturalness so forced it was almost transparent, he began to hum a melody without any defined form.

He was the exact image of someone pretending to be anywhere else in the world other than where he is, and coming from Eren it was so unexpectedly human that Armin felt something very soft and very painful squeeze the center of his chest.

Armin said nothing. He waited, 

And something in Eren's expression then changed in a way that wasn't exactly visible.

Because Eren wasn't looking at him. He was looking at the fair-haired boy with enormous blue eyes who had spoken of seeing the world with a conviction that didn't match his size or strength. That boy was still there in the angles of his face, in the way he frowned slightly when he expected something important, in the familiar curve of his mouth, and he was real and he was true and he was part of what Eren loved without having known that he loved him.

And now there was also the man who had defied death just to maintain his honor and give him peace even after a life full of sins, the same one who carried his guilt and who loved him when it seemed impossible to love him. 

That man was looking at him now with the same face as always, with a patience and a silent courage that Eren recognized as something that is not learned but built over years of choosing to stay when it would be easier to leave.

Eren looked away again, but this time only for an instant, just long enough to gather the words that had been stuck in his throat for longer than he was willing to admit, and when he looked back at Armin he did so with that awkwardness that was completely his own.

"I don't know how to say it well," he began, and his voice came out lower than he intended, raspy at the edges, as if the words had had to force their way through something that was holding them back. 

His fingers tightened around Armin's with a firmness that compensated for everything his voice couldn't sustain. "I was never good at this. You know that better than anyone." 

A brief pause followed, his eyes moving to their clasped hands before returning to Armin's face. In that look, there was something simultaneously an apology and a declaration. "But what I feel when you're around isn't the same as before. Not for a long time. And it's not just that I need you, though that's part of it, but it's... it's different. It's more."

The words came out fragmented, yet with a precision that made them understandable. Because they were laden with everything Eren didn't say but that was present in every small gesture, in how he wouldn't let go of her hand, in how the blush lingered on his cheeks.

The silence fell thick and Armin understood it, he understood it completely, because he had spent a lifetime learning to read Eren in the spaces between his words.

It was then that Eren, his cheeks still flushed and his eyes still unable to fully meet Armin's direct gaze, spoke again. His voice had a different cadence, more cautious, testing the waters.

"And Annie," he said, and the name came out on its own, unadorned.  His eyes met Armin's for a brief, direct moment before looking away again, and in that moment there was a whole question he hadn't yet uttered but that already existed in the space between them. "What about her? Do you still love her?"

The question came accompanied by his tense jaw as he waited for an answer, and by how his fingers on Armin's had suddenly become still as if his whole body was holding its breath.

Eren wondered silently if that strange and uncomfortable symmetry that made them equal in contradiction was also what separated them from being able to name each other.

Armin took his time answering, the true weight of the question, with the honesty that it demanded of him and that he owed to Eren in the same way.

The question touched on something in him that he had been mentally questioning for a long time, turning it over in the darkness of nights when Eren wasn't around him and the silence was vast enough for his own thoughts to fill all the available space, and every time he did, he arrived at the same awkward and guilty place from which he didn't quite know how to get out.

He was thinking about Annie. That was true, and there was no point in denying it, not even to himself. 

Her face appeared at specific moments, with that expression of hers that was not exactly cold but restrained, like someone who has learned not to show anything because showing something has always had too high a cost. 

He thought about the way she had looked at him on the boat, how her fingers had held his with a delicacy that did not correspond to the image the world had of her, the small and precious vulnerability she had shown him at that moment that belonged only to the two of them. 

And yet, every time I came back to that memory and examined it carefully, I found something that didn't quite fit, like a piece that didn't close with the others. 

It was a way of being that she found difficult to name precisely because it looked so much like love on the surface, but inside its a completely different thing. 

Armin thought of her with tenderness and genuine concern, wishing that she was well and that the world would treat her less harshly than she had been treated until then, and that was real and true, but it wasn't the same thing. 

This was not the same as what happened in his chest when Eren laughed or when he pronounced his name with that sweet voice he only used with him or when he squeezed his fingers in the dark as if he needed to make sure he was still there.

Annie was a confidante to Armin. He had told her all his secrets, pathetically, without receiving a reply for so many years, his voice a whisper lost in the catacombs, far from the beach where he now lay. He had poured out all his sorrows to someone he wasn't sure he loved.

And the guilt was the hardest thing to bear of all. Annie didn't fake her feelings, she wasn't confused about what she felt; she had chosen him with the same quiet determination with which she did everything else.

And Armin had let that happen, he had held her hand and had been present in that moment without stopping her, without saying what perhaps he should have said, because a part of him wanted to believe that what he felt was reciprocated, that the warmth Annie produced in him was of the same kind as the one she felt for him.

That part of him had been wrong, or had pretended not to know he was wrong, which was worse.

There was something Eren had once told him, «Bertholdt's memories tainted you» so he couldn't be completely sure which of his feelings were his own and which were the echo of someone who had loved Annie before him and from a completely different place. 

He had said it with that brutal honesty that was so characteristic of Eren, and Armin had heard it, something uncomfortable stirring inside him like something he hadn't wanted to examine too closely because examining it meant accepting that Eren might be right.

And Eren might have been right.

When Armin tried to honestly trace the origin of his feelings for Annie, when he went back in his memory far enough to find the precise moment when that warmth had begun to take a romantic form, what he found was not a clear memory from before his inheritance of the Colossal Titan. 

What he found was an after: a confusing and charged after in which he did not know for sure where Armin Arlert ended and where the emotional residue of someone who had existed before him in that same body and who had loved that same person with an intensity that had followed him to death began. 

That line was too blurry to cross with confidence, and every time he tried he ended up in the same uncomfortable place: not knowing if the love he thought he felt was his or if it was a loan from a life he hadn't lived.

He took a slow breath, held it for a moment, and then released it into the sea.

"Perhaps you were right that time," he said, and his voice came out calmer than he expected, his eyes met Eren's and remained there, unmoving, because this truth deserved the same courage Eren had shown for his own. "When you told me, I didn't want to hear it completely, but I kept it to myself. And since then, I haven't been able to stop thinking about it every time I think of her."

He paused briefly, his fingers moving lightly over Eren's, a small, almost unconscious gesture not of searching but of settling, like someone adjusting the weight of something they've been carrying for too long. "When I'm alone and I think about Annie, I always end up in the same place: I care about her. I care about her a lot, and I want her to be okay, and there's something in me that rejoices when she's near and worries when she's not." 

His eyebrows furrowed slightly, the honest concentration he put into trying to be precise about something that didn't have perfectly defined edges. "But it's not the same. It doesn't feel the same as... it doesn't feel the same way you do."

The words he hadn't finished speaking hung between them, formed enough for Eren to recognize them without Armin needing to complete them. The sea received them with its usual indifference.

"And on the ship..." he continued, his voice losing some of its firmness, not out of cowardice, but because this was where the guilt resided, and it was more honest to let that show. "I think I let fear take over. We could all die the next day, and I wanted to believe that what I felt was love because it's easier to act from love than from fear, and Annie deserved something real." 

His eyes flicked down for a moment to their clasped hands before returning to Eren's face. "I'm not sure I gave him anything real. And that weighs on me."

He said it and left it there, without embellishment or further justification, in the same way that Eren had left his own words in front of the ocean.

The silence that followed Armin's words was not awkward but dense, charged with something that neither of them named yet but that existed between them with the same physical presence as the wind or the sound of the sea.

Eren remained still for a moment that stretched long enough for Armin to observe him with attention. The tension in Eren's jaw hadn't completely disappeared; it was still there in the slightly hardened line of his profile as he stared at the ocean with a fixity that was anything but contemplative. 

There was something about the harshness of Eren's green gaze that made Armin's skin crawl, and by the time he looked at him again, that decision had already been made.

