Armin sat at his desk, his eyes fixed on the papers before him, though he wasn’t really reading them. The words blurred together into an incomprehensible mess, and he didn’t care enough to try and make sense of them. The only sound in the room was the faint hum of the desk lamp, casting a cold light over his face. The air felt stale, heavy, like it hadn’t been stirred in days.

He heard footsteps in the hall—familiar ones. Eren’s. They slowed as they neared his office, then stopped altogether outside the door. Armin didn’t move. He stared harder at the papers, as if willing himself to disappear into them.

The door didn’t open. The footsteps didn’t retreat. For a long moment, the two of them were separated by nothing but a thin sheet of wood and the chasm that had been growing between them.

Eren didn’t knock. Armin thought he might, but no sound came. Maybe Eren was waiting, giving him an opening to call out, to invite him in. But Armin stayed silent, and eventually, the footsteps moved on, fading down the hall.

He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His chest felt hollow, but at least it wasn’t tight anymore. He leaned back in his chair, rubbing at his temples as the silence returned to claim the room.

Across the hallway, Eren stopped again, leaning against the wall. He rubbed the back of his neck, staring at the floor. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Armin outside of these brief, distant moments—passing in the halls, an exchange of polite nods that didn’t reach either of their eyes.

It wasn’t like they had fought. There had been no explosion, no harsh words or slamming doors. Just… a quiet drifting, like two boats untethered from the same dock. Every time Eren thought about reaching out, something in Armin’s expression held him back—a weariness, a shadow, something that told him he wasn’t welcome right now.

He didn’t know how long he stood there before he finally turned and walked away, the silence of the empty corridor stretching behind him.