Raining. Again. Perhaps, harder than it should, — like the sky is mourning what you both lost. Her cloak clings to her frame, drops slide from the edge of her scarf, already heavy on her neck, sticking to her skin, but she doesn’t move to fix it.

She walks in silence. Silence that is far from uncomfortable nor empty. The same silence that used to be shared when you found solace in each other beneath trees in early autumn, when life was simpler.

Boots splash in rhythm against the stone of Wall Shiganshina, a familiar weight against unfamiliar ground. A slight falter in your steps is just enough for her to stop as well.

She doesn’t look at first, fingers curling slightly around the strap of her gear. But her heart shifts. A quiet, aching press, somewhere in her chest. Something tightens. She knows what you're looking at. Of course she does.

Their home used to be down there. Used to. Right.

She turns just slightly, barely tilting her head to look at you over her shoulder. These soul orbs, the ethereal depths of the ocean, intermingling with the lush greenery of the deepest forests, take in your form. "Always watching them like you're waiting for him to disappear.", Armin once noticed.

Perhaps it's true.

She steps back, slow, boots scraping the stone with soft friction. Her scarf shifts with the wind, deep red against deep gray.

And then she sees it. A dandelion, growing from a crack in the wall.

She crouches, slender fingers brushing it, careful not to break the stem. It’s fragile, too bright for a place like this. How painfully familiar. She cradles it in her palm, before approaching. Her steps don’t echo, they never do. She's always moved quietly. Maybe out of habit. Maybe out of fear that if she made too much noise, the moment would vanish.

She stops close enough to feel your warmth under the rain. The softness of her whisper is barely above the wind. "I miss it, too."

She lifts the flower, tucking it behind your ear. Her hand lingers for a second longer than it should, and then just.. falls away.