we are i m p e r f e c t {armin x historia x annie}

Today he was up early, and he couldn’t remember why. He stared at his alarm clock with bleary eyes as the frantic, high-pitched buzz continued to prod at his eardrums. Isn’t today my day off? He sat up and rubbed itchy eyelids, trying to remember why he had planned on being an early bird instead of sleeping in. It had to be important if he was using this obnoxious alarm. Yawning, he reluctantly and sluggishly crawled out of bed, turned the sound off with a press of a button and noticed the white sticky-note attached to his nightstand. I left a note for myself, so it must be important after all. He grabbed it and saw the word “paperwork” scrawled across it neatly in pencil. The memories bombarded him all at once; he had paperwork due!

He remembered everything now. The experiments with Hanji, his agreement to help out with some paperwork including feedback and descriptions, the late hours he stayed up trying to gather his scrambled thoughts and translate them into coherent sentences. The papers were all scattered across a table next to an empty, coffee-stained mug – his late night “snack.” He didn’t even like coffee, but it had been his last resort in order to keep his eyes focused and his mind jolted. It probably worked, for the most part – he couldn’t quite remember the ordeal, but it definitely ended with him pathetically crawling into bed and craving a good night’s rest. He never received it, of course, since he had forced himself to stay awake past midnight. It didn’t really matter, though. There was work that needed to be finished, and it was his own fault for his exhaustion.

When he reexamined the text he could pinpoint exactly where his mind had started to fade due to lack of sleep. He was tempted to edit it right then and there, but he was still drowsy from his abrupt interruption from slumber. He decided to take a quick shower and eat a small breakfast (something cheap and microwavable, because there was just no time for cooking something healthy and energizing) before he sat down and narrowed his thoughts. He quickly erased the foolishness on the paper and rewrote it with more eloquence and better attention to detail, reading it over and over again until he was sure he had fixed every mistake. He still wasn’t even sure if it was worthy enough to be submitted, but an agreement was an agreement. He would turn it in as soon as possible.

The corridors were quiet. Nobody seemed to be in their offices, and Armin was forced to slide his paper beneath the door to Hanji’s office since the mad mutt-lover was nowhere to be found. The door was unlocked, but he didn’t want to intrude, not when there had been no answer to his knocks. He considered heading back to his apartment and catching a few more hours of sleep when he heard a gentle commotion from down the hall. Somebody else was here at this hour? Maybe it was one of the squad leaders up early to finish their own stacks of paperwork. When he peeked around the open door, however, it was a small frame with blonde hair that he found rummaging through a cabinet. She was surrounded by glass bottles of…was that whiskey?

”Historia?” he piped up quietly, not wanting to startle her in her endeavors. What was Historia doing here so early on a day off, storing bottles of alcohol in the cabinets? He knew that this was where the liquor was stored – everyone knew that – but he had never pictured her as the drinking type. Then again, he didn’t truly know much about Historia. Only that she had ranked 10th upon Peacekeeper graduation and was best friends with Ymir while remaining a bit on the timid side. ”Sorry to interrupt, but..” he stepped into the room and picked up one of the bottles to read the label. ”Did you buy all of this?” It felt like a stupid question, but it was all he could think of at the moment. He almost felt guilty for the nosy intrusion.

”Ymir and I.”

That was no surprise; Historia was hardly ever seen without the freckled deviant glued to her side, the two like peas in a pod. They had been best friends since they were trainees. The few times he actually observed them it seemed Ymir was the protector, and judging by actions, body language and subtle facial expressions there was something else lurking behind that guarded façade – or at least that was his suspicion. He could be wrong, but he doubted that anybody would disagree with him on the matter.

A bloodshot canvas made her blue irises look brighter than ever, and he wasn’t buying the whole ”I had a drink or two” confession. He may have been inexperienced with alcohol but he knew enough to realize that two drinks wouldn’t result in red, swollen eyes during the early morning. Was Historia hungover? He knew he shouldn’t be judgmental, but he had never pictured her as the drinking type, even if Ymir was a constant influence in her life. Armin had friends like that, too – in fact, he had seen most of them drunk off their asses before, to a very amusing extent. He had never chosen to participate only because he never understood the appeal, and because somebody had to take care of the drunks, right? Might as well be him so he could be the reliable one for once.

