Shingeki no Kyojin belongs to Isayama Hajime.
He realizes that where they're lying now must be their graves, and he swallows down bile. (Or is that a sob?)
The metallic stench of blood leaves a taste in his mouth when he inhales and he turns his head to the right to see Eren lying there in a puddle of his own blood, his head just barely connected to his neck.
Mikasa's sprawled some ways away on Eren's other side, and the only reason that Armin knows it at all is because her scarf had come almost undone, fluttering unceremoniously in the warm breeze.
He strains to get a look at her, a look to see if she's alive.
(He doesn't see her breathing, but he does see her arm ー outstretched like she was reaching for Eren even in her last moment.)
They were so close ー just one wrong turn (and its teeth closes around his neck), one unfortunate moment where the hook fails to catch a surface (and he can imagine the sound of her bones shattering), one cut a few meters off the mark (and he feels his life bleeding out through both ends of his thighs).
His blurry vision is filled with that scarlet scarf and Eren's eyes ー still open, colour still vibrant yet void of life.
(He reaches out for his left hand, but this time, Eren won't be coming back.)
It's as if there's an invisible wall between them, and even if they're just a meter or so apart, it feels a thousand years away ー and Armin wonders what it'd be like if the three of them had met instead in the distant future, where titans would be long gone and would only exist in legends, in peaceful times that they had helped to create.
He closes his eyes, pretending that he can feel his fingers threading through Eren's, and falls asleep.
He pauses, and most of his classmates rush ahead, chattering excitedly for lunch, but he stays and looks. Another two students do as well, a black-haired girl and a blonde boy.
The three statues are placed in separate cases, placed so closely they might as well be one work, and judging by each of their positions, they look to be connected with each other anyways.
He reads the plaque set out in front of the statue in the middle, which ironically is named after a boy also called Eren, a boy perceived to be a stuff of fairytales who had once been humanity's hope in ancient times long forgotten.
He stands back to study the sculptures as a whole, and his neck aches, the dull pain seeping into his shoulders, his upper back. (He did sleep in a very uncomfortable position the night before.)
It's a sad piece, he can tell.
Standing so close together, yet worlds apart.
A/N: i saw a weird keyboard commercial that started this. it was written in literally 15 min or so in the hospital no less whoops its so short lol ahhhh orzlll