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In Annie’s opinion straight girls wouldn’t say ‘I wish I was a lesbian, I’m so sick of men’ if they knew the reality. If she has a crush on a girl she must go through three hurdles before romance can commence.
Is she queer?
Does she like me back?
She likes me back. Can she commit?
Mikasa fits number three. At the end of summer they broke up after she’d confessed her lingering feelings for her ex, Sasha Blouse. Since then Annie has done a good job chasing distractions. Until today.
“Please leave a message.”
Beep
“Hey, it’s Mikasa. I know we haven’t talked in a while, but I found this really nice Korean restaurant. I’ll pay for everything because it’s just us two. Call me if you want to catch up.”
Despite Mikasa’s insistence Annie says go home alone. Because although they’re on speaking terms again, a familiar longing seeps into her bones the more they spend time together. And she would rather nip those feelings in the bud over enduring disappointment again.
It’s past midnight. She stops walking and surveys the surroundings. Starless sky, a thin layer of snow, no street lights. Just the neon glow of nearby buildings.
At a four way intersection she passes a tall woman leaning against a wall.
Their eyes meet.
“Are you lost?” The woman asks. Her breath appears white.
“Oh yeah,” says Annie. “Do you know where the nearest bus or train station is?”
“They’re all closed unless you plan on waiting till morning.”
“Okay thanks.”
Before she can leave the woman says, “I can give you a ride if you want.”
Annie shivers. Her thick hoodie and jacket aren’t enough for this weather. “It’s fine I’ll just wait underground for the train.”
“Only if you don’t freeze to death.”
“I could be a serial killer,” says Annie, making a face at the aftertaste of soju on her tongue.
Under flashing lights, the stranger looks caught between confusion and amusement. “What?”
“I could be anyone, even a criminal, and you’re still offering to be alone with me.”
“If you do stab me while I’m driving we’ll both die.”
“Why do you care if I get home?”
The stranger glances down. “I guess I’m just trying to do something good for once.”
“I take it back. Maybe you’re the serial killer.”
“I’m not. You can even check my pockets. I just don’t want you getting hurt so I’m offering to take you home.”
“I don’t see a car,” says Annie, teeth chattering.
“My motorcycle is right next to you.”
Once they’re both seated, the woman says. “My name is Ymir. What’s yours?”
“Annie.”
“Put your arms around my waist, Annie.”
She hesitates.
Ymir turns her head, revealing a freckled face and a tiny smirk. “I’m not flirting with you. It’s for safety reasons in case you fall off when I make a turn.”
She complies and they drive into the dark.
They travel through a tunnel with green overhead lights. Annie tightens her hold around Ymir’s midriff. As Ymir’s leather jacket touches her cheek, she’s reminded of a line from a movie she had watched with Mikasa. Years later she remembers every word.
‘The road isn’t that long and I know I’ll be getting off soon. But at this moment I’m feeling such lovely warmth.”
“Do you wanna come inside?” Annie asks at her apartment complex. In the background, an engine rumbles. The smoke makes her nose wrinkle.
“Now you sound like a serial killer,” says Ymir.
“Never mind.” She feels a pang of disappointment. Tomorrow she’ll blame the alcohol, but today she just wants company.
The engine quietens. Annie looks up in surprise as Ymir strides forward.
“I’m joking. I’ll come as long as it’s less cold than outside.”
On the couch Ymir leans back, tilting her head to expose her throat. “Do you wanna know the real reason I gave you a ride?”
Annie places her lukewarm mug on the coffee table. “What is it?”
“You gotta promise that you’re good at keeping secrets first.”
Her curiosity expands by tenfold. “I promise,” she swears. And she means it.
Incredible sadness crosses Ymir’s features. “I just got out of an abusive relationship. I did something reckless so I could prove that she couldn’t control me anymore.”
“Oh,” Annie replies, entirely unsure of what else to say. “Did you feel better afterwards?”
“Yeah. Because of you.”
“…I’m glad then.”
“Can I rant to you for a little bit?” Ymir asks. “I just need to get it off my chest and I don’t know anyone else I can talk to right now.”
It’s impossible to say no. Not when Annie looks at her and sees the same quality she found in Mikasa; a burden she wants to share, even if it weighs her as well.
She swallows around nothing. “Go ahead.”
“My parents were undocumented immigrants. I grew up in the foster care system, and when I was in highschool I got into a relationship with an older woman. I moved in with her after graduation. She started trying to control my life, but I stayed with her because I had no money or connections. That went on for years. I found work at a garage, bought my bike and got the fuck outta there. I got a restraining order on my ex, and ever since then I’ve been driving to random places. To, like, celebrate my freedom, you know.”
“That’s… amazing,” Annie says sincerely. “I’m really happy you found an escape.”
“Me too.” Ymir’s head turns. Their knees bump. “What about you? If you wanna tell me about yourself, feel free to rant as much as you want.”
“My dad’s an undocumented immigrant too. My mom left us years ago. I did a lot of martial arts as a kid but I lost my passion when I became an adult. Now I work as a security guard for a family’s mansion.”
“Do you have any benefits with that job?”
“I have a decent salary and that’s it. I’m usually stationed outside, which is really annoying when it’s cold.”
“I can’t imagine how you cope with it.”
“I wear thick hoodies like the one I’m wearing now.”
“That explains it,” says Ymir.
After a comfortable minute of silence, Annie hesitantly asks, “do you miss your ex? Sorry it’s a dumb question, but I was rejected by my crush a few months ago. And looking back, I’m glad she did because I don’t think we would’ve been a healthy couple. Like, right now I mean.”
Ymir runs a hand through her hair. Before Annie can compliment her undercut she says, “sometimes. I shouldn’t, but I do. I don’t really miss her, I just miss how loved I had felt at the beginning. I missed the attention she gave me. It sucks because we had a good connection too, and I expected that to last forever.”
“But it didn’t,” Annie finishes.
“Yeah.” Ymir sighs. “It didn’t.”
If either of them mentioned their relationship’s nature— Annie’s relieved they don’t— two words would come to mind.
Liminal. Transactional.
Everytime Ymir arrives sporadically at her doorstop, the outcome stays the same. They bond over shared trauma and drink cheap liquor or hot chocolate that burns their tongues. The sun sinks. In bed their limbs entangle till it rises again. Ymir never stays after breakfast. Annie never offers. An indefinite amount of time passes. She hears a motor roar, smells smoke through the kitchen window she keeps slightly ajar with intention. Before Ymir can input the code she opens the door.
They won’t last past winter, Annie predicts. By spring they won’t need the extra warmth. But for now they do. For now she curls closer to Ymir’s back like she's the last ember of a dying fire, the only source of heat left.
Under different circumstances she might’ve traced her spine. She did that with Mikasa, once.
Outside the blizzard rages on.
“Should I dye my hair black?”
“Why?” Annie asks. They’re in bed, naked and sweaty. Bodies not touching, yet close enough to share heat.
“So it’s easier for you to pretend I’m her,” says Ymir.
“Don’t bother. There’s no need for that much effort.” What goes unsaid: the less favors you do, the easier it is to let you go.
“Okay,” Ymir replies. She doesn’t mention it again.
Apart from their first night together, they don’t share much about themselves. Though if Ymir asked— she never does— Annie would answer.