⸻

Before the sea caught fire, before the smoke swallowed the sky—

He watched you.

You were Commander Lee. Golden-haired, eyes sharp as drawn steel. Fierce in battle, brilliant in council, quiet when others shouted. You didn’t command respect. You wore it like armor.

Armin had admired you long before he had the courage to speak to you.

When you walked into strategy briefings, the air shifted. When you gave orders, people moved before they even realized they’d obeyed. You weren’t just beautiful—you were devastating.

And still—

You smiled at him once.

That single look—gentle, aware, fleeting—had burned itself into him like sunlight through frost.

He never forgot it.

⸻

Before the strike, hours earlier—

The Marleyan fleet approached fast. The sea shimmered with their advance. Guns glinted like fangs in the sun.

You stood at the cliff’s edge, wind pulling at your cloak, staring down at the threat below.

Armin joined you. Quiet. Trembling, but resolved.

You didn’t turn at first.

Then you spoke—soft, low.

“You don’t have to go.”

He hesitated. “I do.”

Your eyes met his. And this time, he didn’t see his Commander.

He saw you.

Strong. Scarred. Still human.

You stared at him for a moment too long, then said, quietly:

“Then come back.”

He didn’t answer with words.

Just a nod.

And he jumped.

⸻

Now—

The ocean boiled.

Ships broken. Soldiers gone. Screams long silenced.

And from the center of it all, his Titan stood.

Colossal. Smoking. Still.

You flew—like lightning.

Your ODM hooks sliced through charred masts, torn steel, and clouds of burning oil.

You didn’t wait.

You didn’t speak.

You just launched—until you reached his shoulder, landing hard against the blistering heat.

Steam curled around you.

And then—you saw him.

Armin.

Emerging from the nape.

Skin raw. Eyes red. Shaking.

He staggered, almost slipped—until your hands caught him. Held him firm.

His eyes met yours—and in them, a storm: guilt, grief, shame.

“I—” His voice broke. “They screamed.”

You didn’t let go.

“I know.”

“I felt them die, Lee,” he gasped. “I did that.”

You looked at him.

Really looked.

This wasn’t the boy who read books in a corner. This was a man—cracked by duty, hollowed by the cost of survival.

“You saved us,” you said.

“I destroyed them.”

You didn’t argue. Didn’t lie. Didn’t comfort him with false peace.

You stepped closer.

“I’ve given orders that got people killed,” you whispered. “I’ve led men into traps I didn’t see until too late. I’ve walked away while the dying reached for help I couldn’t give.”

He trembled.

“But you…” Your hand gently brushed his hair back, your thumb grazing the edge of his temple. “You carry it. That’s what makes you human. That’s why I still flew to you.”

His breath caught.

“You’re not a monster, Armin. You’re just… still breathing.”

He stared at you like you were the last piece of solid ground in a collapsing world.

“I thought you’d hate me,” he whispered.

“I flew to you.”

Silence.

Then—his hand, weak and warm, reached up.

Not to grip. Not to hold.

Just to touch your wrist.

You let him.

And with the Titan’s smoking body beneath your boots and the ocean still roaring below, you stood there—

Not as Commander and soldier.

But as two people—

Trying to survive the weight of being alive.