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Annie isn’t new to sleep deprivation. She’s become accustomed to restless nights caused by nightmares and night terrors alike.
She’s used to waking up in the middle of the night to sounds in her ears and visions itched into the backs of her eyelids, deciding to forgo further rest until the sun rises. In a way, Annie’s become an expert at handling it. The trick is to stay in bed. Even if she needs a drink of water or some fresh air. She should always return and lie in her bed. If sleep doesn’t grant her a second chance that night, at least her body is resting.
This, however, is a different kind of torture. Not being able to fall asleep, no matter how tired and exhausted mentally and physically she was, isn’t something that Annie ever anticipated befalling her. Yet here she is, lying on her makeshift mattress, too afraid to close her eyes for longer than a single breath cycle.
Despite it being impossible now, Annie still thinks that any given blink could be her last. If she closes her eyes, this time, for sure, she’ll be back in her crystal prison; unable to breathe, unable to move, and unable to open her eyes, surrounded by a sort of frigid cold that never lets up, not from her body heat, and not from scorching and damp summers that pass by—a reminder of the passing time. But falling asleep is… inevitable. That affords her some peace of mind. Despite the fears clawing at her insides, her body will eventually ignore her cowardly pleas for constant wakefulness and shut off for the night, even if it's just for a couple of hours at a time.
It’s not long before nighttime becomes her least favorite time of day. When the sun is up, everyone else is awake and busy, and she’s expected to work alongside them. The few buildings that survived at the top of Fort Salta were reserved for top priority use. One as a warehouse to keep their supplies protected from the elements, two medical centers to treat the wounded, one patched-up kitchen, one for strategy meetings to determine the next step in a world after the Rumbling, and the remaining two were made into barracks to house the elderly and the young children that managed to flee.
As for the rest of them young, healthy, strong soldiers, they got tents and makeshift sleeping arrangements recovered from the stockroom of the fort. Not that they were abandoned by the group—they were mostly the ones working on salvaging the train that’s meant to take them into lands The Rumbling didn’t reach. They got to move their tents on a daily basis, using the solid structures to protect them from the dust storms and the worst of the sun.
Everyone was at the end of their ropes, but Annie was grateful for the constant work. Moving allowed her to keep her body energized enough to last through the day, and her mind safe from the horrors that come from night after night of insomnia fueled by isolation in a clear prison of her own making.
Unless they were sleeping in one of the few available cots in the buildings, no one had any right to claim a spot. That made things easier, really. Just keep track of your bedding, keep it clean, and sleep in whatever tent you helped set up that night. This structure also meant no fixed roommates, or tentmates, in this scenario.
She wasn’t the biggest fan of sharing her already-small sleeping space with strangers—Marleyan soldiers and survivors from Liberio that she didn’t recognize—but that meant that no one could keep track of her sleeping schedule, or lack thereof. Her father ended up in one of the few cots in the recovered barracks, seeing as he needed some medical attention after stressing his injured leg during their miraculous escape.
Annie would lie down and listen until the movement of the two to five other people sharing her tent would quiet down when they stopped rustling, which rarely took more than fifteen minutes. Then, she’s outside.
No one’s up at night. No one needs to be. Dedicating resources towards standing guard during the night against an enemy that’s no longer there meant taking precious resources that could be used elsewhere during the day. All the better for Annie. It wasn’t long until this became her routine, and with everyone looking tired as part of the new norm, her pale skin and dark circles didn’t stick out one bit.
Some nights were, arguably, more tricky to handle. Like ones where she shared sleeping quarters with people she knew. Annie’s sure Pieck was still awake when she snuck out, but the brunette had the decency to not call for her or mention it the next day. She also had to be more careful when Connie or Jean were around, they weren't dumb or inattentive by any means, but those two were fast asleep the moment their heads hit the pillow.
In one of the smaller tents—whether it’s due to fortune or misfortune—Annie finds herself sharing the space with Armin and Reiner; the latter is fast asleep. Good thing he doesn’t snore. If he did, Annie would’ve beaten his ass and probably took the Armored Titan from him ages ago, considering all the camping they had to do together as a group in enemy territory back when they were young warriors. Now, she keeps her back to both of them, choosing to sleep by the entrance of the tent with Armin staying in the middle.