"I don't like it," he said, and he said it with such direct simplicity that for a moment Armin didn't quite know what he meant, until Eren continued with that honest awkwardness that didn't know how to mince words, even though he clearly tried sometimes. "Thinking about it. On the ship. About you and her" 

His eyes met Armin's with a visible discomfort that wasn't shame but something more akin to the resistance of someone telling a truth they'd rather not have to, because saying it meant admitting other things that lay behind it. "I don't like it, and I don't know if I have the right not to like it, but that's how it is."

Eren seemed to be fully aware of his words because after uttering them he looked away towards the sea with a sudden movement that had all the appearance of someone who had just done something irreversible and needed a moment to accept it. 

The blush that had lessened slightly during Armin's confession returned to his cheeks with a persistence that the darkness of the night could not completely hide, visible in the heat that radiated from his skin under the dim starlight, and his fingers on Armin's tensed and then loosened in an involuntary sequence that betrayed everything his expression was trying to contain.

Armin felt something stir in his chest at those words, something that wasn't exactly a surprise because somewhere deep and honest within himself he had known this was happening before they started talking that night, perhaps even before they reached that shore, but it still hit him with a force he hadn't fully anticipated. 

Because hearing it out loud was different from knowing it in silence, because Eren's words had that specific quality of making things real that were even a dream.

"Eren." He said his name softly, not as a question nor as a call, but as something in between, like when you say someone's name so they know you're really looking at them and not just glancing at them. "I didn't understand it for a long time either." 

His voice found that calm, direct cadence he used when he'd made the decision to be completely honest, no matter where that honesty might lead. "What I feel when you're near. I always found a way to explain it other than that, because it was more comfortable to call it something else."

His eyes traced Eren's profile, the angle of his jaw, the line of his nose, the brunette hair swirling in the wind, with a freedom he didn't usually allow himself so openly, a freedom that tonight felt somehow justified by everything they had already said. "I called it loyalty. I called it duty,  every name imaginable." 

A brief pause followed, during which the sea responded with a wave larger than the previous ones, sending a cold, salty breeze that reached them both at the same time. "And all of that was real. But it wasn't everything."

Eren slowly turned his head towards him with that movement, and on his face there was an expression that Armin couldn't immediately classify because it contained too many things at once, the discomfort of someone who is hearing something that affects him more than he is prepared to handle.

"Since when?" Eren asked, the question coming out lower than he probably intended, almost drowned out by the sound of the ocean.

Armin considered the question honestly, letting his memory retrace the long and bumpy road that had brought them to this shore, and found specific moments that had always existed.

"I don't know exactly," he finally replied. "I think it grew so slowly that by the time I noticed it, it was too big to ignore, and by then there were too many other things going on to stop and look at it."

Eren received those words in silence, "I think I knew it before you did." he said then, and there was something in his tone that was half confession and half the involuntary satisfaction of someone who can finally say out loud something he has been keeping to himself, although the satisfaction visibly coexisted with nervousness because Eren continued talking before Armin could respond, with that tendency of his to fill the space when he felt exposed.

"Or I sensed it. I don't know if I fully understood it, but there was something... when you weren't around, it was different. Everything was different." His fingers moved over Armin's with deliberate slowness, tracing the line of their knuckles without any apparent purpose, a small, enormously intimate gesture that neither of them acknowledged. "And I didn't want to think about it because thinking about it meant thinking about what could happen, and I already knew what was going to happen. I saw it. And yet..."

The sea responded for him with a long, gentle wave that came closer to his feet than the previous ones, slowly receding and leaving the dark sand shining brightly under the starlight.

Armin looked at their clasped hands on the cold sand, Eren's fingers still moving over his with that distracted yet conscious slowness, and felt that the space between them had changed in nature during that conversation.

He looked up at Eren, who was already looking at him, and the space between them was less than it had been at the beginning of the night, reduced by all the imperceptible centimeters that had been closing without either of them noticing, and the starlight fell on them both with equal indifference while the ocean continued to sing its song without beginning or end at their feet, eternal and patient as always.

Armin could see in Eren's eyes the exact moment when the memories began to shift, that process he recognized because he had observed it too many times: something in his expression shifted inwards, the present and warm light of the last few minutes slowly giving way to something darker and heavier that came from a place Armin could not follow, a place made of images that Eren carried alone because no one else could carry them for him.

Eren lowered his eyes to his clasped hands and his thumb stopped moving on Armin's knuckles, that distracted and precious caress that had stopped on its own and the line of his shoulders changed subtly but perceptibly.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is that all of this is..." he began, his voice taking on that slightly accelerated cadence it adopted when he thought aloud to avoid the silence, when words served as a shield against something he didn't want to fully admit. "It's complicated. Because there are things I can't undo and people I've hurt, and sometimes I wonder if I have the right to..." 

He paused, his eyes moving toward the sea, carrying that familiar weight of guilt that Armin had seen settle on him so many times, resting comfortably on his shoulders, like something that had lived in the same place for far too long. "If someone like me has the right to want something so simple after everything..."

Then Armin kissed him.

It wasn't a decision he made at the end of a rational process; it was more like instinct, that impulse of courage that Eren had given him years before. He saw the sadness settling into Eren's eyes as he had seen so many other times, and something in him made the decision without thinking.

And he leaned forward on the cold sand and placed his mouth on Eren's in the middle of that unfinished sentence, soft and direct and without hesitation, because the courage that Eren had taught him was not the one that shouted but the one that simply acted.

Eren's lips were warm despite the sea breeze, Armin felt them beneath his own with an attention he hadn't anticipated, that tender flesh yielding slightly to the touch as if it recognized something, and for a second that stretched longer than it should have lasted a second.

Neither of them moved, suspended at that point of contact with the sound of the sea enveloping them and the stars completely indifferent above their heads.

Then Armin stepped back slightly, just enough distance to allow space between their mouths. "Stop. Stop torturing yourself with sadness, Eren."

The silence that followed those words lasted exactly as long as it took Eren to process what had just happened, complete immobility with his eyes slightly wider than usual.

And then Armin made the mistake of looking directly at him in that silence, of finding those dark eyes that were observing him from a distance of centimeters with an unequivocal intensity."S-sorry ... I don't know what i was thinking to do that... i just don't wanna see you sad in your birthday and..." 

And Eren moved, direct and without preamble, taking Armin's face in his hands with a gentle firmness that didn't wait for permission but wasn't rough either, his warm palms against Armin's flushed cheeks, his thumbs barely touching the arches of his cheekbones with a delicacy that contrasted completely with the determination of the gesture, and kissed him back.

The kiss lacked the cautious gentleness of the first, but was deeper and more determined, Eren's lips finding Armin's with a pressure that spoke volumes about what had been going on between them.

His warm, firm mouth moving against him with a slowness that was completely intentional, as if Eren were using that contact to tell the truth. His truth.

Armin felt the tender flesh of his plump lips parting slightly beneath his own and responded without thinking, a hand instinctively moving towards Eren's chest, his fingers finding the fabric of his clothes and gently clinging to it.

The taste of salt and sea air that the ocean had left on them both mingled between their mouths as the waves continued to arrive and retreat at their feet with their eternal and indifferent cadence.

When Eren moved away, he did so slowly, his hands still holding Armin's face, in one fluid motion gently pushing him back until the cold, wet sand was against Armin's back and Eren was on top of him.

Eren was supporting himself on his arms with his green eyes looking down at Armin with an expression that mixed warmth with something that was unmistakably the satisfaction of someone who had just proven a point.

"Be less of a coward," Eren said, his voice low and a catlike murmur against Armin's ear. His eyes met Armin's without blinking, his brunette hair falling across his forehead in the space between them, and starlight bathed them both from above with its cold, blue clarity. "If you want to kiss me, just tell me. Don't make up an excuse."

