Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It starts with an accident.

 Well, no. Not really. If Annie were completely honest with herself, she would have stopped dicking around the issue years ago, and maybe then, the circumstances would be less ridiculous, but let’s face it – she has never been particularly good at admitting defeat – not when it came to him, anyway.

 It’s stupid. She’s almost embarrassed that it’s gone on for so long, and that it’s become such a pressing issue, and she sinks lower and lower into the shitty plush seats of the community theatre in a piss poor effort to pretend that she’s not actually there.

 Eren tuts mildly and shifts in the seat beside her. “You know, it’s just a rehearsal. You didn’t have to come.”

 Annie scoffs at him. “’Didn’t have to come,’” she mocks scathingly. “I don’t think I really had a choice.”

 He snorts and reaches for the open bag of toffees lying in the seat on his other side. “You know they put cool facts on the wrappers sometimes,” he says. “I wonder what this one says.” The sarcasm in his voice is obvious long before he even starts squinting at the little square of waxed paper. “Oh, look, Annie - it says… you don’t have to agree to everything just because Armin asks!”

 Annie flushes, and sinks lower still. “Shut up,” she grumbles, and she runs over all the arguments in her mind about how that is so not the point even though, yeah, it is, and it’s basically the crux of her entire problem. See, she won’t tell anyone this – although, at this stage, she probably doesn’t need to because Eren knows, and if Eren, of all people, knows, then it’s pretty hopeless to think she might still have a secret to keep in the first place – but in her professional opinion as a woman with eyes, Armin Arlert has a really cute face.

 He’s always had a really cute face. They took music together in high school, and she used to purposefully forget her sessions with her father’s accompanist so she could spend the time practising with Armin instead.

 It’s pathetic. She’s pathetic.

 They graduated years ago, and they’re both half way into different programs at university now. It’s been two months since Miss Zoe – Hanji, she says they’re supposed to call her – had sent them all emails asking if they would be interested in a Staff and Alumni performance of Les Misarables. It’s not that Annie wasn’t – an honours degree in physiotherapy doesn’t exactly leave a lot of time for singing show tunes at her old high school – but Armin had called her up literally half an hour after she’d received the email.

 “Audition with me,” he’d said. “It’ll be fun.”

 Now, Annie may be pathetic, but not that pathetic, and she’d coughed and said, “I don’t know that I really have the time.”

 Armin had laughed. The sound alone had made Annie want to reconsider. “Well, I mean, I suppose I don’t either. But my thesis can wait – it’d be a great reason to hang out and catch up.”

 “That I can do,” Annie had said. “Committing to a whole musical though?”

 “Fine,” chuckled Armin. “Practise with me though? I really want to get Marius, and I know you know all of Cossette’s parts. Please?”

 “Sure,” Annie had said with a laugh, and she thinks maybe it would have been fine if she had only agreed to practise with him until he got the part, except that Hanji was ecstatic and almost gave him the part without an audition, and Armin had rung her up again to say, “Annie, thank you so much for practising with me! I got the part! Do you think you could help me rehearse as well?”

 And that had gone on well enough, until it turned into:

 “Annie, why don’t you come by for rehearsal? I’m sure everyone would love to catch up with you.”

 And now she’s here, glaring at the sheet music in her backpack like this is somehow all Claude-Michel Schonberg’s fault, and listening to Armin sing Historia’s praises through an unfinished prop gate.

 “I don’t get you,” says Eren, offering her a toffee. “Why don’t you just talk to him like a normal adult human being?”

 She scowls at him. “Oh, like you’re the expert on relationships here, Mr. I-confessed-my-love-to-my-now-girlfriend-only-when-she-accidentally-broke-my-nose?”

 He shrugs and helps himself to another toffee. “We’re still together, aren’t we?”

 Well. Annie supposes he has a point. She considers snapping back with something scathing and witty, but there’s a shriek from onstage, and she glances up in time to see Historia tumbling ungracefully off the stage.

 “Oh. Shit,” mutters Eren, and they clamber out of their row and hurry towards the stage.

 It’s a bit of a mess. When they get there, the crowd parts in time for Annie to see Armin prodding carefully at Historia’s ankle – and Annie is no expert, but she doesn’t need to be a qualified physiotherapist to know that her ankle is one hundred percent broken.

 “We should probably get you to Emergency,” says Armin, helping her up, and Ymir – still half in costume – shoos him away to pick up her injured girlfriend.

 “I’ll take her,” she declares. “I don’t think the hospital would let us all crowd their waiting room anyway. I’ll let you guys know how it goes.” And she pushes her way through the crowd with Historia in her arms, and Hanji sighs and sits back in her seat.

 “Well,” she says. “Anyone know where we’re going to find another Cossette?”

 Annie feels her neck tingle, and she can feel Eren’s amused smirk, and Armin’s hopeful gaze on her before she even has the chance to glare at them both. She knows what’s coming, and she thinks, for a moment, that maybe she can still get out of this if she runs now –

 But she catches Armin’s eye and suddenly it’s too late.

 He smiles at her, and his eyes are so bright, and beautiful, and everything Annie has ever loved about him, and her resolve starts to crumble like a poorly made cookie.

 “I think Annie might be willing to do it, Hanji,” he says eagerly.

 Hanji blinks and turns to her. Her face splits into a grin. “Would you like to give it a go, Annie?”

 Annie glances at Eren’s knowing smirk, and at Hanji’s eager grin, and at Armin – all of Armin, and his stupidly adorable face – and she sighs and hopes she hasn’t made the dumbest mistake for her life so far.

 “Yeah,” she says at last. “I can do it.”

 And Armin swells and he gives her a look that makes her want to just kiss him there and then, and she thinks, just maybe, this stupid musical thing might be worth it.

Chapter Text

-

5:00 PM

Historia
Annie, congratulations!! You’re perfect for Cossette! I’m so glad you volunteered!

 Annie
Uh. Thanks I guess. How’s your ankle?

Historia
Broken – no one’s fault but mine, haha! Ymir warned me not to wear those heels to rehearsal.
Why do you sound less than thrilled?
Armin’s playing Marius and everything, the situation couldn’t be any more perfect!

Annie
You /broke/ your ankle, how are you calling any of this ‘perfect’??

Historia
Annie.
Come on.
Maybe you and Armin can finally sort yourselves out

Annie
Pardon me.

Historia
Hahahahahahahaha who do you think you’re kidding Ann

-

Annie groans, and she tosses her phone across the living room and shoves her face into one of Mina’s sequined couch cushions. It’s a dumb decision. The sequins hurt her face. But even that is less annoying than everyone ‘congratulating’ her on landing the part – mostly because all of their ‘congratulations’ are thinly veiled digs at her thing with Armin.

 Or. Lack thereof.

 The couch dips, and Mina (she presumes) tugs the cushion from her hands to replace it with a mug of spiced tea.

 “Thanks,” mumbles Annie, and Mina elbows her gently and props her feet up against the coffee table.

 “You’re freaking out over nothing,” she says matter-of-factly. “But. I get that bringing this up is setting you off so, okay, let’s just… talk about something else. Your dad’s coming to visit.”

 Annie almost chokes on her tea. “What.”

 “Yeah,” says Mina. “Reiner called and said he’s got plans to surprise you and see how you’re going with the – uh – music program at the university.”

 “That’s your idea of not setting me off?” Annie groans again, and she sets her tea down on the coffee table in favour of snatching the cushion back from Mina. “Ugh. Why does everything suck.”

 Mina clucks her tongue. “I’m not saying this was going to happen sooner or later but… this was going to happen sooner or later, Ann. Why not just tell your dad you didn’t take the offer for the music program?”

 “What, and have him be shitty about spending so much money on music when I was younger?” Annie snorts. “Yeah. No thanks. I enjoy physiotherapy plenty, and let’s be real here, okay? I may be good, but you can’t just be good if you want to make a career out of music. You have to be fucking brilliant, and you know – I’m not saying I couldn’t be – but I don’t need that kind of extra stress in my life, thank you. Enough shit sets me off without it.”

 Mina lets out a sympathetic sigh, and she sets her own tea down to rub Annie’s shoulders in what Annie thinks is supposed to be reassuring. She does her best not to flinch away from it – Mina’s just trying to help, and it’s not her fault that the air around her feels thick and stuffy.

 “Do you need me to go?” Mina asks after a moment.

 Annie swallows, but she shakes her head. “No. I think I’m okay.”

 Mina chuckles, but she pulls away from her regardless, and Annie can’t help but feel grateful that she’s such an understanding roommate. She leans over the other side of the couch and eases Annie’s violin under her arms. “I know you think this isn’t career-material, but I know you enjoy it, and that it makes you feel better. You’re part of the stage show now, you can make up some excuse to borrow a practise room over at the community music centre. Okay?”

