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He put his good clothes on on that specific Sunday, arranged his golden hair perfectly, cleaned his shoes spotless. He splashed his face with cold water once more, watching his reflection in the mirror as if trying to hype himself up. Today's the day, Armin thought to himself, determination in his eyes. I can do it– no, I will do it. Today.
He grabbed the sink harder, pressing his lips together. Today or not at all.
He exhaled lightly, finally gathering the courage to start on his adventure for the day.
But first, he needed flowers.
He had an idea in mind, and his garden was full of those, and from what he had noticed in the many years of knowing her, she knew a lot about a lot of flowers, it shouldn't be hard to get his message across. He kneeled beside his flowers, trying to decide on a number– she surely deserved all the flowers in the world, if only he had them all.
He decided on eleven– the same number as the years he’d known her for. He tied them with a nice blue bow and started on his journey.
He could feel his heart beat faster and faster the closer he got to her house, threatening to jump out of his chest. He saluted the few neighbors that were walking the path at that early hour, either on their way to church or coming back from it, some with baskets full of goods for the less fortunate, a humble offering in the name of those who didn’t walk this earth anymore. He successfully managed to dodge a few conversations with some of said neighbors, although their crooked eyebrows and discreet smiles didn’t escape Armin’s gaze. But he didn’t care– today is about him, about her, about them .
He continues his walk, for a second wondering whether she is awake or not– but she must be; knowing her, she must have woken up before sunrise just to prepare for the day.
He passes by the blossomed lilac tree in the middle of the village, allowing himself a few moments to admire it, its purple-ish flowers looking bigger and healthier than last year. He closes his eyes briefly, taking the scent in, his grip on the bouquet in his hand loosening the slightest bit. New beginnings , that’s what he heard Annie say that lilac symbolises. He so hopes today would be a new beginning for them both.
Armin takes a long breath in before continuing his walk. It takes less time than he remembers to reach the bridge leading to her side of the village; he almost turns around and leaves once he gets there, suddenly so scared of her response– what if it’s not what he’s been hoping for, no– what he’s been yearning for for so long. What if her words are not the ones he’s been wanting to hear?
But he didn’t get this far to go back, did he?
He crosses the bridge running, afraid his legs might betray his brain if he waits any longer, and he keeps running until he reaches the fence marking her family's property.
He could simply ring the bell and wait for someone to welcome him in– but would anyone even do that? He doubts they would. He’s just a mere peasant after all, a traitor by fate, and she comes from a good family; any kind of connection he could have with the mayor’s daughter would go against her family’s wishes, Mr. Leonhart had made that clear a long time ago. His legs falter, his breath catching in his throat– she wouldn’t go against her father for him. She wouldn’t– but what if she did?
With one final push of hope, Armin hops over the fence in one smooth motion, throws a slice of meat at the dog ready to bark, makes his way past the chickens scattered around, doing his best to avoid any ugly-looking thing laying on the ground, past the stables, and stops in front of the big house. Such a beautiful house, the kind that seems taken out of fairytales, marble stairs leading to the wooden door framed by white columns, wide windows with the same columns around them, a second story made entirely from wood, a red roof shining above it all.
He takes it all in for the umteenth time, a notch of envy in the back of his mind. You couldn’t even begin to compare that aristocratic house with his two-rooms hut, built from dirt so many decades ago. He brushes it off– it's not the time.
Armin makes his way up the stairs with shaky legs, his eyes down, gripping the flowers tighter.
He has been here so many times, on summer nights when it was only the two of them, he has walked up those stairs countless times, went past that imposing door, his hand clasping her warm, smaller one. He has learnt the way up that spiral staircase by heart, learnt the path to her room, in the far end of the corridor; he could tell the click of her door out of a hundred, recognise the scent of her room from miles away. He can feel her touch, the warmth of her skin so close to his, her lips leaving lazy kisses on his, her head rested on his bare chest while his fingers play with her soft hair. He can feel her so close to him, he could never get enough of her, and yet she's so far.
