My Worst Friend

Death always found its way towards him, in the form of monsters or normal, everyday happenings.

Armin Arlert had accepted it, embraced it, when it took a hold of his grandfather. When its sickle deemed the man too old to continue living on and teaching the young blonde about the magic and wonders of the deep blue sea. But he had fought against it when it first came to play, taking a hold of his parents and never letting go. Never telling him what truly happened to those lost souls.

He’d thought he’d gotten used to it by now. Death surrounded him, surrounded them all, in fact. But he never welcomed it. Never invited it to come over and play games with his heart and mind. Especially today.

Armin thought he had seen it all. Had his heart shattered enough to not be shocked after losing yet another to that insufferable otherworldly being that no one could find the cure for. But, of course, he was proven wrong. As he stared into the mouth of the Titan that devoured his friend, he wondered why he ever thought Death was something not to fear, but to embrace.

It was supposed to be him, he told himself. Again, and again, and again until it was engraved into his head. Until it became a chant that couldn’t be proven wrong. Minutes, hours, days seemed to as Armin sat on the roof, weeping and sobbing as he rocked back and forth against a chimney. He was never going to find peace with himself. Never find the ocean with his best friend. And, when it came down to telling Mikasa about the incident, he knew deep down that she, too, would be lost to the coma where no one ever woke up. Worst of all, she’d probably die the same way Eren did: slowly being burnt alive, not digested, inside a Titan’s stomach. That’s when he realised, when he finally looked deep into himself and learned for the first time:

Death would always be his best worst friend.