 The weight of her violin case is comforting, and Annie’s lips twitch upwards.

 Mina grins back, and she pats her thigh once, finishes her tea, and heads back into their little kitchenette to start on dinner.

 Annie gets to the community music centre just before six, and Miss Ral – Petra, she corrects herself – lets her in without a fuss. She has a vague recollection of Armin saying she’d been cast as Fantine or something, which explains why she’s there to begin with. She gives Annie the keys so she can lock up once she’s done (“Just give them back to Hanji at Friday’s rehearsal.”), congratulates her once more for landing Cossette, and bids her a good night.

 It only takes a second for Annie to set up, and her breathing eases as she rests the violin in the crook of her shoulder.

 She’s halfway through a Brahms Sonata when the door clicks, and she’s greeted with sky blue eyes and the most beautiful smile she’s ever known.

 “Hey,” says Armin. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I saw your car and uh – I wanted to say hi.”

 Annie swallows. “Uh – hey yourself,” she says stupidly.

 “Don’t stop,” he says, seating himself at the piano in the corner. “I’ve missed hearing you play.”

 Annie snorts and sets her bow on the music stand. “If you’re not careful, you’ll get sick of me entirely.”

 Armin laughs, and Annie has to physically keep the blush from rising past her shoulders. “Don’t be silly, Ann, I could never get sick of you.”

 “What, with all the real rehearsals and our own? It’ll be like we’re in high school again.”

 He grins. “I know, isn’t it great?”

 Annie takes her own turn to laugh. It’s weird how easy it is to just hang out with him when the very concept of him gives her so much anxiety. Well. It’s not the concept, so much as it is the execution. Annie is enough of a dork as it is. Armin realizing that she is under her façade of indifference is… less than ideal.

 “Well,” she says at last. “If we’re going to pretend we’re in high school again, we may as well commit, right?” She hangs her violin on her music stand by its scroll and pulls a sheaf of sheet music out of her folder.

 Armin’s grin is blinding. “Is this the accompaniment?”

 “You tell me,” chuckles Annie.

 And Armin laughs, taking the sheet music from her and swivelling around in his chair.

 It’s well past nine when they bid each other goodnight.  

Chapter Text

“Mikasa, come on, you can’t sing Eponine's part of In My Life through gritted teeth! From the top!”

 If she were anyone else, Annie thinks she might actually be frightened by the way Mikasa’s been glowering at her for most of her solo, but as it stands, it’s fucking hilarious. Part of her feels like she should at least be insulted – but it’s hard to be insulted when even Eren can’t stop sniggering into the cuffs of his costume.

 It’s Friday afternoon. Armin is running behind and isn’t due to arrive for another half hour, so Eren, in a rare show of initiative, has offered to play Marius in his stead. Mostly, he’s just bored because they can’t rehearse the barricade scenes until Armin turns up anyway. So he stands at the prop gate on stage left, stifling his giggles into his wrist as Mikasa glares at Annie over his shoulder.

 “You two,” snaps Hanji. “You’re not helping. Annie, stop it, at least make an effort to pretend that Eren has Armin’s charm.”

 “Sorry, Miss,” says Annie, swallowing her laughter. “Er – Hanji, I mean. Old habits.”

 Hanji gives the three of them a look, before she shakes her head and motions to the orchestra. “From the top. Less angry, please, Mikasa.”

 The piano starts, and Mikasa makes an attempt at wiping the scowl off her features.

 “In my life, there's been no one like him anywhere... anywhere....”

 Eren clamps his jaw shut and grips the rail on the prop gate. Annie stares at the lock to avoid catching his eye, but the physical effort it takes not to start laughing again is almost unbearable. She and Mikasa have never been particularly good friends – they’re okay friends at best through their mutual friendships with Eren. Mikasa, as she understands it, is a little overprotective of her boys and there was a time, she thinks, where her relatively close friendship with Eren had put Mikasa on edge. Annie doesn’t really get it, to be honest, because even then, it was stupidly obvious that Eren only had eyes for her. She supposes that, now, it’s because this whole Cossette thing is getting dangerously close to… well. Annie doesn’t know.  

 She likes Armin a lot. She’d agreed to step up for him. But she doesn’t have a lot of proof that Armin likes her the same. She’s not sure what Mikasa is expecting, but she doubts there’s anything to actually worry about.

 “Is she still glaring?” hisses Eren.

 Annie glances over his shoulder briefly, and the lilt in Mikasa’s voice goes from longing to hostile so fast that she doesn’t even need to answer him.

 Hanji groans. “That’s it. Mikasa, if you can’t deal with this, I’m recasting you, do you hear?”

 “It’d put a really interesting spin on Eponine, though, wouldn’t it?” jokes Eren.

 And Hanji heaves a sigh and rests her glasses in her hair. “Good God, it’s like you’re all seniors again,” she grumbles. “You two. Outside. Find out how long Armin’s going to be. Mikasa, once more, without the distractions, okay?” She grits her teeth at the word ‘distractions’ and Annie purses her lips to keep her laughter in until they can get out of ear shot.

 “Your girlfriend needs to chill,” she says when the theatre doors shut behind them.

 “I’d tell you that she’s just overprotective, but I think you know that already,” says Eren. He fishes around in his coat pockets for his phone. “Armin’s on his way now.” He smirks. “I hear you hung out the other night.”

 Annie gives him a look. “I hung out with Reiner when he was here last too, and I don’t hear you being an ass about that.”

 “You don’t have a ginormous crush on Reiner.”

 Annie scowls. “Ginormous crush,” she snaps, trying to sound less mortified than she really is. “What are you, twelve?”

 “No,” says Eren, “But apparently you are.”

 “Fuck off.”

 Eren just rolls his eyes at her. “Fine. What are you gonna do about the thing with your dad?”

 “Ugh.” Annie groans and presses the heels of her hands into her eyes. The sleeves of her costume – a frilly white robe thing she’s supposed to wear over a nightgown once it’s been adjusted for her –  smell like mothballs and she makes a face as it wafts past her nose. “Can we talk about literally anything else?”

 “Hey Annie.”

 Annie’s breath hitches in her throat, and she’s suddenly very aware of how ridiculous she looks wearing a stupid French robe over a hoodie and a pair of jeans. “Armin! Hey! Uh. How long have you been standing there, exactly?”

 “Not long,” he answers with a grin. “Sorry I’m so late.”

 “Couldn’t have timed it better,” says Eren, clapping his shoulder. “Hanji says you need to try on your costume and then we’re rehearsing the café scene.”

 “Oh, okay,” says Armin, and he bids them both ‘See you later,’ before he disappears into the theatre.

 Eren rounds on Annie. “Neither of these conversations are done, okay? If you want to fool your dad into thinking you’re still doing the music program, then we have to talk about that later, at least.”

 “Fine,” hisses Annie, and she wrenches the theatre door open and storms back into the hall.

 Hanji spends the rest of the afternoon running through the café scenes with Eren, Armin, and the rest of the company, and Annie sort of zones out until Mikasa drops into the seat next to her.

 Annie shifts uncomfortably – after spending most of the afternoon glowering at her, she can’t help but wonder what she could possibly want – but Mikasa says nothing at first and drops one of Eren’s toffees into her lap.

 “Eren said I had to apologize,” she grumbles.

 Annie stares at her. “Are you going to?”

 “That’s my apology.” She nods at the toffee.

 “These are Eren’s.”

 “Take it or leave it.”

 Annie pauses, but after a moment, she shrugs and picks at the toffee. The pause is awkward, and the score shifts as Armin wanders onto the stage.

 “Marius, you’re late,” she hears Eren say, just as Mikasa clears her throat.

 “I think we both know we have problems with being honest,” she says at last. “To ourselves, I mean. Which means I know as well as you do how hard it is to be honest with someone else.”

 “What’s this supposed to be, some sort of pow-wow?”

 Mikasa snorts. “My point exactly.” She shakes her head. “Armin is trying really hard to give you space and let you come to him, okay? I don’t know how you’ve somehow completely missed the fact that he looks at you with literal hearts in his eyes, but that’s why he hasn’t done anything beyond the usual ‘come practise with me’ or ‘come to rehearsal’. You have to let him know when you’re ready. And you have to be open, and honest with him, because I swear to God, Annie, if you hurt him just because you don’t know how to communicate, I will murder you.”

 Annie scoffs. “You all seem to be convinced I’m in love with him or something.”

 “It’s almost like we all have eyes,” says Mikasa dryly.

 Annie can’t help but flush at that. “Rephrase: You all seem to be convinced he’s in love with me.”

 “It’s almost like we all have eyes,” says Mikasa again, and she nudges Annie’s elbow and jabs a finger at the stage.