He remembers the first time he posed in front of her door with a bouquet similar to this one all those years ago, except back then they were shielded by the darkness of the night. He recalls the way her cheeks went so red he could see them through the night; her hand reached for the pocket on her skirt, his eyes widened as they followed her hand. Her fingers opened, revealing a red egg resting in her palm, matching the tulips in his hand.
He's about to knock when the door snaps open. Armin startles slightly, almost dropping the red tulips. His eyes rise to be met by the very person he's been thinking about all day, a white dress with red embroidery falling loosely around her petite frame, a basket full of home-made goods in her hand. His eyes travel up to meet hers, ocean blue pouring into sky-like eyes. A smile forms on his lips– she has that effect on him, making all his worries fade away as soon she steps in. Her hair is neatly braided into a low bun, pieces of it falling around her face and framing it perfectly.
"Armin," she says, her voice honey to his ears.
"Hi, Annie," he smiles, taking a few steps back, his heart threatening to jump out of his chest any second now.
A smile spreads on her lips, mirroring his.
"Happy Easter."
"Happy Easter. What are you doing here so early?"
He takes a long breath in, and his voice is shaky when he says, "I need to talk to you about something.” He stops in front of her, trying his best not to drop the flowers.
Annie tilts her head slightly, her eyes pinning him down in a way he knows all too well. "About what?" she asks, and he hears the smile in her voice.
Gathering all the courage he has, Armin raises the bouquet of eleven red tulips, the symbol of a perfect love, to eye level and tilts them in her direction, watching her eyes grow wider. She looks at him with a silent question in her eyes, her lips slightly parted, her warmth is so close to him–
He only now notices the man standing behind her in the hallway, leaning against the wall, suit on and a wooden cane in one hand. Armin's courage falters– he won’t allow it. Of course he won’t. What has he been thinking, coming here with that big of a request when he already knew he would be against it.
Maybe he imagines it, but he can swear the man nods his head slightly. He’s too excited to waste any more time once he catches that signal.
Armin clears his throat, quickly running his fingers through his hair before straightening his back.
"I have a request," he says, his eyes fixing on Annie’s.
"Yes?" He could swear her fingers are trembling on the handle of the basket.
"Will you marry me?"
Silence.
There’s only silence.
For a second, the animals in her family's yard go quiet, the dogs quit barking, the chickens frozen in time, the cows stop moving, two cats frozen mid fight. The house fades away, the imposing man in the hallway behind them only a shadow.
It's only the two of them, the world silent around them, their eyes pouring into one another's, he could swear there are tears staining her cheeks.
Annie’s hand reaches into the basket, her fingers closing around something. When she retrieves her fisted hand, his eyes widen slightly.
She opens her hand, a red egg resting in her palm. A choked yes leaves her lips.
The warmth and happiness that englitful him can't be compared to anything he’s ever felt before. For a second he thinks he's dreaming, he surely is, this could not possibly happen.
But then she lets the basket down and her arms wrap around his neck, her cheek pressing against his shoulder. She repeats her answer, over and over, his arms slowly wrap around her waist. Armin's eyes search for her father, trying to figure how badly he fucked up. He’s surprised to find the man smiling as he leaves the hallway, and his worries completely and utterly fade away.
He has Mr. Leonhart's approval. More importantly, he has Annie’s answer. He doesn’t need anything else. Just her. For the rest of their lives.
He cups her cheek in his hand, bringing her face closer to his, taking pride in the way her eyes shine. He brushes away the few tears staining her skin, and Annie laughs, the sound of it music to his ears. He brings his lips close to hers, so close, he can feel her breath against them. A slight nod of her head is all he needs to connect his lips to hers, first as a mere brush, but then she deepens it, and he takes her all in.
A perfect love indeed,
he thinks, the red tulips in his hand long fallen.