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Year 845. Trost District. Refugee Site.
Your eyes were dry at this point. All your tears were shed, and all that was left was your dry and dull eyes. The rubbing your eye received made the area around your eyes hurt. It didn't help that you were currently staring out into nothingness as you waited for someone to wake you from your trance.
"[Name]?" You hear Armin's voice speak from a few feet away. "Grandpa is getting food for us right now. Would you like to come with me?" His gentle voice was such a tune to your ears, so you accepted the hand that he held out.
Noticing that his hand was sliding away as he walked, you grabbed his hand again. He was slightly caught off guard but he let you. Simply because you are one of his trusted friends, and maybe more at this point. Also, he figured that you needed someone close right now after losing your parents.
As you waited in the crowd, you watched as Armin got his arms full of bread and turned around, right as Mikasa returned with Eren. "Hey, guys!" Armin greeted them.
"Grandpa was able to persuade a bit more bread out of them?" You asked as you received a piece of bread.
"Yup!" Armin nodded.
"That's nice of him," Mikasa smiled.
Behind Armin, you noticed a Garrison soldier huff a bit too loudly for Eren's liking. "What's his deal?" Eren gave the man an eyebrow raise.
"Just ignore it," Armin tried to persuade him. "There's a shortage here, and poor man's probably starving. This is probably the last," he eyed the bread in our hands. "With suffering with famine, having refugees definitely doesn't help. A greater disparity between the haves and have-nots, I must say."