Armin looked up at Eren's face, his heart racing, his cheeks burning bright red, and the clear awareness that there was nowhere in the world he would rather be at that moment. He took a breath. And accepted his truth.  "You're right." He said. "I just wanted to kiss you to erase your sadness." 

"And for my birthday too." Eren says with a soft little smile in his lips, stolen a short kiss from Armin's lips just to prove his point.

«Eldia, year 855.

Commander Armin Arlert: 

It's a pleasure to write to you again, Armin. Is it still appropriate to call you Commander Arlert? The Scouts don't exist as a military faction in Eldia, but that title is still yours. 

Upon hearing the news from Mikasa, I hope this letter finds you both well . I was surprised by the news, but I wouldn't expect anything less from Eren Yeager; he never tires of causing us trouble. Ever since we were teens, when the old world still stood, everything around him was about breaking the mold , no matter what he did. He became the exception to the rule, even against death itself. 

Eldia is currently experiencing a period of peace, and I know the Kirstein family visits often to stay informed. You're right to be where they are, since you're fleeing together with Eren. The Yeager factions have gained significant influence in the last year, and your presence won't be welcome on the island, Armin. 

Floch is the commander of the faction, faithfully upholding the same philosophy he shared with Eren. But now he wants you dead for betraying the nation. And everyone believes Eren is dead because of you and that the world can improve thanks to his sacrifice. In part, I agree. The future without Titans that Eren showed me that afternoon at the farm is a world that could become a better place because of him. 

My little girl, the princess will be one year old this summer, and the survivors of the original squad will be coming. It would be a pleasure to welcome you so I can congratulate you on your new position. Who would have thought that the crybaby of the 104th team would be the future of humanity? Hange couldn't choose a better successor than you, Armin. 

I hope we can meet again in the future , and that you meet the princess. I hope you return to your homeland, and that Eren can return home; Shiganshina prospered thanks to him . We owe him so much, and there are many who will want to see him again. 

Warm greetings, Commander. And my personal regards to you both, Armin. 

 

P.S. If you ever risk going back home, just send the Scout emblem.

 

History Reiss. »

A year and seven months has passed since Eren awoke from death in an abandoned house south of Marley. It's the first time they've received a letter from the Queen. Eren touches the fine paper and admires Historia's perfect calligraphy; he even perceives the faint scent of wood emanating from the white pages. 

Armin put aside the last page of the letter after finishing reading it aloud like a poem, leaning back exhausted on the wooden chair and bringing both hands to his face to rub the hollows of his eyes hard. 

Eren knows he's stressed by the letter and deeply worried as well. He decides to remain silent, and the sounds of the outside world fill the air: the slightly open windows let in a cold breeze heralding winter, and insects sing a distant symphony among the trees. 

Eren's fingertips toyed with the thin letter-opening dagger. He rested his elbow on the table and pressed his face against his palm. Beneath the table, he stretched his leg enough to brush against Armin's knees, rousing him from his endless loop of worry. "We haven't heard from Historia in a time. The princess must be a grown so well." 

“Yes, she mentioned she’ll be one year old in the summer.” Armin stretched, lowering a hand to close his fingers around Eren’s ankle and begin a series of slow strokes along his leg. Their eyes met; the light in the dining room was warm, and the cool breeze made it pleasant. “But I’m worried about what she said about the Yeager faction.” He pursed his lips, thinking. “They could interfere with the cards without her knowing. Hange-san always been right about how idiot Floch can be.” 

"Oh... Hange" Eren trails off, his lips forming a small "o" in surprise as he looks up at the ceiling. He feels comfortable with Armin's fingers gently caressing the exposed skin of his ankles. "She...?" 

“Yes.” Armin didn’t need to hear the whole question; his jaw was tight as he watched the sadness in his lover’s eyes upon hearing his answer, and he unconsciously adjusted his hand around Eren’s exposed skin to bring him back to reality. “She died by incineration of the colossal titans.” 

"I see." Eren's voice is a low whisper, and the fiddling with the sheets of paper stops when he turns his gaze towards the window that overlooks the horizon of the mountains; the trees are still small and the sky extends even further beyond where his eyes can see. 

"Eren." Armin didn't hesitate to say his name as he let go of his lover's leg, which he had been holding, and stood up from the chair to kneel before him, taking his free hand and forcing him to look at him. "That's all in the past. She would have died anyway because of the faction." 

There are no right words to comfort someone like Eren, Armin learned that over time. 

He resigns himself to fulfilling the role he was always given: to be able to tell Eren the truth without his gaze trembling . And when those almond-shaped, emerald-green eyes look at him with accumulated sadness in the form of crystalline tears that stain his dark eyelashes, Armin leans in to kiss him on the lips. 

A brief kiss, a desperate attempt by Armin to share the sorrow Eren carried in his heart. To share the weight of their sins together, as they had promised. This was their hell on earth: facing the consequences of their actions. 

Eren's lips are warm, always with a faint fruity flavor, and are moist, soft, and plump. Every time they kiss, Armin's cheeks react automatically, like a switch flipping, demonstrating how pleasurable the sensation is for him: blushing like a teenager kissing their crush for the first time. 

He does. Every kiss is a first kiss for both of them.

Eren's tears wet Armin's cheeks as they kiss. He can feel his trembling hands clench into fists, trying to contain a frustration he can't handle alone. Armin wraps his own hands around Eren's, intertwining his fingers with his, still kissing his lips in short, quick kisses that move across his face to wipe away the tears that soak everything in their path. 

Armin takes the liberty of being gentle. Patient above all else, Eren is like a desperate little boy in his arms, and he must be the one to bring him back as many times as necessary. "Calm down, darling, please." 

He remains kneeling before Eren: that is his place in the world. Being there for Eren is where Armin belongs, where he can wipe away his love's tears while caring for him, enjoy the best view of his hopeful green eyes, and find a strategic position to kiss him comfortably. 

Armin took Eren's hands and placed them on his shoulders, implicitly ordering him to hold on. He stood up so he could carry his lover to their room in a bridal style. Despite his height, Armin had grown considerably and gained strength after so many years of training. 

Holding Eren in his arms, feeling his warm breath against his neck as his sobs slowly subsided, was a blessing for Armin. He could never be grateful enough that his love was back with him. How could he be so lucky? He was blessed, he knew it well.  Armin gripped Eren's thighs and arm tightly, slid backward into the room, pushing the door open slowly and quietly. Eren's long hair obscured his sad eyes, but Armin knew those full lips were seeking comfort. He will be happy to help. 

They both collapsed onto the bed, the mattress sinking beneath their weight. The soft sheets, scented with clean soap, enveloped them in comfort. Moonlight shone from the corner of the room, peeking curiously through the loosely drawn curtains. It was a particularly bright, star-studded night. But for Armin, no star was brighter than the one he found in Eren's eyes, reflected by the silent tears that continued to wet his face. 

"I love you, Eren." Armin cuddles his best friend close. He pulls them closer, entangling their legs until there's no space between them, the pillows sinking in, and he can feel Eren's heart against his chest, knowing he 's alive and right there with him. 

A slow trail of kisses begins at the crown of Eren's head; his hair smells of green tea and wildflowers, and Armin takes a moment to inhale the scent. He lowers his lips to Eren's forehead, feeling the wrinkles formed by his furrowed brows, a futile effort to hold back tears. 

"I love you, I'm so blessed to have you." Armin's voice is a whisper, and the chaste kisses are dedicated to his brow until his expression relaxes and he can go down Eren's upturned nose, the bridge of his nose is a slide of long kisses that brush against his long eyelashes. 

Armin kisses his eyes and tastes the saltiness of his tears. Salty like the seas of the world , he thinks. "I love you, Eren." His kisses trail down to his cheeks, Armin taking his time with both, alternating between kisses so he can love both flushed cheeks long enough for the hiccups to subside.

