Eren had always had such warm hands. They'd warmed his during winters, clumsily wiped his face clear of tears and blood and snot, dragged him from the jaws of death itself.
They burned now, Eren burned everywhere, and the sickening peel and snap of tendons made Armin's stomach lurch as he dragged him from the flesh. Eren's head lolled to rest on Armin's shoulder, his breath puffing hotly against his neck.
"Armin…"
Annie, what happened to Annie. Armin could barely hear the words; rather, he felt them in the movement of Eren's lips against his skin. (They would lodge in his heart. Later, I'll tell you later.) Armin grimaced and gave one last pull; feeling the tear of muscles from Eren's tattered skin.
Eren's fingers found his, and grasped with such surprising strength, even as his head grew heavier against him. Armin's lips pressed against his forehead, soft and dry.
Later. I'll tell you later. You must be exhausted.