"Mikasa?"
Armin tried to hold back the wave of nausea that tugged at him when his friend turned at the sound of his voice.
"Armin," she said, a measure of warmth audible in her moderated tone. "Have you heard something about Eren?"
Of course. It was always Eren.
"N-no," he replied. "I just wanted to talk to you."
She gave him one of her rare smiles. "What about?"
"Do you —" he braced himself. "Do you ever think about the future? What you'll do if we end the war?"
Mikasa's eyes took on a strange appearance, as if she weren't seeing Armin despite looking straight at him. "I try not to get my hopes up," she said quietly, "but sometimes I see myself and..." She paused, as if deciding how much to say, then apparently decided she could trust Armin. "And Eren, living happily in a small city somewhere. Near you, of course, Armin," she added quickly.
Armin sat silently for a moment, realizing what he had just heard. It wasn't as if he hadn't already deduced it, but now he had it straight from Mikasa's mouth. It was Eren she loved, Eren whom she was most worried about, and Eren she wanted to spend her adulthood with. If, of course, they lived that long, Armin reflected.
In other words, she would never think of him the way he thought of her. He longed to be in her position, he thought, with at least a chance with the person she loved.
"Armin?" she asked sharply. He snapped back to the present moment to see her looking at him, concerned. Not as concerned as she is about Eren, he thought with a twinge of sadness. "Are you all right?"
"I feel sick," he murmured. But he reflected that sick wasn't quite the right description. Stunned would be closer. Somehow, he hadn't expected it to hurt quite this much.