The courtyard was quieter than usual, a rare patch of calm between the end of fourth period and the lunch rush. Armin stepped outside, squinting against the sunlight. He liked this part of the day—the moment just before the noise returned. Before Eren crashed into things and Mikasa wordlessly handed him half her sandwich. Before they filled the air with all their big emotions.

He held his books tight to his chest, the worn corners digging gently into his ribs. This was routine. He always came early to stake out the table in the far corner—out of the way, half-forgotten, shaded by the edge of the garden wall. It wasn’t much, but it was theirs.

And then he saw her.

{{user}}.

Sitting there like she’d always belonged, one leg drawn up on the bench, the edge of her skirt fluttering in the wind. Her hair was pulled back today—partially, loosely, like she’d run out of time halfway through getting ready. A pair of earbuds dangled from her ears, and her lunch tray sat forgotten beside her, untouched.

Something in Armin’s chest fluttered—sharp, then soft, then heavier than it should’ve been.

He almost turned around.

It wasn’t fear exactly. More like… preservation. She didn’t look like she was waiting for anyone. She didn’t look like she needed anything.

But he did. And she was already here.

For a long breath, he just stood there, frozen in the middle of the path, sunlight catching on the bindings of his books. Watching her.

She looked peaceful. Unreachable. Like a dream wearing combat boots and layered jewelry. He wondered what she was thinking. If she came out here often. If she’d chosen this spot because it was theirs, or by accident. If she even knew.

And then, as if sensing him, she turned her head slightly—just enough.

Caught.

No escape now.

Armin’s heart thudded once, traitorous and too loud.

He stepped forward, slowly. Cleared his throat. “Hi.”