She wouldn’t mind turning to get a glance at Armin. He joined them in the manual work whenever he could. That is, any small window of time he wasn't preoccupied with strategic planning and meetings. He was also the only sane one standing between the Liberio survivors and the Marleyan troops, stopping them from killing each other at the slightest inconvenience. Armin was also playing a major role in the updates and negotiations whenever they managed to contact survivors over the radio tower, some individuals, some official governments—or remnants of them.
Maybe this could be the night. After nearly a week of endless work, dawn till dusk, punctuated by a body and mind deprived of sleep, a soft plateau of dirt under her mattress, and a space shared with familiar breaths, Annie hopes this could be the night she gets enough rest to propel her through what’s yet to come. Settling on her side and pulling the blanket to her chin, she closes her eyes.
The relaxation of her muscles is almost immediate, her consciousness drifting, the edges of reality chipping away until there’s nothing but fragments. It’s dark, it’s quiet, and cool, the ideal circumstances for sleep, by Annie’s standards. But it’s dark, it’s quiet, and it’s cold, and it’s far too similar. Her body jolts awake, hands moving to grasp something, anything, and her eyes searching for hints of light. Little signs that tell Annie she’s awake and in a tent in Fort Salta.
Cocooning herself in the fleece square of fabric dubbed a blanket, Annie clenches the material in trembling fists. She reprimands herself for falling into the amateur mistake of hoping her problems would fix themselves. Back to the tried and tested, she decides to wait until the shakiness of her hands and legs dies down before she attempts to leave the tent. Everyone is fast asleep, but that doesn’t mean she gets to go around on wobbly legs and alert them to her personal troubles.
“Can’t sleep?” Armin's voice come just above a whisper from behind her, mindful as to not disturb the third of them. She almost misses it. Between the white noise in her head and the occasional muttering restless sleepers she's used to, this could've been nothing but her depleted brain succumbing to auditory hallucinations.
“Just a little restless,” Annie responds, turning to lie on her back instead of side, still against the idea of turning to face him, but needing to confirm that he's awake and actually talking to her now that she can't trust a single sense on its own.
“Is it…” he starts and she turns her neck to glance in his direction, “because of being in the crystal?”
“Could be.” It is, without a doubt, because of her time in the crystal, but there’s no use in voicing her complaints.
He doesn’t argue, allowing Annie the opportunity to settle and fix her gaze towards the lopsided peak of the tent. Its setup was far from perfect, but there’s no wind in their little nook between two buildings, and they’re going to take it down in the morning to make room for the day's chores. As long as it holds up for the night, it’s good enough. Annie eyes the spot where the fabric bunches together until it goes out of focus and separates into two, then she closes her eyes.
“Is there something I can do?” Armin asks and her eyes drift open once more. This time she turns to her side towards him.
Is there something he could do? Knocking her out would definitely work, but that’s not what he’s asking. Actually, Annie’s not sure what he’s asking. Is he suggesting to go on her nightly walks with her or going back in time to stop her from crystallizing herself, warning her that her misery would outlive the physical confines.
Annie is aware that desert climates tend to get cold during the night, but she believes the chill crawling all over her is more due to the lack of her Titan shifting ability. They never told them this would be one of the side effects, but Annie used to get so cold before receiving the Female Titan. Either they really didn’t know, or this was a unique way her body reacted to having the powers. Annie would volunteer to keep the fire on at night if they had fuel to burn. She’d huddle close to it with her blanket until it almost catches the flames.
She doesn’t look at his face for long, he’s as tired as everyone else and Annie doesn’t want to linger on heavy eyes and pale skin while she’s still cementing this new Armin into memory. Her eyes drop to where he has the blanket draped over his form. Where she could see it being warmer in the space between his arms. No really, the blanket low on his chest and the collar of his shirt wide communicate to Annie that the chillness isn't bothering him one bit. That he’s not cold at all. That he’s comfortably warm.
