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"I’m an outcast.”
These same words often rolled off Annie Leonhardt’s tongue easily, much to Hitch’s dismay (she was her classmate slash on and off friend when the other blonde was stood up on a date, or eventually excluded from the squad of the popular students of the East Higher Lands’ high school because she didn’t rise up to their pompous and, snobbish standards.)
“And I’m fine with it.” Annie would add each time Hitch would open her mouth to argue how she just can’t say that because their high school years were their prime times. And each time, Annie will let Hitch go off on a long ramble about how she can’t get her hair to shine like Historia’s hair seemed to do despite her copying her hair skin routine she uploaded on Tiktok down to the ridiculously expensive third serum, because Annie knew of another outcast who didn’t give a damn just like her.
Pieck Finger.
She was one year above her, but that had hardly been a hurdle for them to become best friends and, in certain times when they would be holding each other’s gazes, a plethora of unspoken things ping ponging between them, a little bit more. Or maybe way more– Annie could never be certain because just like her, Pieck wasn’t as fond of talking about her emotions.
She was more a woman of actions. And with Pieck, every day was an adventure.
Annie would gag at all the sappy equivalent of crap loaded in the romcoms Porco was obsessed with but she still would tentatively think she and Pieck always thought in synch.
They’d suggest to each other skipping third periods on the same day in favor of running down to the closest gas station, stash carefully a bottle of vodka in Pieck’s satchel in the one corner the security camera didn't reach, one Fanta, one Coke and a pack of skittles before skipping toward Pieck’s car and driving through the town's forest, right before drawing a halt ten feet away from the valley, which held itself high and proud thousands of miles upon an inhabited village that’d make Annie’s skin crawl each time she chanced a glance downwards.
They’d lay on the car’s hood, tipsy, pasty cheeks flushed red, passing between them the small bag of sugar free skittles– they were no athletes yet despite their usual rebellious natures, they subconsciously conformed to the social norms of scaling your snacks’ calories since they were bestowed with what is commonly deemed a female form– blissfully unaware of the hours passing. They’d trade anecdotes from their journeys in school and laugh or cringe depending on the story and its main characters. Granted they were at the lowest bottom of the school hierarchy pyramid, but they both shared their poignant observation skills.
Annie’s attention would sometimes be drawn from whatever Pieck was talking about whenever their thighs would brush together. The simple motion would make heat rise to Annie's cheeks, and she’d be grateful for the hues of orange, pink and red from the sun setting concealing her furious blushing whilst she’d wonder about the skin of Pieck’s legs hidden by that over-the-knees burgundy skirt. How soft it would feel underneath the pads of her fingertips when she’d peel those black tights off her pale skin.
She leaves thoughts about the soft gasps Pieck would let out when Annie would nibble on the inside of her leg for when she’s safe underneath the covers of her own bed. The gentle way Pieck’s fingers would thread through Annie’s blond strands before tugging softly, urging her on to trail her ministrations upward.
Annie often gets away with these thoughts– be it when she’s in her own bedroom and had forgotten to lock her door, lost in a haze of endorphins or when her mind would venture in such territories (albeit to a much innocent extent) when she’s in the company of the star of her fantasies. However, one afternoon, Pieck fell silent a long time before Annie noticed that she did, and that they were no longer brushing fingers but actually holding hands.
It's not like this was the first time that it happened. They held hands publicly and no one thought anything of it because when girls swayed their clasped hands under everyone’s gaze or rested their heads on top of each other’s shoulders, it was often seen as platonic. And while both girls never minded such primitive mindsets, Annie at least had longed for that to happen; hold Pieck’s smaller hand in hers, press a kiss to each of her knuckles while everyone watched and got the message “yes, this is my girlfriend” loud and clear.
Still, something about this afternoon felt different. Annie watched, mesmerized as Pieck reached forward and tucked a stray blond lock behind her ear, her glinting eyes never leaving hers. Annie didn’t know what spurred her on but she soon realized she was closing the distance between them, heart fluttering when noting that the beautiful raven-haired was meeting her halfway. When their lips locked together, it was like the world around them didn’t exist. There were no people aside them on that hill or anywhere else.
It was infinitely better than each of the countless times Annie has pictured it in her head– Pieck's chapped yet soft lips moving against hers in harmony, her sweet and unique taste of skittles and coke as her mouth opened under hers before her tongue swiped teasingly at her lower lip.
As their kiss deepened and went on for as long as both their lungs allowed them to Annie realized a bit too late that she might've miscalculated their current seating situation. So, it was frankly no surprise when they lost their ‘footing’ and slid down the hood of Pieck’s car, tumbling down on the ground in a mess of tangled legs and hooked arms behind necks.
Pieck’s yelp was adorable yet still couldn't come close to her heartfelt laughter. Annie wasn’t sure what the other was laughing about– whether be it because they were heedless and fell down on the ground, or because having a few splinters on your knees and elbows was a hilarious matter to her friend (girlfriend?). Or maybe because Annie was making a funny face.
Annie smiled sheepishly when Pieck helped her back on her feet, dusting them both off while the gears in Annie’s head kept on turning, trying to figure out what the last ten minutes meant for them.
She decided she shouldn’t be hang up on labels when Pieck cupped her face delicately as if she was made of glass, strokes of sunlight reflecting ethereally on her hair and face, before bringing their lips together again in a loving kiss.
She was with whom she wanted for yet another day and she had no regrets.