 “Had you seen her tonight, you might know how it feels,” sings Armin. There’s an odd, sort of far-off look in his eyes, except that he’s not looking very far-off at all – he’s looking right at Annie. “To be struck to the bone in a moment of breathless delight. Had you seen her today, you might also have known how the world may be changed in just one burst of light, and what was right seems wrong, and what was wrong seems right.”

 Something bubbles in Annie’s stomach. She’s not sure what it is, but it’s almost like she wants to run – but from what? From the idea that Armin might genuinely like her even with the knowledge that she has no idea how to communicate?

 “Red.”

 “I feel my soul on fire.”

 From the idea that Mikasa might be right for once, in that she has to finally learn how to be honest with herself, and with him?

 “Black.”

  “My world when she’s not there.”

 “This is what it comes down to,” says Mikasa, sounding uncharacteristically gentle. “Can you deal being in limbo forever? Because Armin can’t. He’s been waiting for you long enough, Annie. Time to do something about it.” And she drops another toffee into Annie’s lap and climbs out of her seat without another word.

 “Red.”

  “The colour of desire.”

 “Black.”

   “The colour of despair!”

Chapter Text

Historia returns almost four whole weeks after she first broke her ankle, and - in Annie's own opinion - she looks far too happy for someone hobbling around with a gigantic pink cast strapped around her right leg. "It's not that bad," she says, waving everyone off as she tries (and almost fails) to seat herself on the edge of the stage. Ymir hovers around her cautiously, almost as if she's anticipating another broken ankle, but Historia sets her crutches down to her left and claps her hands.

"I think, after four weeks of being Cossette, it'd pretty mean of me to steal the role away from Annie," she declares. "I'm not exactly in a position to be on stage anyway - but I'm not gonna pull out of the production completely. I was actually wondering if you'd all let me take your measurements so I can sew everyone some new costumes! No offense to the costume box here at the theatre, but I think you'd all appreciate some clothes that didn't itch or smell like mothballs. What do you think Hanji?"

Hanji probably couldn't look more ecstatic if she tried. "I think that's a brilliant idea!" she says happily. "It'd sure look tons better than the stuff that's been around here for ages!"

"Yay!" says Historia, and Annie visibly winces at the sheer amount of chipper. "When can I get started?"

"Whenever you want. We usually stagger rehearsals anyway. We'll probably start with Javert's suicide today - what do you say, Levi?"

Levi - or Mr. Ackerman, as Annie's always known him - shrugs non-committally. "Whatever," he grunts, pushing himself off the wall and heading for centre stage.

Ymir helps Historia hop off the edge of the stage carefully, and Annie doesn't even get the chance to go back to looking sullen when Historia limps towards her, tape measure in hand.

"You first, Ann," she says cheerfully.

Annie sinks into her seat. "Why?"

"Why not?" Historia grins. "I have the best costume idea for you - and not because it was the one I had in mind for me. Come on, I promise I won't be too long." She tugs Annie up as best as she can while still trying to keep her balance and shoos her towards the dressing rooms.

It's a long and uncomfortable ten minutes. Annie doesn't particularly like close contact at the best of times, but having Historia in the same dressing room asking her to remove items of clothing puts her more on edge than she wants to admit. When she's finished at last, Historia holds up a sketch book and grins.

It's honestly not the worst thing ever, thinks Annie. It almost looks like a regency dress with a wider skirt and a lot more frills. It's certainly a lot less ridiculous than the monstrosity Hanji found in the school's material science department. 

"I know you don't like anything too over the top," says Historia. "And you know what they say - the French like their clothes like their music - ornamented to hell and back."

Annie's lips twitch at the joke, and Historia's grin widens.

"So I took it down a few notches - and maybe rewound ten or so years - but presumably no one in the audience will care that much about French fashion in the 1830s. What do you think? Will you let me make it for you?"

"You mean I get a say in this?" asks Annie, a little surprised.

"Of course! I wouldn't make you go out on stage in something you aren't comfortable in!"

Annie pauses and studies the sketch for a moment. "I think it's nice," she says at last. "I appreciate it how much effort you put into making it something I would like, so thank you for that. Do you think you can make it blue?"

Historia pats her shoulder. "It was already going to be blue for you, Ann. You're all done. Send Armin in - he's next."

It's a pretty chill rehearsal. Hanji orders pizza to thank her cast and crew for a solid day's work, and Connie and Sasha crash the end of it like good Thernadiers singing a loud and obnoxious version of Master of the House. But, as much as Annie enjoys the shenanigans (and the free pizza), the noise starts to get a little too overbearing, and she retreats into one of the practise rooms for some peace and quiet.

Armin follows her. She can feel his presence before she even unlocks the door.

"You don't want to hang out with everyone else for dinner?" she asks him without turning around.

Armin chuckles, and she feels something square and boxy poke her in the ribs. "I thought ahead," he says, lifting the lid for her.

Four cheeses. Fuck yeah. Annie lets out a laugh. "You're too good at this," she says, jimmying the door open at last. "You know we probably shouldn't be eating in here, though."

"Eh. No one has to know." He winks.

"Ooh, breaking rules now, I see. How you've grown."

"Everyone has a rebellious stage at some point, right?"

Annie snorts loudly, and she shuts the door behind them and slides against it until she's sitting cross legged on the floor. Armin does the same, but he tugs the piano stool over with his foot and sets the pizza box on it like its a makeshift table.

"What'd you think of Historia's costume ideas?" he asks mildly, helping himself to a slice.

Annie shrugs. "I like mine, all things considered. She didn't show me anyone else's."

"Yeah," says Armin mildly. "I'm pretty happy with mine too. Eren wanted his to be 'more revolutionary' but short of putting him in a blue coat and giving him a musket, I think he'll just have to deal. Mikasa spent most of the afternoon making jokes about being half a century too late and being in the wrong continent."

"He was well cast," snorts Annie. "If anyone's going to play a good Enjolras, it's going to be Eren."

"I honestly don't think Enjolras' enough for him," says Armin. "He'll have his sights on Hamilton next."

Annie can't help but giggle into her pizza, and she catches Armin's pleased grin out of the corner of her eye and sighs. Maybe she’s feeling exceptionally brave today, or maybe Mikasa’s version of a pep talk from three weeks ago actually worked, but this feels easy. It's easy to breathe, and to be so near him, and it feels like it might be easier still to rest against him and just enjoy each other's company for a while - so she does, and the dip in his shoulder feels like it was made specifically for her cheek.

Armin pauses like he's hesitating - like he's waiting to make sure she's certain about being so close - but he lets out a breath when she doesn't move, and presses his lips into her hair in something that’s almost but not quite a kiss. It’s cautious, and comforting, and a confession, all at once, and Annie breathes in and relishes the shared warmth and the way he smells of books and fresh paper.

“Hanji's got a heck of an eye for casting, huh?" he murmurs.

And then they're laughing, and sitting together together feels like the safest space in the world.

Chapter Text

“Annie, do you need your car today?”

 It’s Saturday morning and Mina looks kind of flustered. She’s got a brush in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other, her cardigan is hanging haphazardly off her elbows, and she’s gnawing on her lip as she hurries around the living room looking for her other sneaker. Annie blinks at her and glances at the clock.

 “It’s barely eight o’clock, what are you in such a hurry for?”

 Mina grimaces. “My project group’s having an actual meeting for once,” she grumbles. “I’m supposed to be at the campus library in ten minutes.”

 Annie stares at her. “The university’s a thirty minute drive from here.”

 “I’m aware,” snaps Mina, but she makes a face as her coffee sloshes over the rim of her travel mug. “Crap,” she mutters. “Sorry. I probably deserved that. That was rude. And I just remembered you need the car today for rehearsal.”

 Annie waves her off. “You can take it,” she says mildly, switching on the kettle. “Armin’s picking me up today.”

 Mina pauses. She sets her coffee down on the bench. “Armin’s picking you up today?”

 There’s a note of cheeky interest in her voice and Annie avoids her gaze by rummaging through the cutlery drawer for her tea infuser. “Yeah,” she says slowly.

 “How long has he been doing that, exactly?”

 Annie waits until the kettle switches itself off before she answers. “A couple of weeks.”

 She can almost hear the grin in Mina’s voice. “Oh my God, is this finally happening?”

 “Aren’t you late?”

 Mina glances at the clock and mutters a curse under her breath. “Fine. Okay. But you’re not getting out of this discussion, you hear? You and I are going to have a long talk about the two weeks of cutesy car rides I apparently didn’t hear about when you get home.”

 “Yes, mom,” teases Annie, but, for what it’s worth, she offers Mina a little, almost confirmatory smile over her tea as she tosses her the lid for her travel mug.

 “Annie, don’t do this to me, don’t give me that look and make me wait to know what’s going on –”

 “Oh my God, go!”