Annie doesn’t recall telling her hand to reach out towards him, but when her palm, nuzzled into the sleeve of her hoodie, gets close enough, warmth floods her skin and travels through her blood. After that is… well, Annie doesn’t quite remember what happened or how it happened, but she’d closed the distance between them, her head on his chest, and arms folded between her body and his, leeching off of the excess warmth his body emits like a helpless parasite needing him, and only him, to survive.
Her sudden movement towards him startles Armin, but beyond a small sound that doesn’t find much will to live outside his mouth and a momentary tensing of his muscles, Armin doesn’t react. Having pushed him onto his back and settled with her body molded to his, Annie gives sleep one more try that night, closing her eyes.
There’s a sound; a steady beating against her ear that wasn’t there during those four years. Also, warmth now comes from an outside source, she doesn’t feel the need to beg her body to warm up a fraction of a degree just to take away from the edge of the frost.
Yeah, this will do.
She’s not even half awake when he moves again. Annie's not sure what he’s doing and she doesn’t bother asking, not when it makes her warmer; the weight of two blankets on top of her and nothing between her and his body but the clothes they’re wearing. The last thing she registers is the weight of an arm draped over her side, its heat penetrating through the material of her hoodie and warming up a sliver of skin in a way that says everything is okay now. Go to sleep.
Her ears start registering being awake before her eyes open. That steady, reliable thumping is still there, right against her ear. There are other sounds, too, farther in the distance. She can't make them out, not that she wants to. It's too good here.
Noticing the bright light penetrating through her eyelids comes next. It's not welcomed. She doesn't like it. It makes going back to sleep a struggle when it feels just within arm's reach. With a long exhale, Annie melts and shapes to the uneven surface underneath her. She nuzzles closer to the source of the rhythmic pounding, cheek rubbing against soft cotton in an effort to get away from that offending light .
She's not sure whether the faraway chatter is becoming louder or if she's simply more aware of it now. Either way, they drive remnants of sleep away and Annie cracks open an eye, prepared for the glow that's bound to assault her pupils.
Another day, huh?
"Sleep well, Annie?"
Annie hums in response, not sure why they're asking, whoever they are. Armin? She recognizes his voice a second later.
Makes sense. She slept in the same tent as him last night. No, wait. That's not right. She slept on him last night. She remembers, although not sure exactly how it happened. Annie remembers his presence under her and his arm around her. In fact, it's still there, his arm. There are two of them now.
Eyes open, she glances up to where his voice is coming from. He looks awake, far more awake than she thinks she looks, and he’s smiling at her, and he’s warm. Oh, so warm.
Wait… last night she slept on Armin. She didn’t say anything, tackled him to the ground and proceeded to fall asleep three seconds after. Annie's mortification with her action is stronger than her desire to stay close to him and she peels herself off, letting cool morning air snake between them and into every crevice Armin had kept warm all night. At least she manages to wake up before Reiner- he’s not here! The asshole woke up, saw her pinning Armin to the ground in her sleep, and failed to even nudge her awake!
“I did… sorry.” The apology is muttered, unlike the confession that Annie has just had the best sleep in over a week. She avoids his eyes. She avoids looking in his direction altogether, preoccupying herself with tying her hair back and straightening her clothes as he gets up.
“Annie-”
“You two awake yet?” Connie interrupts, pulling the entrance of the tent open with one hand, the other holding a half-eaten piece of bread with sliced pickled eggs on it, a sizeable bite of the food creating a bulge in one of his cheeks. “If you’re not out in like five seconds, you’re going to miss breakfast.” He leaves the tent flap open, calling them to join the rest of their group, she’ll be back for her bedding after she’s eaten, like she, and everyone else, always does.
Slipping on her boots, Annie is on her feet in the blink of an eye. Going to leave the tent, her plans are ruined when her wrist is tugged back. Behind her, Armin is on his knees and one hand supporting his weight, having leapt after her before she managed to get out of reach.
“Come find me when it’s time to set up the tents for the night?” She meets his eyes, a brighter version of the soft ones she spoke to last night. Armin is asking her, not telling her. There’s a sort of hopefulness in his eyes that Annie doesn’t dare disappoint, so she nods.
