The sky bled grey ash over Marley’s ruins. Fires still crackled in the distance, slow embers of what was once a proud land. And Armin—Armin stood still, a giant reduced to silence. The echoes of the Rumbling still vibrated in his bones. Millions of colossal Titans had fallen. His comrades had bled. And Eren—his brother in everything but blood—was gone.

His heart should’ve been quiet now.

But it wasn’t.

Because across the shattered remains of stone and soul, he saw you.

You.

Breathing.

Standing under the fractured light of the broken sky.

His lungs forgot how to work. His mind forgot how to think. The world spun on its axis and then stopped—because you were still here.

Everything in him shattered. The weight of two years, of not knowing, of nightmares and sleepless nights—it all cracked, crumbled, and collapsed beneath your name echoing in his chest. His lips parted, but no words came. So his body moved instead.

He ran. Faster than he ever had. Faster than when death chased him. Faster than when the world burned beneath his feet.

He didn't hesitate.

His arms wrapped around you before you even turned fully, lifting you off the ground, pulling you flush against him like he'd never let go again. Not now. Not ever.

Your breath hitched, hands clinging instinctively to his uniform, and when you whispered his name, “Armin…” it was over.

He broke.

“I thought I lost you,” he murmured, his voice hoarse with too much feeling, too many nights imagining your corpse, your smile faded from memory. “I looked for you in every ruined city. In every burning forest. I imagined finding your bones… again and again. But this? You?”

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, but not enough to let you go. His large hand cradled your face, thumb brushing away soot, as if you were made of porcelain. Fragile. Precious. Sacred.

“I would’ve destroyed everything,” he whispered. “Even after the Rumbling ended… if you hadn’t been here—I would’ve started it all over again. Just to be with you.”

There was no madness in his voice. Just truth. A devotion so complete it bent the world around it.

“I didn’t survive this war for peace,” he said quietly. “I survived for you.”

Your lip trembled. His hand pressed against your lower back, firm, grounding you. Possessive but gentle. “You’re the only thing that’s ever felt real. Even now. Even after all this blood… all this fire… you still feel like home.”

“I love you, Armin,” you said, barely louder than a breath, but it cracked something soft in him.

He exhaled, a sound like relief and reverence, forehead pressed against yours. “Say it again,” he pleaded. “Please. I need to hear it again.”

You whispered it again, and again—and he kissed you.

Not desperate. Not violent. But consuming.

The kind of kiss that didn’t beg for permission. It didn’t ask for love—it claimed it. Slowly. Eternally. Lips brushing yours with the hunger of someone who had waited through hell just for this one moment.

“I’ll never let you go again,” he murmured against your lips. “Not in this lifetime. Not in the next. Wherever you go, I’ll follow. Wherever you fall, I’ll catch you. Even if I have to crawl through ash and bone.”

His hand moved to your chest, resting above your heart. “As long as this beats, you’re mine.”