 Mina holds up her hand and picks up her coffee again. “Fine, fine, I’m going. Thanks for letting me use your car.”

 Annie waves as she lets herself out. “Drive safe.”

It’s the first full cast rehearsal of the production, and while Annie had known in her head that Principal Smith had been cast to play Valjean, the realization that she’d have to be calling him ‘Papa’ to his face for most of the second act has Eren in stitches. Hanji had arranged to stagger most rehearsals so far, and Annie’s seen Petra as Fantine maybe three or four times, and Levi as Javert once. Principal Smith hasn’t been present at any of the rehearsals she’s been to so far, and up until now, she’d just been imagining Hugh Jackman in his place.

 “Stop laughing,” she snaps, as Eren wheezes and clutches his sides. “It’s not that funny.”

 “It’s fucking hilarious,” he manages. “It’s Principal Smith!”

 Annie scowls at him. “Yeah and Mikasa’s actual uncle slash your ex math teacher is supposed to be leading the charge to murder you, and you don’t see me laughing at that.”

 “That’s a very serious issue, Annie, he’s been wanting to murder me for years and he gets to do it onstage. What if he actually murders me?”

 “That would be, as you say, ‘fucking hilarious’,” says Annie coldly.

 “Annie, there you are!”

 Annie glances up briefly and spots Petra sidling up through their row of seats.

 “Principal Smith’s been looking for you,” she says, and behind her, Annie hears Eren snort loudly into his bag of toffees. Petra ignores him. “I think he wants to go over some lines with you. Oh, and are you and Armin staying back today?”

 Eren stops laughing at once, and Annie holds a hand back to keep him from edging closer in his interest.

 “We didn’t have any plans on it today, no,” she says.

 Petra nods. “See Hanji later anyway – she made you an extra key seeing as you’re both here so often.

 “You do what now?” says Eren.

 “Oh,” says Annie, ignoring him. “That was nice of her. I’ll get it off her after rehearsal. Is Principal Smith ready for me now?”

 “Give him ten minutes – Historia’s just making sure he fits into his costume.”

 “Thanks,” says Annie, and she rounds on Eren after Petra excuses herself and jabs him with a finger. “Don’t even start. It’s none of your business.”

 “You’re not hooking up in the practise rooms, are you?”

 She hits his arm. “Don’t be gross.”

 “I’m insulted!” he whines. “You and Armin have been putting in some ‘extra rehearsal time’ and neither of you told me? I’ve been rooting for you both for years, how could you keep this information from me?!” He waggles his eyebrows stupidly at the words ‘extra rehearsal time’, and Annie has honestly never wanted to punch him so badly.

 “Remember that time Mikasa broke your nose? I swear to God, if you don’t shut it, I will break it again.”

 Eren smirks at her. “Annie, I’m not into you like that.”

 There’s a pause. It takes Annie a whole second longer than she wants to admit to catch on. She’s glad that it did or she’s pretty sure she might have actually punched him for it. Instead, she makes a face of disgust and holds up her hands. “I’m out,” she snaps, and she gets up, tosses her script at his forehead, and storms out of their row.

 Hanji orders pizza again to thank everyone for a hard day’s work (Annie’s pretty sure that if she keeps this up, none of them will fit into the costumes Historia’s been working so hard on) and when rehearsal draws to a close, Armin nabs a Four Cheese pizza and a loaf of garlic bread for them both and flops into the seats in the back corner of the theatre.

 Annie snorts at him. “Do I get a seat too, or?”

 “Sorry,” chuckles Armin, and he swings his legs off the seats so she can drop in beside him. “Today feels like it’s gone on for ages.”

 “What are you even doing when you’re not onstage?” she asks, helping herself to a slice.

 “Ah.” Armin flushes like he’s a little embarrassed. Annie doesn’t really know why – everyone who’s been cast with a speaking role is arguably as much of a nerd in their own way as he is. “I’ve been talking with Marco about lighting and set design. I mean, obviously we don’t have a huge budget, but you can make anything feel like Broadway if you put enough effort into it.”

 “You’re really into this, huh?”

 Armin shrugs and nibbles at his pizza. “It’s a nice change from my thesis, that’s for sure.” He pauses. Annie thinks he almost looks nervous. He takes a breath. “Do you wanna hang out sometime? Somewhere not here, I mean. Maybe dinner or something?”

 Annie blinks. “What, like on a date?”

 Again, Armin shrugs, and he avoids looking her in the eye by staring at a spot of grease on the pizza box. “Well, yeah, I mean – I’d like it to be a date, but it doesn’t have to be. I mean, I don’t want to sound like I’ve been reading too much into how much time we spend together, but I think you know by now that I – uh – ”

 “Armin.” He’s so flustered. If Annie thought he was cute before, it’s nothing compared to how adorable he is now, all red and unsure, despite the fact that they spend their private rehearsals with their elbows touching and their fingers purposefully bumping against each other as they take turns on the piano. “I’d like that. How about after Tuesday’s rehearsal? We – uh – could skip the shitty pizza and go for something little better.”

 “What – uh – really?” He laughs. “Yeah. Um. That sounds great. It’s a date?”

 “Yeah,” says Annie, hiding her smile behind a piece of garlic bread. “It’s a date.”

Chapter Text

The extra time Annie spends with Armin makes her giddy.

 It’s pretty lame. She would say she’s been as giddy as a school girl lately, except that even as a school girl she was never like this – never this light-hearted, or carefree, or chill. While she’s hesitant to call what they’re doing really dating (is it really? They’ve only been on three or four dates), it doesn’t change the fact that people are noticing and she doesn’t even care. It makes Eren easier to put up with; it makes rehearsals easier to enjoy – hell, she’s even starting to enjoy Mikasa’s company now. Mina is thrilled (even though Annie’s tried to tell her there’s nothing really to be thrilled about) and apparently they accidentally made Hanji cry last rehearsal because of the ‘extra depth’ their… thing brings to Marius and Cossette.

 Sometimes it’s a little overwhelming, but Armin notices. Armin notices everything. When her breathing starts to quicken, or when her shoulders become stiff, his hands find hers and somehow, Annie manages.

 They try to go out whenever they’re both free and not at the theatre with the rest of the cast. Usually it’s dinner somewhere quiet that doesn’t serve pizza. (They’re both pretty sick of pizza). Today, it’s a tacqueria a couple of blocks from campus.

 They’re tucked in the back corner with a bowl of nachos between them, and Annie’s shin occasionally bumps against Armin’s research binder under the table.

 “What’s your thesis on, anyway?”

 “Ah.” Armin chuckles and scratches awkwardly at the back of his head. “It’s – um – it’s pretty silly, actually. We’re looking at how music affects aggression in mental health patients. You know how they play Mozart in McDonald’s in the middle of the night? Calms people right down when they’re being rowdy after they’ve been drinking and stuff. It made me wonder, y’know? Maybe there are applications for that in medicine.”

 Annie stares at him. “That’s not even a little silly,” she says seriously. “What on earth gave you the idea that it was silly?”

 “Well, when you spend a half a year reading papers on the same thing so you can write forty page literature review, you start to think of it as silly,” he laughs. “It’s a bit of a love-hate relationship right now. What about you? Aren’t you supposed to be doing one next year for honours?”

 Annie shrugs and reaches for another nacho. “I haven’t thought about it yet,” she admits. “Honestly, I don’t really know what I’m doing in that regard.”

 “Do you want ideas or…?”

 Annie snorts. “One thing at a time, hey? Gotta get through the production first, and then finals, and then next semester. Maybe then I’ll think about it.”

 Armin studies her for a moment. “Do you enjoy it?”

 “Enjoy what?”

 “Physio.”

 “As much as anyone enjoys uni, I guess,” she says, shrugging again. She fiddles with a nacho and keeps her eyes on the bowl. “I mean it’s hard work, but it means a job so…”

 Armin snorts into his lemonade. “That’s the real problem, huh? Job security. Pretty sure I’ll be a temp forever once I finish this project, hey?”

 “Ar, if you can balance an accelerated biomed degree and an advanced diploma in music and still want to be studying, any research team would be lucky to have you.”

 “You’re too nice, Annie,” he laughs. “Do you ever regret it? Not doing the music program, I mean.”

 Annie hesitates. She thinks about her violin and stack of old sheet music she keeps in the corner of her closet; thinks about the afternoons she and Armin used to spend practising for exams and performances; thinks of being on the stage in front of an orchestra, dressed in black with her bow in her hand and her violin under her chin – and then she imagines herself in a clinic – her own clinic, even – and the stability and security it offers.

 “No,” she says at last. “Not really.”

Armin drives her home later. The box of quesadillas she’d bought for Mina jostles in her lap when as pulls up in front of their apartment. Usually, he doesn’t turn off the engine and Annie bids him a good night on the side walk, but today, he puts the car into park and turns the key in the ignition.