At first, Annie has a hard time trying to figure out her willingness to fall into this new habit of theirs. It was easier to just not think about it.
At the end of every day, she and Armin would find each other when everyone was retrieving their bedding and distributing the tents. Settling in the dark, it’s become too easy for Annie reach towards him. It didn’t take long for this to turn into an orchestrated dance; Annie's arms easily find their way between his, one against his chest, next to her head, the other tucked between them.
She's also developed the habit of hiking one of her legs over his as soon as she joins him under their shared blanket. It's not something she planned for or consciously wanted, it just happened, and when Armin didn't voice any complaints, she didn't stop doing it.
Although, she remembers the first time. After a particularly long day, Annie found herself with an urgent need in her chest to snuggle even closer, with shivers running up and down her torso and legs that wouldn't go away unless she was pressed to him. Armin adjusted quickly, bending one leg at the knee to accommodate and pulling her closer to him, her pelvis snug against his hip, all but straddling his thigh.
Annie doesn’t return to the train of thoughts that questions the motives behind her actions. Her sleeping has never been better. She’s all heavy lids and relaxed limbs as soon as she feels the weight of his arm on her, his palm taking to the curves of her ribs, holding her in place to him.
The occasional nightmares still occur, but they’re muted, mere images that play in her head during her sleep every now and then. Annie's just a spectator, no longer involved. And when one manages to startle her awake, she’s confronted with at least two dozen proofs that it wasn’t real.
Strangely enough, it’s her midnight restlessness that’s followed by the best of sleeps. Waking up alone, Annie isn’t bothered or burdened with lingering side-eyes around them, which are usually there when they share a tent with strangers from Marley—or even Liberio Eldians who disapprove of him. Fortunately, with more structure introduced into their days, it’s much easier for them to end up sharing sleeping arrangements with people they know.
Their friends learn to more or less ignore them. They don’t outright say it, but they do enjoy the extra space her cuddling up to Armin every night gives them. Jean and Connie no longer lay with their backs to them at all moments of wakefulness, but still avoiding direct eye contact. It takes Reiner a bit longer to sleep on average, but she’d seen the soft look in his eyes—after the surprise faded away, that is—when he came to learn that this is a habit of theirs now and not just a one-night thing to chase away nightmares.
Alone and awake at night, Annie is able to breathe him in, fill her lungs with his scent, and imprint it into her memory. They won’t be here for long, they’re making immense progress on the train and communications. Soon enough, sharing body warmth in an old tent with poor insulation in the middle of the desert won’t be a valid excuse.
Despite sleep becoming easier, waking up is harder than ever. Sure, getting up has always sucked, but now, Annie doesn’t even feel like waking up. Recognizing that the other is awake signals the start of an invisible countdown of when they should separate. It doesn’t help that Annie’s body seems to be compensating for years of poor sleep.
The first few minutes are always, always, a blur. She’s drifting in and out of consciousness and every little sound or light agitates her, making her worm her way under the shared blanket with a quiet whine. Still, it’s up to her to sound the deadline as Armin seems to refuse to carry his weight and be the one to let her know that it’s time to get up when she knows he almost always wakes up before her.
Today’s one of those days that Annie has to be the responsible one. Train fixed—they’d be leaving three carriages behind to reduce the load on the engine—and destination set into the neighboring continent, this is their last day in Fort Salta.
Taking a deep breath and bracing to open her eyes, Annie’s sluggish brain is taken aback by the soft light filtered through the blanket. That’s a much gentler way to wake up than being blasted straight in the face with direct sunlight. Peeling the blanket off, Annie pushes herself up on her forearms, one on each side of his chest. “Morning,” she murmurs, the word murmured and inaudible when she presses her lips to his for a few short seconds. That seems to help Annie wake up. Why hasn’t she been doing it all this time?
Sitting up straight and letting the blanket fall to her waist, Annie is pleased to find the tent is empty, Reiner gone with nothing but his folded bedding to mark his spot. Annie closes her eyes as she combs her fingers through her hair, untangling it as much as possible without the use of a hairbrush or comb. She then makes quick work of the loose strands, wrapping and twisting them into a loop around themselves, out of her face and away from her neck. The last thing she needs while working in the sun is sweat-soaked hair sticking to the back of her neck.