Then Eren pulled Armin even closer as their hot breaths collided over each other's lips, and after a long session of slow kissing, Eren opened his eyes again so he could look at Armin and silently beg him, with the shared beating of their hearts, to kiss him. "She had everything to stay alive. So why i am the loved one after all my sins, Armin? Why me?"

And they kiss, sad and burdened. Loving each other so deeply that Eren gasps when Armin tenderly bites his lower lip, and one of his hands releases Eren's waist to tuck his hair behind his ear, using his shirt sleeve to wipe away the snot and tears that stain his lover's beautiful face. 

"I love you, Eren," Armin whispered, hiding his face in the moonlight, but his blue eyes shone in the reflection of the white light. Eren felt so relieved that he could only nod. "I love you, with all your sins, in heaven or hell i will love you."

"I love you, Armin," Eren whispered, stretching his face to steal another kiss from his lips and trying to smile in a strange grimace as his cheeks felt hot and flushed. It was still so embarrassing to kiss his best friend. "I love you, i love you."

But everything Eren feels fades into the background when Armin's bright smile appears with just those two words; he's such an easy man to love, and warmth settles in his chest as Armin begins another session of slow and sloppy kisses, growing drowsy with the passing of minutes.

The afternoon arrived earlier than expected, with that grayish light that winter has when it settles in, filtering through the bare branches of the trees that lined the path to the cabin and tinting everything with a cold and still tone that made the smoke coming out of the cabin's chimney seem especially warm in contrast. 

Armin pushed open the front door with his shoulder, his hands full of bags that crunched with every step. His hair was slightly damp from the cold walk back from the bookstore, and his cheeks flushed from the outside temperature. He stepped into the cabin, his energy barely contained. “I’m home, Eren!”

Eren was in the armchair closest to the main fireplace with an open book on his knees that he clearly hadn't been reading very carefully, because he looked up at the door before Armin had finished closing it. 

His eyes, inquisitive and attentive, scanned the bags with an expression that mixed curiosity with something slightly cautious, the book now completely forgotten on his lap. "You arrived early." 

"It's going to snow," Armin replied with a barely suppressed smile, placing the bags on the dining room table with a care that suggested their contents mattered. He turned to Eren, his eyes hopeful, seeking a reciprocated happiness in the knowledge. "I heard it at the bookstore this morning, and the sky's been that color it usually has before the first snowfall for hours." 

He pull off his coat and hung it on the hook by the entrance, still staring at it. "So I brought clothes, because we're going out when it starts to get cold."

Eren looked at him for a moment with a blank expression and cautiously approached the bags, touching the edges with his fingertips so he could get a good look at the contents like a curious cat. "Did you buy clothes?" he repeated. 

"Yes, for you, obviously," Armin confirmed matter-of-factly, as if this were the most logical consequence in the world of having left work early. "Yours wasn't enough for what I've planned."

They both went up to the main room, the warmth felt on the skin from the moment one crossed the threshold and Eren was standing in the center of that space with the bags open on the bed and an expression that tried to remain natural even though curiosity was slowly killing him.

Armin sits across from him in the chair at the makeshift desk he uses to read books on sleepless nights. His blue gaze is fixed on Eren, causing a noticeable shyness in his movements. "Come on, I want to see you with your clothes on." 

Eren observes Armin with narrowed eyes and bites the inside of his cheek hard. He knows Armin is playing with him; he notices the gleam of amusement in his dilated pupils and in the restrained smile he hides while leisurely licking his lips.

"Try on the shirt first." Armin encouraged him, with the tone of someone making a suggestion but actually giving an order, pointing briefly at the garment he had left folded on the duvet.

Eren took it and examined it for a moment, then looked at Armin with a slightly raised eyebrow. "Are you going to watch me while I change?"

"I need to check if the size is correct," Armin replied with completely unflappable reasonableness.

Eren, defeated and shy, let out a soft sigh as he felt the gentle warmth rise to his cheeks while he played with the hem of his gray shirt. Although the room was properly heated thanks to the room's personal fireplace, his skin prickled at the touch of the light breeze that lingered in the room.

Or perhaps it was because of Armin's unwavering gaze fixed on his waist. Eren isn't sure. 

The light from the fireplaces bathed him in golden hues, casting his shadow on the wooden wall behind him, and Armin watched in complete silence, his eyes missing not a single detail of Eren. The way his skin revealed itself to him with innocent sensuality, how Eren's long fingers closed on the plush fabric of the t-shirt, the revelation of his half-naked body after a short, swift movement. 

Armin catches his breath for a second when Eren looks down, a few strands of chocolate-brown hair framing his face, leaving him vulnerable and vulnerable, making him feel small. He has to look away for a moment to compose himself. 

Eren finishes dressing; the shirt is draped over his body and fits perfectly. Of course, Armin had guessed the size correctly from the start. The fabric is soft against his skin and smooth on the inside, as if it had a thick lining to ward off the biting cold.

He is too focused on the soft sensations of the fabric and trying, pathetically, to avoid Armin's gaze, which he doesn't notice when Armin is now standing in front of him, extending his hands over his and stopping the clumsy movements of his fingers. 

“Let me do it for you, Eren.” Armin speaks almost in a whisper, their eyes meeting, Armin’s round eyes observing him with tenderness and infinite patience. Eren’s cheeks flush even more, but he nods obediently as he lets his hands fall to his sides. 

Armin's long, bony fingers moved smoothly and elegantly across each of the remaining buttons, slowly and patiently. Eren's eyes were focused on every small movement, and when they reached his stomach, he couldn't help but sigh, trembling. "Armin..." 

Armin's knuckles gently brushed against his skin, sending shivers down his spine. Eren was embarrassed, and his gaze met Armin's. Although surprise was evident on Armin's face, he said nothing; instead, an amused smile played on his lips. "I didn't know you were ticklish." 

Eren looks away, completely embarrassed, and heat rises to his ears and spreads throughout his body. He feels Armin's laughter echo in his chest as he finishes his work and takes a couple of steps back to get a better look. Silence hangs between them, broken only by the crackling of the wood in the fireplace as it turns into hot embers. 

The pants arrived inevitably after a few seconds of silence, and a soft sound escaped from Armin's throat to break the silence and awaken Eren from his reverie.

“Finish getting dressed. If you need help, I’m here.” Armin says with the gentleness and simplicity that characterize him so much. This time he doesn’t sit down; he remains standing to one side of the wooden chair, his hand resting on the back, deliberately observing Eren with the same intensity as before. 

Eren's chest was a jumble of conflicting emotions, of course. He could still feel the lingering echo of Armin's laughter in his chest, and his hands were still sweating as he tried to pull down his pants with quick movements. It was so much more embarrassing when you did it in front of the guy you liked. How had something so routine suddenly become so shameful? He almost wanted to tell Armin to turn away; his gaze was making him incredibly nervous. 

Eren felt the weight of Armin's gaze like a tangible caress on his exposed skin, a warm and constant pressure that made every movement of his clumsy and deliberate at the same time. 

The cold outside seemed distant now, relegated to the other side of the fogged windows, while the soft crackling of the fireplace filled the room with a low, steady rhythm that accompanied the accelerated beating of his chest. 

He managed to pull down his trousers with a swift tug, revealing the skin of his legs, which prickled not only from the change in temperature but also from the acute awareness of being watched. The blush on his cheeks spread to his neck and chest, tinting his skin a pinkish hue that contrasted with the golden light cast by the flames. 

Although she tried to maintain her composure, her treacherous body instinctively sought Armin's proximity, leaning just a little towards him while pretending to concentrate on the new garment lying folded on the bed. 

In a soft voice, almost childlike in its feigned innocence, she murmured without fully raising her eyes: “Armin… these pants have a complicated zipper. I don’t think I can figure out how it goes.” His green eyes lifted for a moment, large and vulnerable, with a playful gleam that betrayed that he knew exactly what he was doing, even though his fingers trembled slightly on the fabric as if he really needed help.

