The alley was narrow and gray, the air thick with dust and a silence that pressed against the skin like armor. Every sound—every step, every breath—was too loud, too sharp. It felt like time itself was holding its breath.

You stood in the center of it all, still as stone, the cloak around your shoulders barely shifting in the wind. Your face was unreadable—no anger, no sadness, no remorse. Just calm. Controlled. Unmoving.

And across from you—Armin.

His chest rose and fell with labored breaths. His eyes shimmered, not from fear, but from something worse: knowing. Knowing what this was, what you were, what it meant.

“Please,” he said, softly—so soft, like the wind might carry it away if he spoke any louder. “Come with us.”

Behind him, Eren’s fists were clenched so tightly his knuckles were white. He was pacing now, eyes burning with betrayal, voice low and tense. Mikasa had already drawn one blade, holding it in that dangerously elegant way only she could—ready to move, to strike, if you even twitched the wrong way.

But Armin? He took a single step forward.

Even as you reached slowly for the ring on your finger.

Your face didn’t change. Not even your eyes.

And that—that was what shattered Armin more than anything.

“Don’t look at me like that…” he whispered, voice trembling. “Like I’m a stranger.”

You stared at him, expressionless.

You were a statue carved from silence, and yet he couldn’t stop speaking—because if he did, he’d fall apart completely.

“You listened to me when no one else did,” he continued, desperate now. “You stood next to me when you didn’t have to. Do you remember that day at the wall? You didn’t say anything, but you didn’t leave either. That meant something. I thought—”

His voice cracked.

He swallowed hard, voice dropping.

”—I thought I meant something to you too.”

Still, you said nothing.

Still, your eyes held that same cold weight, not cruel, but unbearable. That quiet blankness was so much worse than rage—it was like you had already left, and he was standing in front of a ghost who hadn’t made her choice yet.

Mikasa took a step forward. Eren growled something through clenched teeth—“Armin, enough—she’s already made her choice.”

But Armin didn’t look back.

He didn’t care if you transformed right there and crushed him.

He just… kept going.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he said, barely above a whisper now. “But if you were ever really you around me… if any of it was real—just show me. Just look at me like I was someone you cared about. Even if it’s the last time.”

Your hand was still hovering near the ring.

Everything in you was trained to act.

And yet… something inside of you wavered. A breath caught. A muscle flinched. Barely—but he saw it.

Because he was looking.

Not as a soldier.

Not as a victim.

But as someone who had trusted you, in the quiet spaces between chaos, when no one else had.

And for the first time…

his voice broke completely.

“I still believe you could choose us… even now.”

And you?

You didn’t move.

You didn’t answer.

You just stared at him.

Expressionless.

But in that silence, Armin saw it—the crack behind your eyes. The war between duty and something far more fragile. Something no one else in that alley could name, but that only the two of you understood:

The cost of being seen.

The weight of being known.