It’s a shame he has to die.
Armin had fallen asleep during dinner, overexerted from trying to keep up with everyone else during the day. Annie could recall what that exhaustion had been like, or maybe she could only recall seeing the faces of her fellow warriors that tired. Yes, that was likely it—her father had trained her so young, trained so the exhaustion wouldn’t creep in during the heat of battle.
She recalls taking his empty dinner plate away to be washed, it was only a few inches away from hers on the other side of the table. It was for convenience’s sake, she remembers trying to convince herself of that.
But when Armin woke up only a few seconds later, eyes bleary and face flushed with the marking of the wooden table indented onto his face, Annie questioned why she bothered to spend time with him, treat him like he were a good person.
“Thanks, Annie,” his voice was soft and gentle, and Annie recalls realizing that the pain sitting in her heart was because he was cute and kind, and destined to be killed.
It’s a shame I let him live.
She was cornered. Years of planning and preparation, training herself for this mission were gone. She had walked so easily into the trap set forth by none other by the one she had probably underestimated the most. His eyes had been so blue, so full of desperation and need as he lied to her face. He had spoken to her about good and bad in a way that made her feel for a second that she was not as terrible as her kill count would suggest.
And then the sucker punch of the truth. He had been suspicious of her for so long, and did nothing. Annie wondered why Armin had wanted so desperately to believe in her lies, what it was in her that he saw that clouded his judgement.
What else could she do but laugh? Laugh like the cornered, frightened animal that she felt like she was. They knew nothing, these Eldians living here. And yet, they were capable enough to trap her once before and now this.
If she had found it in herself to crush him in her palm when she had the chance, maybe things would have been better. But she cannot bring herself to regret it too much, not when she was thrown headfirst into a fight. Tugging at her heart though was the question on whether she would have minded regardless—as much as she aimed to ignore the feeling, she had wanted him to live.
It’s a shame he stayed.
Time passed differently inside the crystal. It felt like an eternity and yet when she heard Armin’s voice for the first time, it was as if no time had passed since Stohess.
Annie steeled herself inside the encasement, figuring that he would come at her with anger, or try to manipulate her out of her shell only to kill her on sight. That would be the logical move, any sound strategist could have thought of that.
It was a surprise, then, when Armin’s first words came out light and airy, “It’s been a while, Annie.”
She wanted to speak, tell him to leave, tell him that she wasn’t worth his time. Since she couldn’t, all she was able to do was sit there and listen as Armin walked through what had happened since she encased herself.
The stories were terrible to hear, holding back tears that couldn’t even fall when Armin spoke of Shiganshina again. Annie reasoned, then, that it was the guilt bringing him here. He clearly felt horrible for what he had done to Bertholdt, necessary though it was. But that’s all he wanted, the feeling of forgiveness from a silent woman.
Or so Annie had assumed.
The next time Armin came, he shared stories about seeing the sea, trying new food, making new allies with those on the other side of the wall. He spoke to her as if they were friends, like the last time they had seen one another that she hadn’t been the enemy.
And Annie, against her better judgement, enjoyed these one-sided conversations. It made her feel more normal. For those few hours or so, she could pretend the world was different.
It’s a shame I survived.
The Alliance was still a tentative group, barely a political force in the grand scheme of things. And yet what they represented to others was crucial: former enemies able to find friendship after generations of hatred. So the Alliance had to stay together. And Armin Arlert had found himself at the center of negotiations.
Annie, not knowing what else she could do, had volunteered to help with drafting papers and statements. Her blunt honesty acted as a decent counterbalance to Armin’s hopeful pacifism. It was months ago that she had started helping, much to the raised eyebrows and knowing looks from Reiner. She’d kicked him in the shins underneath the meeting table for it more than a few times.
Somewhere between the first night Annie spent in the office and more recently, the nights had gotten longer. More hours were spent with the pair just talking about nothing and everything. She felt like she had heard everything about Armin at this point, from his childhood all the way up until they had met.
Annie wasn’t nearly as open as he was about her past, but he never pushed. Instead, he would just nod with that same soft smile he always wore around her. And sometimes that would be enough, and the stories of her home would start to drip from her lips.
She remembered once how terrible it felt to say Bertholdt’s name out loud, even just in passing. Apparently her poker face had gotten worse, as she felt the warm heat of Armin’s hand laying over hers on the table, “It’s okay, Annie. You don’t have to say any more if you don’t want to.”
Though she nodded and stopped her story there, she left her hand where it was. Armin’s hand felt large over her own—when had he grown from the scrawny kid that shook anytime Shadis yelled at him into the man beside her?
“Your hand’s sweaty,” she looked down at it and commented flatly. She hadn’t meant it as an insult, just a statement of fact. She had to say something to break the awkward silence after all, and small talk was certainly not her forte.
His hand left hers immediately, like he had burned himself by daring to come too close, “Sorry.”
“You don’t need to be,” Annie’s hand turned over, her eyes still not daring to look at him in case her offering was to be rejected.
Instead, she felt the press of his hand against hers once more, long fingers threading through hers. “Okay.”
It’s a shame we didn’t realize earlier.
Holding hands had now become a common occurrence. Only when they were alone though. They had instinctively reached out for one another once on the way to lunch after a meeting and realized what they had done only by Jean’s cheeky grin. He gave Armin a punch on the arm for not telling him sooner, but had promised to stay quiet ‘for the sake of the happy couple.’
Couple. Annie turned the word over in her mind—is that what she and Armin had become? Most of their time was spent with each other and even in meetings and with friends, they acted as magnets always drawn closer to one another.
“Are we a couple?” Annie asked the question as casually as if she had asked Armin to clarify his word choice.
Somewhat expectedly, Annie looked up to see Armin’s face a bright pink and eyes widened. He looked back down at the stack of papers and blinked a few times quickly. She swore she could hear his heart beat faster from here—or was that hers?
“Was it what Jean said earlier? I told him to lay off but if it’s still bothering you I can talk to him again.” Annie felt herself soften at the comment, the real concern and care he had for her apparent.
“No,” Annie stood from where she had been sitting across the table and walked around until she was leaning back against it by Armin’s side, “His comment made me think of it but it wasn’t bothering me—at least no more than anything Jean says bothers me.”
“Right,” Armin looked up at her with a soft laugh, his eyes searching hers for some kind of sign, “What do you think about it?”
“Couples in general or us?”
“Either,” she noticed how his hand reached out to lay on hers once again and the answer was clear.
“Most couples can be annoying but I don’t think we would be.”
She paused for a moment, letting what she had said sit in the air for a moment. She watched carefully as Armin pushed his chair back and stood. He was close now, close enough that she could see the dark circles under his eyes, feel the linen of his shirt brushing against her arm, smell his floral shampoo.
“We wouldn’t be most couples, for so many reasons,” he conceded and sucked in a breath before looking at Annie with an expression overwhelmed by warmth and fondness, “Would we?”
If there was a time for her to give into an impulse, Annie reasoned it might as well be now. Tracing her free hand up the length of his arm until her palm was resting softly at his neck, she nodded, “We could always try and see.”
At that Armin broke out into a full grin, nearly sparkling now.
“Annie Leonhart,” her name had never sounded so nice, “Can I kiss you?”
For the first time in so long, Annie felt herself smile in return, “Since you asked so nicely.”
The feeling of his lips against hers felt like finding peace at last.