 “Let me walk you up,” he offers, unbuckling his seatbelt.

 Annie snorts as he climbs out of the car and hurries to her side to open the door for her. “Such a gentleman,” she chuckles, taking his hand.

 “I try,” he says.

 The trip to her floor is comfortable. Armin’s elbow bumps against hers in the elevator, and she touches his fingers briefly when the doors slide open.

 “Thanks for dinner,” says Annie, when she gets to her door. She offers him a shy smile. This is different from their other dates – more intimate almost. It makes her nervous.

 He notices, of course. “You okay?”

 “Yeah,” says Annie, touching his fingers again. “You worry too much.”

 Armin chuckles awkwardly. “Is it still worrying too much if I ask to kiss you first?”

 Annie almost drops Mina’s box of quesadillas. She laughs. God damn, he’s cute. “Yes,” she giggles, tugging him down by his collar.

 He laughs too, and he presses his lips against hers and Annie could swear that, in that moment, everything was right with the world.

Chapter Text

“Annie, hold still, I’m almost done.”

 Annie heaves a sigh, but she stills her shoulders and allows Histoia to put the final pins into the hems of her dress. It’s a clever costume – the outer coat is reversible – dark blue on the outside for her scenes with Principal Smith; light blue for her duet with Armin – but the dress itself is white, for the wedding at the end of the show. She doesn’t even mind admitting that she kind of likes it.

 Opening night is this weekend, and Hanji is itching to do a complete dress rehearsal, costumes and all. Annie’s costume is the last to be finished – Historia wants it to be perfect, and she had purposefully left it for last to keep herself motivated. “I just like making pretty dresses,” she’d said, “and yours is easily the prettiest one in the whole production.”

 Honestly, Annie thinks that she enjoys this far more than she ever would have enjoyed being Cossette.

 “All finished!” she says at last, and she straightens and spins Annie around by her shoulders. “What do you think?”

 Annie studies herself in the mirror and fiddles with her skirt. “It’s nice,” she says at last, smiling shyly at her reflection.

 “I see you smiling there, Annie,” Historia laughs, elbowing her gently. “I’m glad you like it. It was my favourite one to make.”

 “I could tell,” chuckles Annie.

 Historia grins at her and steps back a little. Annie supposes she might be thinking about how she might do her hair and makeup on the night. “You’ll get a veil too,” she says mildly. “For the wedding at the end. I know you don’t have to be on ‘til the second act, but turn up early anyway. It’ll take me a little while to do your hair.”

 “Okay,” says Annie mildly. “Can I take this off now? I’d hate to ruin it before you put the final touches on.”

 “Don’t you want to show off a little? Remember how Eren practically pranced around in his the other day?”

 “You know, I’m almost insulted you think I could be as childish as him.”

 Historia laughs. “Sorry. Yeah, all right, you can get back into your jeans now – just watch those pins.”

 “Sure,” Annie mutters, but she waits until Historia slips out before she tugs at the lacing of her costume and peels it from her shoulders. It really is a lovely dress, she muses, and she steps out of it, careful not to wrinkle it or stand on any pins.

 Armin is waiting for her when she steps out of the dressing room. “Hey,” he greets, grinning that adorable grin of his. “Don’t I get to see your costume?”

 “It’s too late now, you should have asked earlier,” says Annie, grinning back. “Guess you’ll just have to wait ‘til the dress rehearsal.”

 “How mean. Historia said you looked gorgeous in it.”

 “Historia would say that about anyone,” says Annie, but she flushes anyway and ducks her gaze to hide the flattery in her eyes. “Anything cool happen while I was in there?”

 “Eh,” says Armin, stuffing his hands into his pocket and handing her phone back to her. She’d left it with him for safekeeping while Historia was messing around with her and her costume. “Not really. Although – hey – your dad called.”

 Annie feels the blood drain from her face as fast as it rushed there, and her breath hitches in her throat. She’d completely forgotten. “Did – you didn’t answer it, did you?”

 “Well – I – I didn’t want him to worry or anything,” stammers Armin. “Sorry – should I not have?”

 Annie swallows. “What’d he say?”

 Armin hesitates. He’s always been observant, but Annie hopes to God that he hasn’t noticed the way her shoulders have seized up completely. “He – he just said he was in town and he was going to come and visit today. And – he seemed kind of confused? He thought you were in the music program –”

 Oh God. Annie thinks she might puke. “Fuck,” she says hoarsely. “I have to go.”

 “Annie – hey, what’s going on?”

 She brushes him off. “I have to go,” she mutters again.

 “Hey!” He snatches at her arm and, for the first time in the time that she’s known him, Annie flinches away from his touch.

 She pulls away from him and shrinks into herself. Her heart is thumping in her throat and she can’t tell if the breath hitched within it is coming in or going out. Her fingers feel numb and all of a sudden it’s too loud and even Armin’s voice hurts her ears.

 He tries for her hand as well. “What’s the mat –”

 “Don’t touch me,” she hisses. His touch almost burns. “I have to go.”

 “Annie!”

 She ignores him, and she doesn’t look back.

The drive home is a blur, but she knows she’s all sorts of fucked because she spots her father's car parked along the sidewalk long before she even gets the chance to pull into their apartment building’s parking garage. She pulls in and parks in the space next to the elevator, punches her floor into the key pad with the bottom of her fist, and keeps her mouth clamped shut the whole way because it feels like her heart might explode.

 He's waiting for her on the bench opposite her apartment door.

 “Hello, Annie,” he says.

 Annie can already hear the chill in his voice. “Hi dad,” she chokes.

 “I spoke to Armin,” he tells her. “We had a pleasant chat. It’s been a long while. He told me some rather interesting things.”

 She swallows and sucks in a breath. “What were they, exactly?”

 “Oh, you know. Only that you’ve been lying to me for three years about what you’re doing at the university.”

 Welp. There it is. Annie sucks in another breath and stares at a smudge on the carpet. “What’s that got to do with you?”

 “What does it have to do me?” he snaps, getting to his feet. “I’m paying for your degree, that’s what. How could you lie to me about this for three years?! After all the lessons, all the support – what the fuck, Annie?!”

 “I made my choice, okay?” hisses Annie. “You don’t get to choose what I want to do for a living.”

 “This is never what you wanted to do, not even when you were a little girl –”

 “How would you know?” she snarls. “You're never home! You haven't been since before you and Mom even got divorced!”

 “Don’t give me that shit, Annie!” He scowls at her and runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “You know why I’ve been away, you know that we never would have been able to afford those music lessons and your degree without it! The least you could have done to be grateful was be honest about it!”

 Annie’s fists curl at her sides. “You, of all people, don’t get to lecture me about being honest,” she seethes. “I don’t play music anymore, so fucking what? At least I don’t tell anyone I’ll be there for a performance and then not turn up at all because I’m too fucking busy getting drunk in fucking Singapore!”

 “Annie –”

 “I’m not taking this from you,” she snaps. Something wet drips along her cheek, and dimly she wonders when she started crying. “Cut me off for all I care, but you do not get to be pissed off at me for fucking lying!”

 The elevator dings, and her father blanches. Annie glances out of the corner of her eye to see why – Mina and Armin. They hurry out of the elevator at the sight of her, and her father scowls, slams a fist against the wall, and he storms away without another word.

 Annie hiccoughs and slumps against the wall, drawing her knees to her face as if they’ll hide her from the rest of the world. She hears someone crouch in front of her, and she shrinks into herself further still.

 “Annie?”

 It’s Armin. He touches her shoulders gently, but she bats at his hands and shuffles away.

 “Don’t!” she chokes. “Don’t touch me, don’t –”

 “Armin,” she hears Mina say. “It’s okay, I’ll look after her. Go. Please, she needs the space.”

 Armin moves away hesitantly, and Annie can tell that all he wants is to hold her and to make her feel better, but she can’t deal with breathing right now, let alone physical contact.

 “Go,” says Mina again. “She’ll be okay, I promise.”

 “Okay,” says Armin at last. “Keep me posted, though, all right?”

 Mina nods. “I will,” she says, before she turns back to Annie and touches her knee. “Annie? Hey. Come on, sweetie, let’s get you inside. I’ll make you some tea. Up you get. You’re okay.”

 Annie swallows, and she tilts her head back against the wall and sucks in a ragged breath. The last thing she sees before Mina helps her up and into their apartment is Armin’s eyes, brow wrinkled over them in a worried frown before the elevator doors slide shut.

Chapter Text

Annie’s parents filed for a divorce when she was in ninth grade.

 She honestly can’t blame her mother for wanting one. Her father has worked overseas for as long as she can remember and too often, he had promised he’d be home in time for a performance, only for her to receive an email the next day with some bullshit about how he’d missed his flight, or how the firm was really busy and he’d had to cancel his leave.