Armin approached without hesitation, that restrained smile still curving his lips as his deep, serene blue eyes scanned Eren's half-naked body with a mixture of tenderness and repressed desire. 

His long, nimble hands gently rested on Eren's, guiding them with infinite patience. "Let me help you," he whispered, his warm breath brushing against Eren's low-tummy, sending a shiver down his spine. 

Eren reacted with genuine shyness, his muscles tensed, his breathing became shallower, but at the same time he subtly tilted his hips forward, seeking the touch of those knuckles that now slid with exasperating slowness through the fabric. 

When Armin knelt slightly to adjust the garment, the proximity became almost unbearable. Armin's fingers grazed the sensitive skin of Eren's hips with every movement, generating gentle tickles that made his hips tremble involuntarily. 

Eren bit his lower lip hard, holding back a trembling sigh, as his body arched at the slightest touch, yearning for more despite the embarrassment that burned across his face. 

Armin had to hold him with a firm hand on his waist to stabilize his body, his fingers gently pressing against the warm flesh, and they both shared a look full of silent complicity. 

Although admitting it would be embarrassing, they both enjoy this game where Eren's feigned innocence is complemented by his body's lustful reactions, and Armin's amused patience, which didn't entirely hide how much he liked having that control over him. 

“Stay still for a moment,” Armin murmured in a low, hoarse voice, his thumbs tracing almost imperceptible circles on Eren’s skin to calm his tremors. 

Eren obeyed, though his chest rose and fell rapidly, and a small sound escaped his throat when Armin's fingers accidentally brushed against a particularly sensitive spot near his lower abdomen. "Ugh... Armin."

The room felt heavy and intimate, with the smell of burnt wood and an enveloping warmth that contrasted with the winter gray that could be glimpsed behind the curtains. 

Finally, Armin finished buttoning the pants with one last precise movement, adjusting the fabric so it fell perfectly over Eren's body, highlighting his slender, athletic figure. "Was I too long, angel?"

He stood up slowly, taking a step back to admire his finished work. Eren was now dressed in his new clothes: the soft, warm shirt that hugged his torso, the trousers that accentuated his long legs, all in neutral, warm tones that Armin had chosen with him in mind. 

Armin's blue eyes shone with obvious pride, taking in every detail as if he were observing a final work of art he had created with his own hands, a satisfied and slightly conceited expression softening his usually serene features.

Eren with his cheeks still flushed and his heart pounding, crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head, a playful smile playing on his lips despite his lingering shyness. “Stop looking at me like that, you pervert.” His voice held a mocking tone, but his green eyes remained fixed on Armin with a warmth that betrayed how much he had enjoyed every second of their closeness.

Armin couldn't help but laugh loudly and raised his hands in surrender. "I'm not looking at you like that. You asked me for help with those innocent eyes of yours." 

His voice was low and contained so much mockery that it made Eren laugh as well; they both moved enough to be able to get closer again with their eyes fixed on each other. 

“Is that so?” Eren asked softly as his chest brushed against Armin’s, and he wrapped his hands around his waist in a smooth motion. 

“Yes, you looked at me with these same eyes as you do now. And you know how weak I am.” Armin reached out to cup Eren's cheeks and lower his face enough to place a soft kiss on his lips, unable to resist closing his eyes for a moment to savor Eren's plump, cold lips against his own. 

“But we’d better hurry and leave, I want us to see the snow fall.” Armin gently pulls away, still holding Eren’s face in his hands and watching him search for another kiss with his eyes closed like a needy puppy, he can’t help but smile.

Armin released Eren's cheeks with one last gentle pinch and turned to the window with renewed determination, watching the sky that had taken on that leaden, dense hue that precedes snow with an impatience barely disguised in the way he briefly drummed his fingers on the windowsill. 

The filtering light was already scarce, almost completely dissolved by the afternoon that descended upon the mountain and the outlines of the trees lining the road had become blurred, indistinct from the low mist that was beginning to curl among their trunks like cold smoke. "If we hurry, we'll arrive before it gets completely dark," he murmured almost to himself.

Eren followed him with his eyes for a moment before reacting, shaking his head slightly as if he needed to clear himself of the pleasant drowsiness that Armin's closeness always left settled in his chest.

The wardrobe mirror reflected his image as he passed by and stopped for barely a second, inspecting the new clothes. Armin knew him with that kind of thoroughness that never ceased to amaze him.

They went down together down the wooden staircase whose fifth step always creaked under the weight of any footstep, and the warmth of the fireplace on the ground floor welcomed them like a hug, an immediate and familiar warmth that contrasted with the cold that was anticipated at the edge of the windows. 

Armin paused long enough to feed the fire with a couple of extra pieces of wood, making sure the cabin retained its warmth in his absence, then stood up, wiped his hands against the thighs of his trousers, and turned toward the entrance with bright, active eyes. 

"Okay," Armin said, taking his keys from the hook by the door with a metallic jingle that echoed in the silence of the cabin.

The door opened and the cold rushed in; the air smelled of damp earth, of pine that filled the lungs with an almost painful clarity. The path in front of the cabin was covered with a layer of leaves darkened by the moisture, and the sky above them was a dense canvas of low, bluish-gray clouds that absorbed the last vestiges of afternoon light with a silent voracity. 

The path descended in a gentle, steady slope between the trees, winding indifferently along the hillside. Armin walked with confident steps. “They brought a book to the library this morning, across the sea. I hope I can borrow it someday so we can read it together,” he said.

"On the other side of the sea?" Eren observed Armin's profile, which was very focused on the ground, and felt his hand against his body guiding his steps. The sound of branches crunching under his feet. 

“The seal didn’t recognize him, and I overheard something.” He said, and now Armin looked up to meet Eren’s green eyes. “If we have time, we can look for him when we get there.”

As the trees began to space out and the village lights became visible between the trunks, distant and warm like embers suspended in the approaching darkness, something changed in Eren's posture. 

It was subtle at first, almost imperceptible: his shoulders lifted barely an inch, his steps became less automatic and more measured, his hands closed slightly inside his coat pockets. “Wait… Armin.”

Armin slowed his pace without comment, matching Eren's slower rhythm, and allowed the silence to settle naturally between them. "Okay, I'm here."

Eren's feet stopped moving as the last rows of trees gave way to the first open space that marked the beginning of the village, "What if...?" He couldn't finish the sentence, his lips pressed together in a tense line that wasn't quite a grimace but was close to it.

Eren had been on the mountain for a year without descending; the world of the valley had continued to spin at its own pace while he rebuilt his life, in the territory delimited by the cabin and the forest and the silence that had healed him. 

That time had been necessary and it had also been his, completely his, but now he was standing on the edge of something and felt a pressure in his chest that was tearing words from him.

Armin stood beside him without saying a word for a moment. Instead, he calmly moved his hand and placed it on Eren's lower back, firm and warm even through the thick coat. "It's been so long, Eren. You don't have to worry about anything. I'm with you."

Eren exhaled a long breath through his nose, his shoulders barely lowering, and the rigidity of his posture dissolved. 

"You're different from who you were, I'm here for you," Armin said softly, their eyes meeting again, the confidence in Armin's blue eyes mingling with the fragile vulnerability Eren hid in his trembling pupils. 

Eren swallowed, nodded once, and took the first step together with Armin, together. 

The village unfolded before them with generous slowness, built with the same stone as the surrounding mountains, nestled in the valley as if they had grown there. The houses were low and had light facades, with dark slate roofs over which the mist settled like a thin veil, and the windows spilled an orange and yellow light into the street that blended with the deep blue of twilight. 

Garlands of dim white lights decorated the eaves of some facades and the awnings of the stalls that were still open at that hour, and their reflections were duplicated on the damp cobblestones with an irregularity, like fallen and trodden constellations.

