His hands...they gave him a sense of security.
When they were young, he watched him (attempt to) defend him from the bullies, watched him get his hands all cut up and bloody for his sake. He would give his shoulders a reassuring squeeze afterwards, letting him know he was alright now. That with him around, he wouldn't let anyone hurt him.
His hands... They were larger than his of course.
He noted this when he'd accidentally brushed against them when they were huddled together under blankets, reading and fantasizing about the ocean, the mountains and the endless dunes of sand. The outside world, a world full of dreams and possibilities, the place that they would surely visit together. He smiles as he lets the larger hand intertwine itself with his smaller one.
His hands...were warm when they held him.
When he tried comforting him over the loss of his mother, but started breaking down over the loss of his own family instead. He was broken, falling apart. Where was he supposed to go now? Where was he supposed to turn to? But the way he embraced him that night, it made him feel safe, like he belonged there. It made him forget about all the worries eating at him. It made him want to stay that way forever.
His hands... He noticed, was more calloused than before.
Lacing their fingers together, he turned on his side to stare at the sleeping face of his best friend, reflecting on the trauma of (almost) losing him. He held on to his hand tighter, tears once again prickling at his eyes, afraid that if he let go it would mean losing him forever.
His hands...were gentle.
The same hands that were quick to throw a punch at anyone who crossed the line. The same hands that were seemingly brutal when it came to protecting anything he loved.
Armin.
Turquoise eyes had stared into his own.
Don't be scared, I'm not going anywhere.
Gentle hands caressed his face, wiping away tears that were threatening to fall.
I'll protect you.
His hands...were clenched tightly, his knuckles turning white as they were being briefed about the details of the mission, showing how uptight he was. Years of training and it all boiled down to this sort of scenario. How far they've come and how far they'll go from here depended greatly on him and his titan-shifting abilities that were to be used to their advantage.
The way his hands were shaking...of course he was nervous, no matter how determined he was. The amount of pressure put on his shoulders would make even the strongest of men crumble.
Soft ocean blue eyes stared into hard turquoise ones as he clumsily tangled his fingers with his, giving them a reassuring squeeze.
Eren. He brings their hands to his chest.
We can do this.
I believe in you.
He feels their heartbeat, solid thumps echoing in their chests. He smiles, amused at how they were in synchronisation.
We're going to make it through this together.
I promise.
.
.
.
These hands...were crushing him. They were large, abnormally large. Soaked in the blood of the many humans it had gruesomely killed. They were cold and rough and squeezing the life out of him.
He wheezed for air, struggling and whimpering as he heard something snap. Something warm rose up in his throat, making him cough and splutter.
He watched the sickening grin on the monster's face twist into one of agony, the sounds of 3D-maneveur gear echoing in the surroundings. He felt the grip on his body release itself. And he fell.
He fell.
.
.
.
His hands...as he cradled his broken body, felt so familiar. It was warm, gentle yet firm and it made him feel safe. Like he belonged.
Armin. A choked sob.
Stay with me, please. He felt fingers brush the stray bangs away from his face.
Everything's going to be alright. He whispers.
Armin. Look at me, please.
He shifts his gaze to the young man's face, taking in every detail.
How those brown locks of hair were always in such disarray yet framed his face ever so nicely. How those characteristic eyebrows of his was causing the crease on his forehead to seem permanent... And those deep turquoise eyes, always full of hopes and dreams that lit up every time he talked to him.
Was he...crying?
You're going to be fine. A few tear droplets seem to land on his nose, or was it his cheek..? He couldn't really tell anymore.
You're going to be fine. He repeats.
He gives a small smile, and with his hands, reaches up to the boy's face to wipe away the tears that don't belong.
But the stream of tears keep flowing, he notes, his vision fading.
He's saying something, but he hears nothing.
And it's not too long before he feels nothing.
He feels…
.
.
.
His hands...they were something that he had wanted to hold on to forever.
.
.
.
His hands...were no longer there.
A/N: Struck me at 2am in the fucking morning. Sorry I made it sound like Armin had some sort of hand fetish U nU