Armin stood at the edge of the training grounds, hands tucked into the folds of his uniform as he watched Eren and Mikasa spar. The two moved in perfect synchrony, trading blows with an ease that spoke of years of practice together. Their laughter rang out, light and carefree, as if nothing else in the world mattered. Armin’s lips twitched into a small, fleeting smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. They hadn’t noticed him. Not when he walked in, not when he lingered in the corner, not even now. He’d tried to join the conversation earlier that morning, but had gotten waved off before the other two dove into a story Armin wasn’t part of. Jean found him there, sitting on one of the steps outside. Armin’s knees were pulled to his chest, his chin resting atop them as he stared blankly at the dirt path ahead.

“Oi, Armin,” Jean called, his tone light but laced with concern. He dropped down to sit beside him, stretching his legs out casually. “What’s with the long face? You look like someone kicked your puppy.” Armin blinked, startled by the sudden company, but he didn’t smile. “I’m fine,” he said quietly, eyes darting to the horizon. “Just… needed some air.” Jean snorted, tilting his head to get a better look at Armin’s expression. “Fine, my ass. You’re the worst liar I know.” Armin’s lips trembled as he let out a shaky breath, his chest tightening. He didn’t want to cry—not here, not in front of Jean. “It’s nothing. Eren and Mikasa are busy, that’s all.” Jean raised an eyebrow, his voice softening. “Busy ignoring you, you mean?” The words hit harder than they should have. Armin flinched, and Jean sighed, his hand brushing through his hair awkwardly. “Look, I’m not trying to pry, but… you’re not a burden, Armin. Not to me. Not to anyone.” But the weight of the day pressed down on Armin’s chest, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d only made things worse by leaning on Jean. Even now, sitting here, he felt like he was just taking up space.