The air in the village had a different texture than in the mountains, heavier, more inhabited, with the smell of burning wood from all the lit chimneys interwoven with that of fresh bread and something sweet and undefined that could have been cinnamon or vanilla. 

There were few people outside at that hour, most already sheltering inside their homes. There were also those crossing the street, doing so with the leisurely pace and without haste of those who know every stone on the road and do not need to look where they step.

Some greeted Armin with a brief nod or a name mentioned in passing, and Armin responded with the naturalness of someone who belongs to a place without needing to claim it, without needing to prove it. 

Eren walked beside him with his shoulders still somewhat tense but his eyes more open, more curious, drinking in the surroundings with the hungry attention of someone who has missed the world without it having been fully admitted to him.

Armin led him leisurely down the first cobbled street that descended from the village entrance towards its center, his hand still intermittently resting on Eren's lower back whenever the path narrowed or when they turned a corner, a brief, constant contact that acted as an invisible thread between them. 

He spoke in a low voice, with that warm modulation he acquires when something truly matters to him, 

"This is the bookstore where I have to come every day," he said as they stopped in front of a narrow, dark gray stone facade with a shop window lit from within that turned the spines of the displayed books into amber and ochre tones. 

The painted wooden sign above the door swayed very slightly in the breeze, and inside, the silhouette of someone moving things between shelves could be seen, probably closing up for the night. "At first, I was afraid. I didn't feel like I belonged, and it was presumptuous of me to want to interfere in the lives of these people who would hate me just for where I'm from."

He gestured with his chin to the window, his eyes never leaving her, a half-smile that held something old and dear within. "But you were, and still are, the only reason I keep coming back. I hope you get used to the town the same way I did."

Eren gazed silently at the shop window, the light spilling in from within, the way the neatly arranged books seemed to blend seamlessly into the decor, and something in his chest tightened gently. “And your need to steal a few books to take home is also a reason to come.” 

Armin avoided showing the smile that formed on his lips at Eren's comment and they continued walking, he led him through a side alley that opened unexpectedly into a small square that would not have been possible to anticipate from the main street. 

At the far end of the square, a small cafe with curtains on the window let out through the half-open door the muffled sound of voices and the concentrated smell of coffee and hot butter. 

"I come here when I finish work at the bookstore," Armin said, his voice a little quieter and more intimate. "I always sit on that bench, the one on the left, and read for an hour before going upstairs." He paused briefly, his eyes on the empty bench, damp with the evening chill. "I've often thought how different things would be if you were sitting here with me."

Eren heard it and didn't respond immediately. He saw everything with the new and strange perspective of imagining Armin there alone, for months, building in his mind a place for him that still hadn't arrived. "Armin," he said softly, and the name alone, just like that, was enough.

Armin turned towards him with the same total attention he gave when Eren spoke, his blue eyes fixed and serene, and found on Eren's face an expression that was neither exactly sadness nor exactly gratitude.

“I hope I can come back with you many more times to read there.” Eren said softly, the cold wind suddenly stinging the tip of his nose and biting his lips at the surge of emotions his own words stirred within him. 

Armin met Eren's gaze with the same calmness he displayed throughout his life, neither forcing it nor looking away, and then bowed his head slightly. "We'll start now, to make up for all the lost time."

Eren responded with a small smile, and Armin mimicked him, and the two continued walking together through the narrow streets of the village as the sky finished darkening above them and the wrought iron streetlights lit up one by one with their orange glow. 

The park was left behind as Armin spun around with restrained energy and turned to Eren, his eyes shining and his cheeks flushed from the cold. "There's something else I want to show you," he said, and in his voice there was an anticipation that he couldn't quite hide no matter how hard he tried. 

"The village cafe has something special this week for the winter solstice. They've made a hot chocolate with seasonal spices, which they've been advertising on the sign by the entrance for days. I saw it when I passed by on Tuesday, and I've been thinking about it ever since." He paused briefly, and in that pause there was more than just enthusiasm for a hot drink. "I wanted to try it with you. I waited to do it with you."

Eren pretended to consider it, raising an eyebrow with a deliberately serious expression while a sly smile played at the corner of his lips. He crossed his arms over his chest, pausing in the middle of the cobblestone street to prolong the moment, enjoying the faint blush that was beginning to tinge Armin's cheeks at his apparent resistance. "I don't know... it's been a long day, and I'm still a little overwhelmed by all these people," he replied playfully, though his eyes sparkled with amusement. "Maybe you should try a little harder to convince me."

Then Armin took a step closer, just one, his hands clasped behind his back and his head tilted slightly to one side, and spoke in that low, deliberately charming tone he reserved for special occasions. "It's hot chocolate with cardamom, cinnamon, and orange. And cream on top." He let that hang in the cool air between them for a moment. "Only this week."

Eren blinked once, staring at the cobblestone. His lips pressed tighter together to suppress the smile that threatened to escape. 

"And it's night, and it's going to snow," Armin continued with serene, slightly relentless patience, taking another half-step, "and there are tables by the window from which you can watch it fall."

Eren turned his head very slowly toward him, and looked at him with eyes that feigned severity; he wasn't quite succeeding. "And what else?" he said in a low voice, and the question was a trap that they both recognized at the same time.

Armin suppressed the bright smile he was about to unleash and avoided thinking about the bubbly sensation that settled in his body after Eren's question stirred something beyond his clothes. 

“Please, Eren. Just one cup. I want to share this with you,” Armin insisted in a lower, almost pleading voice, as his thumb gently brushed the back of Eren’s hand.

Finally satisfied, Eren relented with a broad smile that softened the harsh lines of his face. “Fine, you win. Let’s try that chocolate.”

As soon as the words left his lips, Armin leaned forward tenderly and placed a chaste, warm kiss upon Eren's lips, a brief but affectionate touch that made both their hearts beat faster. The contact was gentle, almost reverent, and left Eren with a feeling of warmth that spread through his chest as they continued walking.

They walked towards the cafeteria holding each other's pinkies, a small but deeply meaningful gesture that Eren couldn't help but notice. 

He felt Armin's soft skin against him, the gentle sway of their synchronized steps, and this discreet connection brought her a deep peace that dispelled any lingering nervousness. Armin spoke animatedly about his routine in the village: the mornings at the bookstore, the afternoons he spent lingering in the square to observe, and the evenings he bought chocolate to take back to the cabin, always thinking about the moment they could do it together. 

Eren listened attentively, focused on that link between his pinkies and the feeling of belonging it generated with something so mundane yet special.

Upon arriving at the cafe, Armin opened the door and the interior greeted them immediately: the warmth was instant and enveloping. The place revealed itself as an old-fashioned yet profoundly homey space, with exposed stone walls adorned with dark wood shelves overflowing with porcelain cups and antique books, polished oak tables covered with checkered tablecloths, and a large fireplace at the far end where crackling logs filled the air with a comforting aroma of burning wood and cocoa. The soft glow of fabric-shaded lamps cast an amber light throughout the interior, creating a warm refuge from the cold outside.

They found a table next to one of the low windows, from where the fogged glass revealed a blurry, luminous version of the street, the streetlights transformed into patches of orange light that blended with the reflection of the wet cobblestones. 

Armin stopped behind the chair and moved it outward with a brief, precise gesture, one hand on the back, looking at Eren with an expression that tried to be natural but beneath that naturalness lay an oppressive shyness. "Sit down," he said, and extended his other hand toward Eren's coat with a silent question.

Eren paused for a full second, staring at the chair and the outstretched hand, his expression flashing through surprise, confusion, and something softer and more indefinable. He slowly removed his coat, placing it in Armin's hands with the same deliberate slowness, as if needing that extra time to fully process the gesture, and sat down in the chair, which Armin pushed back against the table with the same calm precision.

