Smooth skin shimmered pale against the light, the warm tint stolen away and replaced with marble. White sheets were layered underneath the heavy body, his head resting upon a firm pillow, chocolate brown hair neatly spread around him. Hands rested against the silk of his white button-up shirt, crinkled in all the right places and tucked into the black trousers. The boy lay between soft padding, keeping his body straight, blue buttons patterning the padding into raised diamonds.
The room was silent, the sound of the tall double doors banging shut lingering moments after. The blond who had entered took a deep breath, remaining by the closed doors, gripping the strap of his black messenger bag with a shaking hand. His heart was pounding against his chest, thumping in his ears, and his whole body turned to ice; frozen to the spot, a chill running up his veins. He reached up to push his fringe out of his face, his breathing stuttering, trembling along with the rest of his body. His blue eyes fell shut, resting his palm against his forehead, strands of his hair slipping out from the rushed bun he had put it in that morning.
His eyes burned, the corner of his eyes turning a vicious red, and he squeezed them tighter. The heel of his hand dug into his creasing forehead, a tear sliding down his cheek, sinking into the edge of his lips. His teeth were gritted together, the taste of the salt at the walls of his mouth, on the tip of his tongue, reminding him of how the sea had smelt. A broken high pitched sob escaped him as another tear tickled his skin, mirroring the trail of the other, raising over his cheekbone and slipping down.
He gasped, sniffling, and moved the hand he had on his forehead to wipe away the quickly drying trails that were making his skin feel tight. There was a moment of hesitation, where he stood staring at the statues in the room, angels holding swords and cups, made out of carefully cut and polished stone. He avoided the shining mahogany box in the middle of the room, his eyes anywhere but the open casket and the boy who was laying inside. The walls were a light beige, decorated in elegant golden swirls that had been painted across the tops of the walls, paintings of scenery hanging in rows.
The blond breathed in, noticing the clean fresh smell that enveloped him, his hand placed over his stomach as he exhaled. He could feel it churning, distracting and heavy, and swallowing was an effort with the appearance of what felt like something stuck in his throat. He strode forward, his shoes clipping against the hard flooring, his stomach flipping as he got closer to the young boy. His eyes were closed, as if he was only sleeping; that was what he kept telling himself. He would wake up soon, he was only sleeping, a prince waiting for true love's kiss.
The brunet was happy, that was something the other noticed. A small smile across his face, the smile he would give the blond whenever time permitted them to see each other, whenever breaks in their schedules would meet and they were finally able to be together, even for only an hour. Not a wrinkle on his face, not a care in the world, as if his dreams were sweet like the kisses they used to share.
"E-Eren?" A hiccup in the other boy's voice. There was no answer.
He reached to take Eren's hand in his, limp and cold, and he could feel the old callouses on the pads of his fingers. He threaded his fingers with the brunet's, a quick squeeze, and he half expected to feel him squeeze back. For Eren to sit up in his casket, reveal the whole thing was a stupid prank, to feel his chapped lips against his. To be told that his heart hadn't stopped beating, to feel his warm arms around him, to hear the steady beat of his heart.
One last time.
Armin bowed his head, laying the other hand over Eren's forehead and stroking back into his hair. His hair was silky, easily running through the blond's fingers and falling back into place, framing his face in a way that Armin could believe he was a god simply taking a slumber in a temple made for him. In that moment, he could believe Eren was immortal, if only his heart was still beating and his skin was still warm.
"You promised," a brief pause. "You promised you wouldn't leave anymore."
Armin broke down, loud sobs and harsh breaths, hands trembling and legs weak. This wasn't how he had imagined Eren returning home; this wasn't the laugh he had imagined Eren trying to hide when the surprise meal hadn't been kept as secret as Armin had hoped, this wasn't the stories over the dinner table or the cuddles in bed. This was pain, cutting deep inside of him, a knife twisting in his stomach.
Eren wasn't meant to die.