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Mikasa Ackerman is not the girl he once knew. Even when Armin first met her she was shut off, eyes holding a chill and mouth often hidden under the red scarf Eren once gave her. Her eyes have only grown colder over the years, her mouth no longer hidden but her smiles non-existent. Armin is the only one to see brief glimpses of them, mere seconds before they disappear, like the sun behind clouds. But her sun died faded long ago when Eren (brother, beloved) died and as much as she cares for Armin it won't bring that light back.
She is both admired and whispered about, her skills making her one of the best soldiers in history, second only to Levi. She is held up as a standard to be achieved but those who look too long at her cold eyes find themselves adverting their eyes with shards of ice in their hearts. Even those she once trained with, those who have managed to survived find her off putting. No longer does Jean chase after her, no longer does Sasha attempt to steal her food. And that's fine. She won't let herself grow those attachments, not again. Not in this cruel harsh world.
Armin is the only one she lets close to her, and only because their are bonds that cannot be broken this late. He still bears so much guilt in him, still wakes often feeling that it should have been him in the gullet of that titan, not Eren, but it's Mikasa who is there in turn for him. She doesn't leave him behind, she never has. She is there when he wakes, sweating and shaking, and it is her hands, gentle with callouses long worn in that hold him, soothe him back till his breathing evens.
Eren is long gone these days but they still fight. She has trained with Levi for years, the two very best, a matched set in some ways, until Levi opens his mouth, and in turn he has fallen under Commander Erwin's tutelage. One day they'll take over for the two, Armin is sure of this, and sometimes he wonders in the dark of night, Mikasa's back turned to him, her breath even and slow where Eren's place would have been had he lived. What would have happened, what would have changed.
They're losing him, bit by bit, the sound of his voice, the colour of his eyes, the way he smelt when they both cuddled in close, sharing body heat under a too thin blanket. Mikasa clings to her scarf, the red faded, and the fabric worn, and it shrinks. Almost like it represents the loss in their memories. Until one day it unravels in Mikasa's hand and for the first time in five years Armin sees the dam break in her, the cold steel of her eyes falling to pieces as she falls into him. Together they cry, together they mourn him. And again Armin is painfully reminded that he's not Eren, that it should have been him and Mikasa's tears slowly dry up again until she's asleep in his arms, exhausted.
The next day they get up again, attend what they have to, do what they have to. They live, the painful memories of a long lost boy in their hearts and it hurts, it aches like a lost limb, but they live. They fight or they die. They win or they lose. And they win to honour what they can of him, the boy with guilt in his shoulders and the girl with ice in her heart.