"What are you doing?" Eren asked, but there was no complaint in his voice, only genuine curiosity and eyes that followed Armin's smooth and slightly clumsy movements, not overlooking the reddish tips of his ears. 

Armin hung the two coats on the hooks by the window with a few movements and sat down opposite Eren, and it was only then, when Eren's eyes found him from the other side of the small table, that question still hung between them.

Armin's fingers rested on the table and he drummed them once, twice, with a cadence that betrayed the inner work of someone choosing how to say something. "I learned it," he said finally, his voice more controlled than his cheeks. "At the bookstore, when the older couples come in on Saturdays. The husbands always pull out their wives' chairs before they sit down to browse the books." 

Armin paused briefly, his eyes fixed on the tabletop before raising them to Eren with a frankness he struggled to maintain. His cheeks flushed pink. "When I came to get the chocolate to take to the cabin, they always take their wives' coats while they wait for the coffee." 

Eren watched him during that moment with calm eyes, a little brighter than usual, and then rested his chin on his hand with his elbow on the table and said with a studied calmness that barely hid the laughter that was building up in his chest.

“You look adorable when you get so shy about your own actions,” he teased affectionately, reaching out to brush Armin’s fingers across the table. “Are you so embarrassed to admit you want to take care of me like this?”

"You didn't seem particularly uncomfortable either," Armin replied more quickly than he would have liked, and there was something in his voice that was meant to be an argument but sounded considerably closer to an affectionate accusation, "The chair, the coat, and everything else. You sat down very comfortably for someone who claims to be surprised."

Eren opened his mouth, closed it, and let out a genuine laugh that echoed softly in the warm interior of the café, drawing a brief, benevolent glance from the owner. He leaned closer, lowering his voice so only Armin could hear him. “You’re right. I don’t mind holding that position at all… as long as I’m your wife,” he admitted sincerely, his green eyes filled with a mixture of amusement and deep emotion as he gently squeezed Armin’s fingers.

Armin's blush deepened; he opened his mouth to reply, but a broad, happy smile spread across his face, dispelling their shared shyness and replacing it with an intimate warmth. "You will be; you'll always have that position."

Eren smiled down at the window, his gaze lowered, playfully denying his own words. "That's so typical of you." He let Armin recover in peace, because he could afford to, because he had all the time in the world, and because seeing him like this, shy and aroused and completely his, was one of the most endearing things he had the pleasure of witnessing. 

The chocolate arrived in two thick, dark ceramic cups that the server carefully placed on the table, and the steam rising from the surface carried with it the exact scent Armin had anticipated for days: cinnamon and cardamom interwoven with something citrusy and warm that was orange, and underneath it all the deep, dark cocoa that was the base of everything else.

Armin immediately circled his mug with both hands, letting the heat pass through his palms and knuckles, and looked at Eren across the table.

Eren wasn't looking at it. He had his own cup in his hands too, but his eyes were turned towards the window with a calm and absorbed concentration, following the movement outside with unhurried attention.

Outside, the town had found its most vivid and brightest version in the complete darkness of the night: the lights of the garlands multiplied now more clearly against the black background of the sky, and the people who walked the street did so with the slowest and most festive pace.

Armin watched him observe all of that. And he thought there was something about Eren looking at the world with that silence that completely stopped him in his tracks. 

He remembered what he was like before, he remembered the Eren that the war had taken from him. 

The war years, the hardest to name, had changed in so many different ways, none of them entirely their own. There had been distance, and silences that were uncomfortable and sometimes harmful, and decisions made in the urgency of moments that didn't allow for deliberation, and then they had to live with the consequences.

But all of that—the distance, the silences, the decisions that had cost more than expected—had ultimately led him here. At this small table by a fogged window in a village lost among the mountains, with a cup of hot chocolate in his hands and Eren on the other side, alive and present in a way that a year ago would have been impossible to anticipate with such certainty. 

Armin had learned over the years to distrust the idea that things happen for some reason that justifies them, because that idea seemed to him a convenient way of not looking squarely at the cost of what had been lost along the way. 

But he could recognize, without needing to assign a cause, that what he had now was real and was his and was Eren's too, and that it was worth more than he knew how to say.

Eren had chosen him. That was what continued to amaze him with a consistency that time hadn't yet eroded, and perhaps never would. Eren, who could have chosen anything else for this second life they were building together with deliberate and careful slowness, had chosen the cabin in the mountains, the silence of the forest, the evenings by the fireplace, and the long winter nights soothing his sadness—and he had chosen him within all of it.

What the war had stolen from them since childhood was precisely this; the possibility of being ordinary. They had come late to that possibility, later than either of them would have liked, but they had arrived, and Armin held that with gratitude.

Nothing they had left behind worried him with the urgency it once had. The distances separating them from the places and people they had known existed, but they were a condition of the present, not a wound that continued to ache. He could hold onto the memory of all that had come before without that memory demanding to know the present moment.

And in that, too, Eren had had something to do with it, because there was something about the way Eren inhabited the present. 

Eren was still looking out the window when a group of children ran past on the street with paper lanterns in their hands, the blue and red colors swaying in the cold air with every movement, and a smile slowly appeared on Eren's lips, a small, genuine smile that wasn't directed at anyone but was simply his face's natural response to something he had found beautiful. 

And as if he had felt the weight of Armin's gaze upon him, with that sensitivity that develops between two people who have known each other since the very beginning, he slowly turned his head toward him. "Did you enjoy the coffee?" he asked.

Their eyes met on the small table and the space between them, and what Eren had in his eyes when he looked at him was something Armin wouldn't have been able to describe in a single word but immediately recognized in all its components, there was calmness in them. 

Armin felt something moving inside him with a gentleness that wasn't pain, though it resembled it in intensity. "It's delicious, what did you think?" Armin replied, and there was something filling his entire chest.

He held that gaze with the same stillness with which Eren was offering it to him, without rushing to fill it with words, he circled the cup with both hands a little tighter, the warmth of the ceramic against his palms, and let the moment exist exactly as it was: complete. 

Eren's smile grew slowly, unhurriedly. He tilted his head slightly toward the mug and brought the ceramic to his lips with both hands. He took a long, slow sip, and when he lowered the mug back to the table, a trace of cream remained on his upper lip, a small white smear he didn't notice because he was too busy staring at Armin. "It's delicious, the cream is so good. You should try it," he said. 

Armin did notice the trace of cream on his lips.

With a fluid and decisive movement, Eren leaned forward, closing the distance between them. His lips still bore traces of coffee cream, a soft, white smudge at the corner that gave him an almost childlike and terribly attractive appearance. 

Armin barely had time to exhale before Eren's mouth captured his in a deep, lingering, and gentle kiss, too intimate to be appropriate in a public place. The contact was tender at first, a delicate pressure that soon grew more insistent; Eren's lips tasted of sweet coffee and cream, warm and slightly moist, moving against his with a deliberate slowness that sent waves of pleasure through Armin's body. 

Armin closed his eyes, surrendering to the kiss, feeling Eren's hand subtly brush against his on the table, a discreet anchor amidst the intensity of the moment.

When they finally separated, both were breathing a little more heavily. Eren leaned back in his seat with a satisfied expression, wiping the remaining cream from his mouth with the back of his hand as a low, husky laugh escaped his throat. “Mh, the cinnamon is stronger in your coffee.”

His eyes sparkled with amusement as he observed Armin's face with flushed cheeks, slightly swollen lips, and a glassy look of surprise and pure pleasure that he couldn't hide.

“Come back to reality, minmin,” he said teasingly, though his voice was still full of affection. “Being lost in that head of yours isn’t good.”

Armin blinked, trying to regain his composure as a shy, adoring smile spread across his lips. The blush on his cheeks deepened, but he didn't look away. "I wasn't thinking anything bad," he said, his voice coming out more direct than he'd intended.