 She can only imagine how many promises he’d broken to her mother.

 He’d come home once during the entire process.

 It shits her to this day.

 Back then, her mother’s bitterness had been too hard to deal with, and she’d spent her afternoons locked away in one of the school practise rooms with her violin. Music was – and still is – easy. No one bothered her, and she could take out her frustration on difficult scales. It was a hell of a lot easier to focus on technique than it was to talk to Miss Ral about her problems, anyway.

 Armin noticed back then too. The day he realized she hadn’t been at the school gates at home time for a few days was the same day he found her in Practise Room B. He didn’t ask any questions about how she was, or what was going on – only if she had the accompaniment for whatever sonata she was getting through that day – and he sat himself at the piano and played with her until her breathing settled and she felt okay to go home.

 When her mother left to go and live with her sister on the other side of the country, she chose to stay because of Armin. And when her father ‘couldn’t book leave’ for her high school graduation, she went to it anyway, because Armin had promised her it would be worth it.

 It was. He was.

 She should have realized long ago how in love with him she’s been, and she curses herself today because after all this time, after all his unwavering friendship and support, she’d pushed him away because she couldn’t keep her fucking shit together.

 “Hey,” says Mina gently, setting a mug of spiced tea on the coffee table. “How’re you feeling?”

 Annie breathes out a shaky sigh. “Shitty,” she mumbles, pressing her face into the faux velvet armrest of their living room couch.

 “Take a breath for me,” she says gently, and Annie does – one very slow, very deep inhale, and a rush of an exhale. Mina touches her wrist gently, counting Annie’s pulse against her fingers and studying the colour of her lips.

 She’ll make a fantastic nurse one day, Annie thinks, and not for the first time, she finds herself eternally grateful for a friend as patient and understanding as her. “Sorry,” she mumbles against a cushion.

 Mina pats her hand gently. “You know you don’t have to apologise,” she says. “Not for an attack.” She pauses and brushes Annie’s fringe out of her eyes. “Armin’s worried sick, of course. Will you be all right to talk to him later or do you just want me to text him that you’re okay?”

 Annie shrugs. “Just text him for now,” she mutters. “I don’t think I’m up for talking to anyone right now.”

 “Okidoke. Do you want me to go too?”

 She shakes her head. “You should stay. It’s your apartment too. And… I don’t really want to be by myself.” She sighs. “You can go ahead and say ‘I told you so’ if you like.”

 Mina snorts softly. “Maybe when you’re feeling better,” she teases. “I’m not enough of a dick to rub it while you’re basically a wreck.”

 “Do I really look that bad?”

 “You could be having a Scene Phase.”

 Despite herself, Annie sits up and chokes out a laugh. She rubs at her eyes, snorting the smudge of eyeliner that comes away with the sleeves of her jumper. “Yikes.”

 “Here’s my next question for you,” says Mina, handing her a box of tissues. “Armin said rehearsal finishes up in an hour. Do you want me to drive you down to the music centre so you can take some frustration out on your violin?”

 She shakes her head. “I’ll be okay by then, I think.”

 “You’ll have stopped crying, maybe, but I don’t know that you’ll be okay.” Mina makes a face at her. “It’s a healthier outlet than sitting around here all night, you know that, and I’m not sure I trust you to drive in your state of mind.”

 “I’ll be fine,” Annie insists, but Mina huffs at her and crosses her arms in front of your chest.

 “Fine enough to talk to Armin?”

 There’s a pause. Annie scowls at her and slumps back over on the couch. “Fine,” she mutters, although, yeah, Mina is right. She’s not okay. She won’t be until she gets this out of her system – and Mina knows as well as she does that the fastest way to do that is with her violin. Opening night for Les Mis is less than a week away. If there was ever a time she needed to get herself back on track quickly, it’s right now. “I can drive, though.”

 “Can you?” challenges Mina.

 She nods.

 Mina studies her carefully. “Finish your tea,” she says briskly. “If I’m satisfied that you’re okay, you can drive yourself, deal?”

 “Deal,” says Annie, and Mina smiles, pats her knee once, and gets to her feet. “Mina,” she adds, before she can get too far away. “Thanks.”

 Mina grins. “Any time.”

Chapter Text

Annie gets to the music centre well after seven.

 She’d waited the extra couple of hours to alleviate Mina’s concerns, and, honestly, she’s glad that she did. Even now, it still feels hard to breathe, but knowing that her violin is nestled carefully in the passenger seat is comforting, and Annie grips at the steering wheel as she pulls into the parking lot, willing herself to take stronger, deeper breaths.

 She climbs out of the car, violin case in one hand, folders of sheet music tucked under the other. She makes her way towards her usual practise room, but the stage door of the theatre catches her eye. How many times had she performed on that stage when she was younger? How many times had she imagined performing on that stage and others like it for the rest of her life? She pivots on her heel.

 The theatre is quiet. The creak of the stage door and the sounds of her footsteps along the hardwood are almost deafening in comparison, and Annie can’t help but shiver a little at how much bigger it feels being here alone. She feels along the walls for the light switches and blinks as the lamps above the stage come to life.

 Annie heaves a sigh, wondering what her life would be like if she had chosen this instead.

 She picks up her violin.

 The second movement from Scheherazade has always been one of her favourites, and she shuts her eyes and lets the sound wash over her. It’s a beautiful piece. Her mother had taken her to see the ballet once – one of the many times her father had missed a performance, and she was so upset that her mother had dug into their savings for a night out in the city. She was only eight then, but she can still picture it in her mind and can still hear the missing parts.

 It’s not until she’s at the pizzicato that she realizes the other sounds aren’t in her head.

 Her eyes snap open, and she glances up to see Mikasa sitting at the piano.

 “What the hell are you doing here?” she blurts.

 Mikasa raises an eyebrow at her. “I could ask you the same thing,” she says pointedly. “Armin messaged me. He said you might be here tonight.”

 “That doesn’t explain why you’re here,” says Annie.

 Mikasa sighs and takes her fingers from the keys. “Armin also said you might want some company – but not his company just yet. He asked me to see how you were doing.”

 Annie grimaces, locking her eyes on the tape X’s Marco had set down weeks ago. “I’m fine,” she grumbles.

 “Are you?” Mikasa studies her. “Let’s be real, Annie, we both know that if you were, you wouldn’t be here.”

 Well, it’s true. Annie curses herself for being so easy to read, but she takes her violin from under her chin and moves to put it back in its case.

 “Don’t do that,” interrupts Mikasa. “I can go if you want. I’m just doing as Armin asked.”

Annie huffs. “Why?”

 Mikasa give her a look. “He cares about you a lot,” she says. “And he’s my friend and I care about him. I don’t dislike you that much that I wouldn’t come and check in on you if he asked.”

 Annie scoffs. “How kind of you.”

 Mikasa shakes her head at her, and she shuffles over on the piano stool and pats the space next to her. “We talked about this, Annie,” she says seriously. “About being honest. Remember?” She pauses and waits for Annie come forward. “Why’d you do it?”

 “Do what?” she mutters, seating herself gingerly on the edge of the stool.

 “Turn down the music program.”

 Annie hesitates and stares at the keys. “It’s none of your business,” she mumbles, and Mikasa nods and swings her legs mildly.

 “I know it’s not,” she says. “But if you’re not going to be honest about it with Armin, then you’re going to be honest with me. So why’d you do it?”

 Annie lets out a mirthless snort. She shakes her head, and studies her nails, and sucks on her teeth to draw out her answer, but Mikasa doesn’t move and is still looking at her expectantly after two solid minutes of silence. “I don’t know,” she says at last. “I enjoy physio plenty –”

 “Do you?”

 “Well – yeah, I –”

 “Not as much as you enjoy music obviously. You’re supposed to be honest, Annie, remember?” Mikasa nudges her gently. “Try again. Why’d you turn down the music program?”

 Annie huffs again. “Because I want a job? Because you can’t just be good at music to succeed at it, you have to be amazing?”

 “And you are,” says Mikasa. “The way I heard it, you were scholarship material.”

 “That still doesn’t guarantee a job,” grumbles Annie.

 “Is that the only reason?”

 Annie swallows. Her throat is starting to hurt again and she curses herself a second time for being so transparent. “There was no point,” she croaks at last, and she presses the heels of her hands into her eyes in a poor attempt to keep herself together. “No one ever turned up to watch – no one that I wanted to turn up anyway. Not even for the important things like graduation.”

 Mikasa’s voice is gentle. “Why’d you lie about it?”

 Annie hiccoughs. “I didn’t – I really don’t want to talk about this right now, Mikasa.”

 “You either tell me, or you talk to Armin,” she says firmly. “What’s it gonna be?”

