ideally, the reports written by those who witnessed the events unfolded would be much more efficient in garnering information on the incident and thereafter than asking complicated questions, but retrieving such documents proves impossible when he’s only just regained consciousness. his limbs still pop, his muscles still complain as he stretches, and his mind only barely registers his own memory; a blur, unintelligible feelings and emotions, the fleeting sensation of falling and pain, jumbled up into one flaming ball of animalistic instinct armin has never experienced. it’s overwhelming, to say the least. how did eren ever do it?
he sits upright, hands folded carefully in his lap, head bowed with an identifiable shame only he carries in such a situation --- a burden even after death, it seems, when his time alive now outnumbers that of the most capable commander. why him? why not erwin? armin’s insecurities speak in their numbers, crawl over his skin and dig beneath any confidence that may have built up over the innumerable days spent nurturing it. certainly wouldn’t have picked himself, he muses, guiding his thumb thoughtfully over his knuckle, when he can barely wield a weapon. distracted, he speaks: ❛ --- mikasa, i ... i didn’t hurt anyone, did i? ❜ // @tsuyoius. sc.