Chapter Text
The forest. That's what everyone called it. But It wasn't really a forest.
Not a normal one, anyway.
There was something inside. Something sinister. Everyone could feel it the moment they entered. You could feel it the moment you entered, the air suddenly getting colder, shivers forming up your skin, and feeling a burning hole behind your head where you swore you could feel something, someone , watching your every step, your every movement, your every breath.
You were known as the boy who seeked freedom.
People tried to venture into the forest. Dreaming of exploration, dreaming to see what awaited on the other side of the forest. That's why the town folks would prepare expeditions to go outside.
After all, being trapped in a small town with nothing but a wide forest to keep you company, that's not freedom. It was almost as if the forest wanted to keep you tight, too afraid to let go, too afraid to watch you wither away. But you wanted to go away. You hated this small town, this confined space.
No one came out alive in the forest.
That's why the town stopped entering the forest altogether. It was too dangerous. Too reckless. But you were the boy who seeked freedom. You wouldn't give up.
Why do you never give up, goddamnit!
You were reckless, naive, young. You thought the world bended at your own rules. You thought you and your friends, together, would be untouchable.
I was wrong.
That's right. You were wrong.
And that's why you will always hate yourself for dragging your friends into this mess. That's why you wished you weren't the boy who seeked freedom after all.
----
Armin couldn't sleep. Not that it was something unusual. He could barely sleep these past few years, with school work piling up, finals right around the corner, and generally just life being a complete shithole of a mess.
He had three unfinished assignments due tomorrow. And it was already 3 am. He couldn't concentrate, couldn't focus. He could feel his eyelids closing up by themselves, his hand loosening up on his pen, his head about to drop on his desk---
He sighed in defeat, and stood up from his chair more violently than it was necessary.
Coffee. He needed coffee.
He made a face,just thinking about drinking it. He hated the bitterness that crap had to offer, the sensation of his tongue being burned while he tried to chug it into one go, as he wanted to be done with it.
He hated it, but he needed it.
The caffeine kept him awake.
Mikasa would always chide him about this. At how unhealthy of a coping mechanism it was, to rely on a substance to keep him awake.
He still remembers how two years ago, exactly 4 months after the incident, how she would constantly tell him to stop drinking that burned bean water, probably very worried at the lack of sleep Armin clearly was not getting.
“You don't even like it.” She would frown.
Armin would laugh at the name Mikasa used to describe the coffee, avoiding the last statement. “Since when did you start calling it like that?”
Mikasa would frown again, knowing what he was doing. She didn't push him though. instead, she would just shake her head.
“Sleep.” She would say very seriously, while giving him a sideway glance. “You need sleep.”
Armin would look at her dead in the eyes, at the dark circles surrounding them, at the way she kept her body, the way her skin didn't have the same glow it used to have, her face hollower and emptier than it usually looked.
“So do you.” He would softly whisper in return. She would just shrug, and the conversation would always hit a dead end there. “Besides,” he would add, after a moment of silence, “I do like coffee. Now.”
“Oh.” She would say. Not convinced.
“Yeah.” He would answer. Trying to make the lie sound convincing. To whom, he didn't know. Mikasa or himself? Perhaps both.
“Okay.” She would respond. “That's good.” She would grip her red scarf thighter, a gesture Armin noticed she would always do when she was nervous, sad or upset, and from that, Armin knew that she didn't believe him at all. But neither of them commented on it. It was a comforting lie.
Now as he was standing alone in his small kitchen, still sleep deprived, not listening to Mikasa’s advice, with a cup of boiling hot coffee in his hand, moonlight reflecting on his windows, a single tear slipped down his eye. It trailed all down his cheek, slowly, until it plopped into the drink he was holding with shaky hands.
He missed him. A lot. God, he missed him so much.
He missed his smile, his eyes, his laugh, his everything. The way he would scream in excitement, the way he would always run at the high, high hill, always fist pumping into the air when he thought he won, only to get disappointed when he realized Mikasa was just letting him win on purpose.He missed the way he would get excited when his mom would bake him a new cake, the way he would always bring Armin a piece afterwards, eager to see his reactions while eating it.
“So?” He would ask, more close to a demand than a question, his tone full of youth excitement. “Do you like it?”
“Yeah!” He said, surprising himself. Not that Eren's mom was a bad cook, not at all. But the cake flavor was coffee, and he never saw the appeal to this grown ups drink. Strangely, however, he really enjoyed this one. Thinking back at it, maybe he was just forcing himself to like it, cause he wanted to see the boy smile widen. Maybe he just wanted to love everything Eren offered him. Maybe he was just a delusional kid with a crush. Who knows. It was too late to dwell on it now.
“Your mom is an awesome cook.” Armin commented, licking some frosting off his hands.
The boy gloated in pride. “She said she will help me learn how to bake if I behave.”
“I thought you weren't allowed to bake anymore,” Armin said, still chewing on the cake. “Last time we baked at your house, it was a bit of a disaster.” It wasn't as big of a disaster as they made it out to be. But they were childrens, and everything seemed a bigger deal than it was.
He huffed in response. “That wasn't my fault! It was the oven's fault…” he murmured. Armin laughed. “I dont think your mom agrees with that.”
The other boy shoved him playfully. “How was I supposed to know I can't just bake coffee beans?”
Armin sighed. “I told you it wasn't a good idea. You never listen.”
“Whatever.” He said, plopping his legs on Armin’s lap.
“Hey!” Armin yelped, the boy's dirty feets almost getting into Armins plate. “I'm still eating here.”
Eren laughed. After a bit, Armin joined in.
They laughed, and laughed, and laughed.
