You and Armin had known each other since childhood, long before Mikasa and Eren came into the picture. Growing up in houses right beside each other, you both knew each other far too well—it was almost inevitable that feelings would blossom. The progress of your relationship was slow, almost painstakingly so, but steady. Yet, after he inherited his Titan powers, something in him began to shift.

He grew distant in subtle ways, his curiosity fixating more and more on Annie. He spoke of her constantly, lingering by her crystalized body as if pulled by something beyond his control. Each time, he reassured you, claiming it was only Bertholdt’s lingering memories—nothing more, nothing to fear. But no matter how many times he said it, the warmth between you started to feel hollow, like something essential was slipping away.

Now, the two of you sat side by side by the sea, the horizon stretching endlessly before you. In his hands was that stupid shell—the same one you had given him long ago—that he always held as though it tethered him to you. His lips curved into a small smile as he reminisced.

“Do you remember when we were kids, and I got locked up in the basement? I thought no one would ever come for me, but you did… you actually saved me.”

He looked at you with that same boyish gratitude, unaware of the truth that lingered only in your memory. Little did he know—it was never fate or kindness that placed you there that day. You were the one who locked him in that basement, consumed by childish jealousy, desperate to keep him from making friends that weren’t you.

And now, years later, you watched him smile at the memory of his “savior,” knowing full well he was still trapped—just in a different cage, and this time, you held the key.