 Annie leans her elbows into the keys, filling the theatre with a low, jarring chord. There’s no point stopping it now. She stifles a sob with her hands and rubs furiously at her eyes with the sleeve of her jumper. “I didn’t want him to be disappointed,” she whispers. “My dad, I mean. For – for the longest time, he told me that he was away so often so he could afford to pay for all those music lessons, but the truth is that he just didn’t care. He paid for those lessons and told me I should go for the music program to keep me happy so he could go on doing whatever the hell he was doing overseas. But even then – even after I figured out how much of a bloody liar he is – all I wanted to do was make him proud. I guess I just didn’t want him to be as disappointed with me as I was with myself for choosing to do the rational thing.”

 There’s a pause. Mikasa touches her shoulder carefully, but Annie takes a shuddering breath and flinches away. “First of all,” she says quietly, “choosing to be secure over something you’ve wanted for years doesn’t make you weak or a coward. All that ‘follow your heart’ stuff is bullshit in the real world – I mean, are you still following your dreams if you can barely support yourself? No. That doesn’t work out for everybody, and choosing security and a job isn’t something to be disappointed about. If anything, it shows a lot of strength, and a lot of maturity.

 “Second of all… we all have shitty family members, Ann, but the cool thing about having friends is that they can be your family too. Eren made a huge effort to go to every one of your gigs he could when we were in high school – I know because he dragged me along to a bunch of them – and Mina thinks you’re like a sister to her, and it shows. And Armin – Armin has rearranged schedules and cancelled on us at the last minute just so he could be there for you. God damn, Annie, that boy would move mountains for you if he could.”

 “It’s not the same –”

 “I know it’s not,” says Mikasa, “but family makes an effort for you, and if your dad never did… then he doesn’t really deserve the privilege of being called part of your family.”

 Annie sniffles, and she pulls her sleeves over her hands and watches her tears splash onto the keys. Mikasa’s right. It hurts, and it sucks, but she knows that she is, and even this numbs the pain more than she ever realized it could.

 “Go get your violin,” says Mikasa gently. “Let’s finish the movement, hey?”

 Annie laughs, despite herself. “Don’t tell anyone we had this talk, okay?”

 Mikasa snorts at her and shuffles back into the centre of the stool. “Obviously.”

Chapter Text

5:36 PM

Armin
Reiner, hey, sorry to bother you
When’s Annie’s dad leaving?

Reiner
Not til tomorrow morning afaik

Armin
Where’s he staying?

Reiner
How would I know, I’m an intern, not his PA

Armin
Can you find out? Please, it’s urgent

Reiner
Give me a sec

Reiner
Garrison Apartments on Elizabeth Street

Armin
THANK YOU
we owe you one!

-

The drive to the theatre is normally about forty-five minutes from Armin’s side of town, but if he’s going stop by the city and still get there in time before the show starts, he’s going to have to drive fast. It’s opening night. As excited as he is for it, Mikasa mentioned her conversation with Annie to him the other day, and his mind has been far more occupied with that than anything else.

 He glances at the clock on his dashboard and chews on his lip, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel as he waits in what is probably the worst traffic jam he has ever seen in his life. He can see the Elizabeth Street turn off from where’s he’s waiting, which is even more infuriating, and he glances at the green LED blinking in the corner of his phone. It’s probably Eren, and he flips the phone over to keep it from distracting him.

 It’s another ten minutes before he finally gets to the turn off, and he pulls over in the first free space he finds and runs the rest of the way. Garrison Apartments is a pretty high-end hotel, and he bursts into the foyer looking more than out of place in his scuffed sneakers, worn jeans, and wrinkled dress shirt. Still, he ignores the funny looks and jogs over to reception.

 “Mr. Leonhardt’s in 104,” they tell him, and he nods, thanks receptionist for his help, and practically sprints towards the elevators. It’s a short trip – the elevator doors ding as they slide open and Armin mutters a curse to himself as he almost trips over his shoe laces in front of Mr. Leonhardt’s hotel door. He knocks twice.

 Mr. Leonhardt blinks at him when he answers.

 “Armin, what are you doing here?”

 Armin bends over, trying to catch his breath. “One second,” he manages, fumbling with his Ventolin. He takes a couple of puffs. “Sorry to bother you Mr. Leonhardt,” he says at last. “The show starts in an hour – sorry – fifty minutes. We have to go now if we’re going to make it in time.”

 “Show?” says Mr. Leonhardt, looking confused. “What show?”

 “Our show,” says Armin. “Sorry – I’m a bit all over the place. We’re putting on Les Mis. I’ll explain the rest in the car. Come on, we have to go.”

 “Hold – hold on, I’m not just going to go with you on a whim!” Mr Leonhardt frowns at him and crosses his arms. “My flight’s at four in the morning tomorrow, I don’t have time to just go to some show –”

 “Annie’s in it,” interrupts Armin seriously. “Annie’s in it, Mr. Leonhardt. She’s playing Cossette. She gave up music years ago because you could never make it to her performances, and if you ever want to make it up to her – if you really just want to make her happy, you’ll come with me now.”

 Leonhardt gapes at him. “She – what? I – look. I have to be at the airport at some ridiculous hour tomorrow, I don’t have time for this – ”

 “She’s your daughter,” snaps Armin. “The one time you’re actually in town for a performance, you’re going to skip it because your flight’s so much more important?”

 “Armin –”

 Armin scowls at him and stomps his foot against the carpet. “All she’s ever wanted was for you to turn up, and you’re here now and you won’t even consider it! Jesus, Mikasa was right about you, you don’t deserve –”

 “Enough,” snaps Leonhardt. “You don’t understand. You saw what happened the other day. How can she want me there after that?”

 “Just –” Armin glances at his phone for the time. Five Forty-eight. Shit. “Just trust me, okay? She gave up scholarships because you never came to any of her performances, and she lied to you because she didn’t want to disappoint you even though she knew you would never care, so – just this once, be there for her. Please.”

 Leonhardt studies him. The seconds feel slow and lethargic before, finally, he makes a fist and pounds gently at the door jamb. “I don’t have a ticket –”

 Armin shakes his head. “Don’t worry about that. Will you come with me now?”

 Leonhardt sighs. “Let me get my coat.”

It’s a frustrating drive. Armin fights the urge to honk at every asshole who cuts him off or merges too soon. Twice, Hanji calls asking him where the hell he is, and he swears he’s almost there both times even though he’s not.

 Parking is horrific at the theatre too. From what Armin heard, tickets for opening night had sold out weeks ago, and when they finally find a space, he and Mr. Leonhardt rush into the front and into Jean who looks exhausted already. They can hear Petra’s muffled solo coming through the closed doors, and Armin almost tackles him to get his attention.

 “Jean,” says Armin. “Listen, I have to go – can you find Mr. Leonhardt a seat?”

 Jean stares at him like he’s grown an extra seat. “We’re sold out –”

 “I don’t care,” snaps Armin. “He can only be here tonight, and his flight’s at four tomorrow morning. Find him a damn seat.”

 “All right, Jesus.” Jean rolls his eyes at him and beckons to Mr. Leonhardt. “Come this way, sir, I think I saw one in near the front.”

 “Jean,” calls Armin just before he opens the theatre doors. “Sorry. That was rude.”

 Jean waves him off, but he offers Armin a small grin. “Save it for Hanji,” he tells him. “Break a leg.”

Chapter Text

5:30 PM

Armin
Hey I’m running a little late
Can you cover for me?

Annie
Sure, I’ll give everyone else a heads up

5:52 PM

Annie
Cutting it a little close don’t you think?

6:00 PM

 Annie
Hanji’s getting really antsy Ar you’d better be close

6:27 PM

 Annie
Armin where the hell are you
The show starts in 3 minutes!!!

-

 Annie’s phone is snatched away the second she finishes the last message, and Hanji clucks her tongue as she deposits it into a little black sack.

 “You know the rules, Ann,” she mutters. “You, of all people, should know what phones can do to sound equipment. I take it you didn’t hear from Armin?”

 “I wouldn’t know, you took my phone off me,” hisses Annie, a bit harsher than she means too. She takes a breath. “Sorry. I know you’re stressed too, I shouldn’t have snapped.”

 Hanji sighs. She looks more frazzled than she sounds, and she adjusts her glasses as she peers out at the crowd. “We can’t afford to wait for him,” she huffs at last. “He’s not on ‘til the second act anyway, we just have to hope he’ll be here before the intermission.”

 Annie purses her lip, and she hops off one of the tables from the café scenes and wrings her hands. The train of her outer coat trails behind her, and she curses and bunches her skirts to keep them out of the way. “He’ll be here,” she says at last – more to convince herself, than to convince Hanji. “I’ll send him straight to Historia when he arrives. You go make sure everyone else is set up.”