Armin's laugh never quite sounded the same after he was gone.
Neither did Mikasa’s for that matter. Probably the others too, but he lost contact with them, so he couldn't say for sure. They still all went to the same school, sure, but it was almost as if they were complete strangers, everyone collectively ignoring each other, in a desperate attempt to forget the incident. The only person he still talked to was Mikasa. And she, too, sometimes seemed so far away, like a mirage ready to dissolve right under his fingertips.
Armin was about to take a sip from his coffee. More like chugging it down in one go, but he froze right as the cup touched his lips.
His hands started to tremble, from fear or cold, he couldn't distinguish. Despite the heat of the beverage in his hand, he suddenly felt really cold. His arms shivered, his hands turning white as he clenched to his cup as if it could give him a sense of support. By gripping it too hard, some coffee splashed onto his hands, and he let out a hiss of pain. He put the coffee on the table, careful not to spill anymore.
He started feeling feverish, his head becoming a dizzying mess. He put a hand on the counter, for support. He felt like an invisible force was pushing his lungs, pushing until he couldn't breath, until he was coughing, and coughing, he needed air, he desperately needed air, but it was as if whatever was making him feel likethis, hated air, hated it with a burning passion, and it wanted to make Armin hate air as much as it did.
Armin felt like fainting. He probably was about to faint. He didn't know how it happened, but suddenly he was kneeling on the ground,
This is it. He thought miserably. I am going to die, today, alone, without even knowing if he is still alive, leaving Eren behind, leaving Mikasa behind, leaving everyone behind, because im a failure, and, and, and---
And then it stopped. His lungs could breathe again. He gasped, desperately trying to inhale as much air as possible, the burning in chest slowly fading away, even if his head still felt like someone was smashing a rock onto it.
But he could finally breathe again, and he could feel his pulse. He wasn't dead. He was alive. That's what mattered. He took another shaky breath, and used the chairs and the counter as support to stand up again. His legs were still shaking though, so instead of standing up, he opted to sit on the chair.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Those were the only thoughts going through his head, as he tried to sip his coffee again. That sensation, that feeling. There was no mistake. It was just like the incident two years ago, the same burning sensation, the same desperation to just give up, to do anything, anything, just so the pain could stop, the envy of being able to breathe---
“Ymir.”
The cup shattered on the ground, a sharp sound echoing through the empty hallways, coffee spilling everywhere. Armin didn't even notice. He was frozen in place, hand still raised, eyes still looking in front of him.
That voice. He couldn't make sense of anything. Except : That voice.
That voice. I know that voice. I would know that voice everywhere.
He turned around so quickly his chair went flying to the ground, glass splintering his bare feet from where the glass shattered. His eyes widened, tears spilling out of his ocean blue eyes like fountains.
“Eren?” He whispered. He took a step forward, hand reaching out, trying to touch him, hug him, kiss him, just feel him under his touch but---
His hands went right through him, as if...as if he wasn't real. A look of hurt and confusion shadowed Armin's face. “Ymir.” The man in front of him said again. He sounded monotone, no emotions, no feelings, no nothing. His face didn't seem like an open book anymore, his eyes not gleaming with millions' adventure.
“You have to find Ymir.”
“Eren.” That's all Armin could muster to utter, his voice shaking, his lips trembling. Was this a sick joke of his brain? The sleep deprivation finally kicking in? Making him almost pass out, and now hallucinate his missing-but-much-more-likely-his-long-lost-dead-best-friend?
“Listen to me, you have to listen to me, you need to find Ymir, or else, or else, or else.” He kept repeating the same sentence, as if he was a broken recorder. He closed his eyes, opened them again, closed them again. Armin took a step backwards. His mind was starting to creep him out.
“Eren, is that really you, please tell me I'm not hallucinating you.” He needed to ask, even if it was probably all fake, all his mind–
“Or else.” He closed his eyes again, muttered some stuff.
“Or else?” Armin whispered. “Eren, talk to me, please.”
“Ymir. Find. Ymir.”
With that, Eren started to fade again.
“Wait, no!” Armin didn't want him to leave, not right after he finally got to see him again. He didn't care this might all be his head. He didn't care this might all have to do with what happened three years ago, he didn't care, he just wanted his best friend back, he just wanted to be able to laugh and mess around, and talk about the future as if they both had a clue, he just wanted Eren back.
In his desperate attempt to reach him, Armin slipped on the spilled coffee; he could feel blood oozing from his feets, now from his hands, a stinging pain forming all around his skin. He didn't care, didn't notice. He struggled to get up again, and when he slipped again, he decided to crawl, not caring about the glass shatters on the floor, not caring about the pain, the stiffness of the floor, the red blood mixing with the brown coffee, he didn't care, he just needed to reach him, try again to touch him, maybe he imagined him fading under his touch, maybe it was a trick of the light, maybe he truly did come back, maybe, maybe, just maybe---
“Dont.” He whispered, more like a mix between a sob and a beg. “Don't go.”
“Armin–?” He sounded surprised, shocked, relieved, happy, nothing like the creepy expression and monotone voice he had before when he was muttering all those things, the same name over and over again, what was it again---he couldn't remember in the moment, the only thing in his mind was that he recognized him, he saw him and he knew who he was, and he said his name so gentle, so quietly, as if he was uttering a precious thing he didn't want to break–
“Eren.” Armin said, reaching his arms out, knowing, just knowing, he would reach his arm to, and they would hold hands, and everything would be fine again, he would have his best friend back–
But just as suddenly as he appeared, he disappeared.
And Armin couldn't do anything but curl up on the ground and cry, and cry, until his mind encircled him into a deep, unwanted sleep.