Armin felt something inside him give way with the quiet inevitability of something that had been held for too long with too much tension. "I was thinking about how happy I am right now. In this moment, here." He paused very briefly and then added, with the same imperturbable simplicity, "With you."

The confession took Eren by surprise. His eyes widened slightly, and for the first time in a long time, he was the one who showed vulnerability. A light blush tinged his tanned cheeks, and he glanced out the window, feigning interest in the solstice celebration still going on outside. 

His fingers drummed restlessly on the table, betraying the sudden shyness that had overcome him, something uncommon in someone as direct as him, and the mischievous smile from before transformed into a more restrained, almost childlike expression, as he tried to process Armin's honest words.

Armin couldn't help but smile even wider, feeling a wave of tenderness and amusement at that reaction. He leaned slightly forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Just look at that," he murmured playfully, mimicking the teasing tone Eren had used earlier. "Getting all flustered over a few simple words. I think this time it's my turn to remind you to come back to reality, angel."

Eren looked up with a speed that betrayed him completely, letting out a short, embarrassed laugh, shaking his head slightly, still not daring to meet her gaze fully. "You caught me." 

Eren smiled with those green eyes that held all the calm he had acquired with infinite patience. 

Eren and Armin left the cafeteria enveloped in a cascade of suppressed laughter that they could barely conceal, pushing the wooden door with their shoulders as the tinkling of the bell announced their departure. 

They walked hand in hand, their fingers tightly intertwined, pretending to gaze intently at the brightly lit shop windows lining the main street. Yet their eyes kept drifting to each other, heavy with complicity and that sweet, simmering tension that grew with every touch and every word.

Armin lightly squeezed Eren's hand as they walked, turning his head toward him with an exaggerated expression of reproach that barely contained the bubbling laughter in his throat. His blond hair moved in the breeze, and his cheeks still bore a faint blush from the kiss in the cafeteria.

“I can’t believe you caused all this and now you’re pretending to be innocent,” Armin said in a low but dramatic voice, gently pulling Eren’s hand closer as they pointed to a shop window with festive decorations. “The owner practically gave me a lecture when I paid the bill!”

Eren let out a stifled laugh, leaning his head toward Armin's shoulder as their fingers intertwined a little tighter, defying the cold that threatened to numb them. "You're exaggerating, Armin. Clearly, the good woman was dazzled by my devoted husband's dedication," he retorted with a feigned seriousness betrayed only by the malicious glint in his green eyes.

"You're an unbearable brat, Eren. Don't test my patience," he said, though his lips curved into an amused line that belied any trace of severity. 

Eren opened his mouth to reply, but at that precise moment something interrupted him. It was a small thing, almost imperceptible, a light, cold weight on the back of his free hand, and when he lowered his eyes he saw a snowflake perched on his knuckles with perfect fragility.

He looked up at the sky and the snow was falling, still fine and slow, with that initial hesitation of the first snowfall that seems to test the air before committing, the small, separate flakes descending in paths that the wind curved slightly before letting them reach the cobblestone.

He looked at Armin to tell him and realized that Armin had already seen him. He was standing with his head tilted back towards the sky and his eyes wide open, and the expression on his face was one that Eren hadn't seen in a long time.

It was an expression of absolute youth, of the ten years they had when they were children and the world still seemed bigger than their own capacity to understand it, and Eren received it with his heart bursting with love. 

"The snow," Armin said with an utterly charming nonchalance, still gazing upwards, then lowered his eyes to Eren with an urgency that swept away the entire previous conversation as if it had never existed. "The park. We have to go to the park now; from there you can see the snow falling all over the mountain, and there's enough space to..." 

He left the sentence unfinished because he was already in motion, taking his hand out of Eren's pocket to take his hand directly, their fingers intertwined now without any coat in between, and pulled him with a determination that admitted no negotiation or delay.

Eren let himself be carried away by the first step and then the second, and by the third he was already trotting alongside Armin because he was not walking but running, with his coat moving around him and his scarf rising in the wind from the movement and his feet on the wet cobblestone producing a rhythmic and hurried sound that mingled with the distant music of the accordion and with the celebration of the town that continued around him with its lights and its people and its paper lanterns. 

The snow fell on them as they ran, on the shoulders of their coats and on Armin's hair, who wasn't wearing a hat and received it directly; small flakes that settled and melted in seconds, leaving only the cold of their passage.

Eren ran and watched Armin running ahead of him, pulling at his hand with a joyful and impatient force, his eyes shining and laughter bursting from his mouth in clouds of white vapor that the cold air drew and undid in fractions of a second, and he thought there was something about Armin running towards the snow with that  urgency and that happiness that couldn't fit in his body that was more than any words he had available could have contained. 

Her feet kept pace with Armin's, and his hand squeezed Armin's with the same force that Armin squeezed him, and the two ran together through the lit streets of the town as the first snowfall of winter fell upon them with the quiet generosity of things that do not need to ask permission to be exactly what they are.

They arrived at the village park, an open space where the broad-canopied trees were already beginning to be adorned with a fine white blanket. The wrought-iron lampposts illuminated the constant fall of the snowflakes, creating an atmosphere suspended in time, a silent and perfect setting.

Armin let go of Eren's hand and moved towards the center of the clearing, crouching down to gather the thin layer of snow that accumulated on the grass, shaping it with the palms of his bare hands, laughing out loud when the cold burned his skin. 

Eren stayed a few steps behind, watching him. The sound of Armin's laughter, free from the ghosts of the past, floated in the night air, and Eren couldn't help but be swept up in it; he approached with quick steps, scooped up a handful of snow, and threw it over his shoulder, starting a game of chases and dodges among the tree trunks, where laughter replaced words.

As he dodged a poorly aimed snowball from Armin and hid behind the trunk of an ancient oak tree, Eren leaned his back against the rough wood, trying to catch his breath. The cold air stung his lungs, but inside he felt strangely ignited. 

He gazed up at the sky, letting the snowflakes fall on his face, and a profound wave of gratitude washed over him. He was grateful to Ymir and his kind soulf that let him explore more life, who has compassion for his young soul, hes thankful to fate, or to whatever remnant of magic had allowed him to be reborn, granting him the chance to be there, in an ordinary park, playing in the snow as he never could in his childhood.

Time with its relentless march, had shown him a truth that he had not been able to understand before amidst the blood and the trenches: the love that was truly worthwhile, the only one that had the power to keep him standing, was the one he felt for his best friend. 

Life was finally giving him a reward after such a dense existence, so full of pain and sacrifices, and every step he took now on that snowy ground was a confirmation of the freedom he had desperately pursued throughout his life; a freedom that no longer meant sweeping across horizons, but the simple possibility of existing alongside the person who had cared for him in his worst moments, who had picked up his broken pieces without asking for anything in return.

"Gotcha!" Armin shouted, appearing from the side of the tree and throwing a handful of snow that hit Eren squarely in the chest, melting into his new shirt.

Eren let out a laugh and grabbed him by the shoulders, gently setting him down on the white-covered ground. They both fell side by side, panting, their hair flecked with ice crystals and their hearts pounding wildly in the silence of the park.

Eren turned his head to look at Armin's profile, who was gazing at the clouds with absolute peace in his features. "The chocolate was delicious. Thank you, Armin." 

Eren knew, with serene certainty, that the price to pay for the sins of his past life would eventually come; the weight of the destruction he had caused could not be erased by the snow. 

But seeing the happiness reflected on the face of the boy he loved, he understood that this time he could die without a single regret. If fate demanded his condemnation, he would gladly accept it. 

He would wait for Armin in hell when the time came, with the patience of someone who has already had everything, knowing that even in the darkest eternity, they would belong side by side.

Armin turned to him, meeting his gaze, and smiled gently, reaching out to brush away a snowflake that had lodged on his eyelashes. “I love you.” 

Eren closed his eyes at the touch, clinging to the warmth of those fingers that brought him back, again and again, to the warmth of the present.