She just kissed Armin.
The thought is enough to make her pause, no muscles moving except for that one finger that pushes her hair into place.
She just kissed Armin right on the mouth!
With her as still as a statue, it’s more evident that Armin hasn’t said anything or made a single noise. Feeling her face heat up all the way to the very tips of her ears, Annie glances back at him over her shoulder. He’s right where she left him, lying on his back with one arm beside him and the one—usually wrapped around her middle—draped over his stomach. Lips slightly parted and his eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling of the tent and his face is beet red all the way up his ears and creeping down his neck.
“I’m so sorry!” Annie blurts out, hand covering her mouth without touching her lips, now aware of the tingling sensation against sensitive skin. Her gaze drops to the small space between them, aghast with herself. This is not what Armin deserves after literally offering her himself all those night ago.
“It’s okay.” Pushing himself up, Armin clears his throat when the words barely leave him but a low squeak. “It’s fine, Annie. Really.”
He still doesn’t look at her or in her general vicinity. Eyes, instead, burning holes in the blanket still covering his legs, the redness in his cheeks persist as his lips press into a thin line.
“No. No, it’s not.” Annie shakes her head, hair that was poorly put up cascading back down her shoulders. “I wasn’t… I shouldn’t have…” she grasps for words to explain the turmoil within.
The act, itself, Annie doesn’t regret. Far from it. Whatever her dazed mind had, Annie is glad it thought of kissing him. She wasn’t pleased with herself having done that out of nowhere to him, without even asking, when Armin has been nothing but caring and welcoming those past few days. “It wasn’t fair to you what I did.” She still refuses to look at him, despite Armin now angled towards her. She also doesn't allow herself to run away. Not this time, not with how easy it'd be to ignore it all until it goes away.
“No, it wasn’t,” Armin says, and she sees his hands tightening into fists in his lap, worrying the material between his fingers until the tips turn while. “Annie, would… if I also do it, would that make it fair?”
“Huh?” When she finally looks up, Armin isn’t looking away. His eyes waiting for her with determination pouring into his irises, the apples of his cheeks tinted the same as his lips.
“If I kiss you right now,” he swallows and takes a short but purposeful breath, “would that make us even?”
Ah. Would it? Maybe. There are still lots of logistics to figure out that would take Annie a minimum of an hour to tumble around in her head for a solid answer, so she’s surprised when she finds herself nodding.
One of his tense hands reaches towards her, pushing hair behind her ear before cupping the side of her face, fingers settling on the back of her neck with his thumb grazing her cheek. Seeing the timidness in his eyes makes Annie feel less bad about her own emotions spilling out now that she’s meeting his gaze, as blue as the ocean on a sunny day. Her eyes are half-closed when he’s close enough for her to see the individuals lines in his irises. Annie closes hers before he does when Armin is close enough for her to feel his breath against her face.
It’s… not that different than the one she’d given him moments prior. Except this time, Annie is glad to be fully awake to experience it, to feel the soft and shy press of his lips against hers. It’s only for three short seconds—Annie counts each and every one of them and commits them to memory. Armin then pulls back, but just enough to touch his forehead to hers.
“We’re leaving today.”
“Yeah.”
“Somewhere… new,” Armin says, the hand not cradling the side of her face reaches towards hers, fingers interlacing and pulled into the space between them.
“It’s new to me, too.” All Annie ever knew was the landmass of Marley and the countries bordering it. Even then, it was basic geography. Anything beyond that is land she doesn't know the shape of.
“Will you come with me?”
Leaving this desert on the train that Annie has been a part of salvaging for the past couple of weeks is a given. But that’s not the question in his eyes. It's the one that makes her wide-eyed and dreamy enough to think last night could be her every night, and this morning could be her every morning. Their every morning.
Eyes squeezed shut, Annie presses forward and kisses him again. She rejoices, her heart leaping in her chest when he meets her with as much fervor, his fingers threading through her hair and hers on the side of his face, feeling the softness of cheek as his lips move gingerly against hers.
“Yes!”