 “All right.” Hanji takes a breath. “Places everyone! It’s show time!”

Halfway through Valjean’s Soliloquy, Annie starts pacing. Everyone else in the dressing room keeps well out of her way except Eren, who prods her shoulder gently and tugs her over to Historia for hair and makeup. He drops a toffee into her lap.

“What, are you crazy?” Annie snaps.”I don’t want one of those now.”

 “It’ll be well out of your throat by the second act,” says Eren. “Calm down, okay? He’ll be here.”

 Annie scowls. “Have you heard from him, then?”

 Eren nods. “He’s just taking care of something. It couldn’t wait. Eat your toffee.”

 “But –”

 “Ann,” says Histora, reaching for the hair curler. “You know how I feel about eating while I’m doing hair and makeup, but if it’ll calm you down, just eat it, okay? Everything’s going to be fine.”

They’re well into Petra’s solo when Armin finally bursts through the dressing room doors.

 “Where the hell have you been?” hisses Annie, jabbing in the chest with a finger.

 “Sorry!” he mutters. The final cadence of I Dreamed a Dream washes over them followed by a smattering of applause, and Armin flushes at the sight of her. “Sorry, sorry, sorry, I’m so sorry I’m late – the traffic was awful on the way down, I drove as fast as I could without getting pulled over for speeding –”

 “Shush,” snaps Annie. “Historia’s waiting for you. Go. Quickly!”

 “You look really pretty, by the way –”

 Annie flushes a little at that, but she’s far too annoyed at him to let that get her. “Nice try,” she snaps. “Just get dressed.”

Annie could swear on her life that the wait for the first act to finish was a lot longer during rehearsals compared to what it is now. She had thought maybe Petra’s niece was a little nervous during Castle on a Cloud, and it feels like Sasha and Connie sped right through Master of the House, but Levi, uncommitted as he is to this musical, would never rush a performance – he has far too much respect for the rest of the cast to do that – so Annie has to conclude that her sense of time has just been completely warped.

 She follows Principal Smith onstage briefly at the beginning of the second act, and then Armin squeezes her hands and kisses her forehead gently offstage before he goes on for the café scenes and Red and Black – and then suddenly she’s on. She tries not to trip over her skirts as she wanders into Cossette’s little garden, and the spotlight is blinding when it focuses on her. She takes a breath and glances at Hanji for her cue.

 “Strange,” she sings, glancing out at the audience. “This feeling that my life’s begun at last. This change – can people really fall in love so fast?” She waits for her next cue from the harpist but she spots him when it comes.

 Her father.

 He’s sitting two rows from the front, his eyes locked on her.

 Annie’s voice leaves her. The pause stretches out in front of her, the tension from it almost tangible. She can feel Principal Smith’s eyes on her from stage right. Armin frowns and mouths her lines to her from stage left. The harpist glances at Hanji, confused, but Hanji holds up her hand and waits.

 “What’s the matter with you, Cossette?” she manages at last. “Have you been too much on your own? So many things unclear. So many things unknown.” The music shifts, but Annie keeps her eyes locked on her father, unsure of whether or not her anxiety has finally pushed her over the edge. He can’t really be there, can he? Surely not. No. It can’t be him – but he smiles at her like he’s saying Yes, I finally made it, and Annie’s voice almost fails her again.

 Good God, he’s actually there.

 Annie thinks she might throw up. She’s not sure why.

 “In my life,” she sings. The lyrics have never been so relevant. “There are so many questions and answers that somehow seem wrong.” (Like how in the fuck?). “In my life, there are times when I catch in the silence the sigh of a faraway song. And it sings – of a world that I long to see, out of reach – just a whisper away waiting for me.”

 She swallows and tears her eyes away from him. “Does he know I’m alive? Do I know if he’s real?” (How fucking ironic). “Does he see what I see? Does he feel what I feel? In my life, I’m no longer alone now that love in my life is so near… find me now. Find me here.”

 Principal Smith joins her again a moment later and her next lines happen in a blur. When Armin and Mikasa enter from stage left and the spot light moves to them, Smith frowns at her in the dark and whispers, “Are you all right? You had us worried for a second there.”

 Annie nods at him. “I’m fine,” she mutters.

 “All right,” he whispers, and he touches her shoulder like Valjean would Cossette and heads back off stage.

 And then Armin’s at the gate already, good God, Annie’s sense of time is all sorts of fucked right now.

 “A heart full of love,” he sings. “A heart full of song – I’m doing everything all wrong. Oh God, for shame – I do not even know your name, dear mademoiselle, won’t you say? Won’t you tell?”

 Annie clears her throat quietly to answer him. “A heart full of love,” she says, asking without asking if he knew her father would be here. “No fear, no regret.”

 “My name is Marius Pontmercy,” he answers, but he jerks his head ever so slightly at her father, and he nods. Yes. I brought him. Sorry it took so long.

 Annie almost falters a third time, but she draws another breath. “And mine’s Cossette.” She honestly thinks she might cry, although she’s not sure if it’s because her father finally made it or if it’s because fuck this gate, she wants just to kiss Armin right fucking now.

 “Cossette – I don’t know what to say,” he sings quietly, clasping her fingers over the bar.

 “Then make no sound,” Annie responds, gripping his back. She’s pretty sure this was never in the stage directions but she leans against the prop gate and rests her forehead against his, ignoring the way her eyes are starting to prickle.

 “I am lost,” says Armin. Are you okay?

 Annie chuckles and nods. “I am found.”

They take their bows at the end of the show, and as the rest of the cast climb into their cars to head off for the opening night after party, Annie pauses in the foyer and glances around the thinning crowd for her father.

 “Annie.”

 Her breath hitches in her throat, and she turns to find him waiting by the theatre doors. She stares at him for what feels like an hour, hardly daring to believe that this is really happening – before he coughs, and says:

 “You were amazing. I’m so sorry I never –”

 And Annie finds that she doesn’t need to hear it. She lunges forward to throw her arms around him, and he catches her around her waist. “You’re here,” she says weakly. “You actually made it.”

 “I did,” he whispers, nodding into her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Ann. I’m so sorry I never made it to any others. I know – I know it’s hard to hear me say this again when it meant so little before, but – but maybe we could try this again, hey? What do you think?”

 “Maybe,” she manages, in something that’s half way between a croak and a chuckle. “I’m just – thank you for coming.”

 He kisses her hair. “You should be thanking Armin. I should be thanking Armin, what am I saying – ”

 “You can do that at the after party,” she says. “Will you come?”

 Her father laughs. “Yeah. I will.”

 And he does.

Chapter Text

-

one year later

-

 “Guess what Hanji’s putting on for the Staff and Alumni production this year.”

 Annie snorts loudly and she takes her head from Armin’s shoulder to raise an eyebrow at him. They’re on his couch. Her laptop is perched on her lap with her thesis notes open, and shuts the lid because she knows this conversation isn’t going to end relatively soon. “Please tell me you didn’t volunteer us for her production again.”

 Armin laughs. “I haven’t yet,” he says elbowing her gently. “Last year’s was so great though.”

 “I guess,” grumbles Annie, but she rolls her eyes at him good naturedly and elbows him back. “What is it this year?”

 “The Sound of Music.”

 Annie snorts even louder, and she covers her mouth with her hands to stifle her laughter. “Are you serious.”

 “Would I joke about this?” laughs Armin. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

 “You said that last year.”

 “Was I wrong last year?”

 Well. He’s got her there. She did have fun. She sighs. “Who would you even audition for?”

 “Rolf,” says Armin pretty resolutely. “And I was thinking maybe I could convince you to audition as Liesel?”

 Annie heaves a long and exaggerated sigh. She purses her lips, and studies her fingers, and stares at the clock on the wall in an attempt to look anywhere but Armin’s stupidly adorable face, but in the end, there’s no escaping him and his pleading blue eyes. “Fine,” she grumbles at last. “But if I fail my thesis, I’m blaming you for it.”

 “You won’t fail your thesis,” says Armin briskly, opening her laptop for her again. “You like it too much. Look at this, you’re like months ahead of where you’re supposed to be. You can take some time off for some musical shenanigans. And hey, your dad can use it as an excuse to come say hi again.”

 Annie shifts uncomfortably next to him. “You really think he’ll come home for it?”

 “He came by for Hanji’s Winter Show,” says Armin. “And the Easter Concert the med orchestra put on earlier this year.”

 Annie sighs, and Armin slips his fingers into hers and squeezes just slightly.

 “He’ll be there,” says Armin quietly. “I think, knowing you’re performing again, even if it’s just for fun, he’ll do more than his best.”

 “You think so?”

 “I know so.”

 Annie sighs again, but she kisses his cheek and squeezes his fingers in return. “Sure,” she says at last. “It’ll be fun.”

-

fin

-