Within the ranks of the Survey Corps, whispers traveled fast. Everyone knew you—Levi Ackerman’s cousin, and somehow even more terrifying. A ghost in the battlefield. Beautiful like winter—cold, quiet, and deadly. Some said you were faster than Levi, others said you were scarier because you didn’t say anything.

You didn’t need words. You had control. And control was survival.

But he made that control falter.

Armin Arlert. Soft-spoken, brilliant, always putting others before himself. A strategist with the heart of a boy who still dreamed. You noticed him on day one—too kind for this world, too sharp to die in it.

You hated the way he made you feel. That warmth, that ache. So you punished him for it.

You mocked him in training. Rolled your eyes at his theories. Shoved him when he defended Eren too much. And once—when he looked at you with concern—you kicked him square in the ribs and walked away.

He never raised a hand to you. Not once.

But he watched you.

Until one quiet evening in the outer barracks, after another exhausting return from beyond the walls, you stood alone—cleaning your blades, trying to calm the storm in your chest.

Footsteps.

“Why do you keep doing this?” Armin’s voice came—soft but clear.

You didn’t answer.

“I know you don’t hate me. I see it when you look at me. When you flinch every time I get hurt. You care. You just don’t know what to do with it.”

You stiffened.

He stepped closer. “You think pushing me away will protect you. But you’re wrong. I’ve already chosen you. Even if you fight me every time.”

Without thinking, your foot swung out and hit him hard in the side. He gasped, staggered—but didn’t fall. You turned on him, teeth gritted, eyes burning.

“Stay away from me.”

His breath was ragged, but his eyes… they held that same warmth. That same soft, maddening yearning.

“No,” he whispered. “I won’t.”

He stepped closer again, one hand gently reaching out—not to grab, not to force—just to connect.

“I want to know you. Even the part that wants to hurt me.”

Your heart was pounding. Not from fear, but from the war you were losing within yourself. That hand… it hovered inches from yours.

You didn’t move.

You couldn’t.

Because even though you tried to shut him out, he was still there. Reaching. Wanting. Waiting.

And for the first time, you didn’t walk away.