When Historia offered him whiskey, he was hesitant to respond. ”Um..” It was his day off, it wouldn’t harm anybody, right? Except maybe his liver, but one instance of drinking would not ruin the organ for life. ”I’ve never..” He never underestimated Historia’s strength or competence since she had ranked top ten among their fellow trainees, but her timid and conscientious nature always reassured him that he would not be the only one to think twice about diving into risky situations. Now he felt completely ostracized. It’s just alcohol, don’t make a huge deal out of it. This was not something dangerous or crazy. If Historia could do it, he could do it too.

Right?

Stop asking questions.

”I’ll try some,” he said, watching her pour the butterscotch liquid into tiny shot glasses. She didn’t fill them to the brim, and he was grateful for that. Gulping an entire shot of whiskey sounded like a horrible idea for a novice. He would leave that for the experienced drinkers – like Historia, who he was somewhat envious of. Where had his courage been all this time? Hiding, like it usually is. He brought the glass up to his nose and took a small whiff. It smelled like it was going to burn the tissue off of his esophagus. Instead of risking the misery of sipping out of a shot glass (do people even do that?) he tipped it back and swallowed it all with one gulp. It had only been filled about half-way, so it wouldn’t be too bad.

He decided he had been wrong when it started to burn. It tasted like fire, prompting his eyes to water and his throat to convulse as he coughed into his hand and set the glass back down. ”Are you okay?” he heard her ask, and he nodded hastily. ”I’m fine.” His face was scrunched up into a sour grimace, but he was fine, he could handle the burn. It was disgusting, but he could bear it. ”Your turn.” he handed her the glass she had poured for herself and watched her throw it back, expecting her to expertly keep it down and make him an embarrassment where he stood. However, instead of meeting these expectations her expression twisted and her eyes watered before she struggled to swallow and coughed violently afterward.

Well, at least he didn’t feel like a complete dork.

”I’m guessing this is not what you drank with Ymir yesterday,” he said, resisting the urge to smile from the amusement of the situation. Here they were, probably drinking whiskey the wrong way and barely keeping it down like pathetic newbies. It was actually fun, even if the burn was a nasty side effect. He grabbed the bottle and started to pour more into their glasses. He advised himself not to, but like he had thought before – this was fun, and he’d like to have some fun on his day off. Ridiculous fun, not the mild type of fun he used to pass time. He needed something different for once. ”Let’s drink it at the same time,” he suggested, handing her the glass again.

Bottoms up.

He could practically taste the tension in the air, and replaced the sour flavor with the burn of whiskey, his withering taste buds still not yet accustomed to the fire. He could see it in Annie, and now he could see it in Historia too – there was an invisible anchor here, making them sink. Crushing the peace and happiness with cold iron until the semblance of sunshine was lost to darkness. Hovering in its place was a downcast ambience that unnerved him, forcing his gaze to the floor when he noticed the girls’ forlorn expressions. He drummed his fingers against the bottle when Historia spoke up again, fulfilling his prediction with a gentle smile spread across flushed cheeks. He wasn’t so sure that the smile was genuine, but the words certainly were. Historia was not one to lie, was she?

”It’s not stupid,” he insisted, trying to draw forth as much sincerity as he could through the awkward slurs. If anything was stupid, it was his own experiences in the romance department – or lack thereof. Historia was in luck from what he could see. Her feelings were not unrequited. Such luck was never a willing companion for Armin. During his trainee days it had been difficult enough forming new friendships. He had always been associated with Mikasa and Eren, never as an individual. And whenever he was all by himself he was ignored, forgotten, or worst of all – regarded as the weakest link. People were attracted to strength, and he wasn’t strong. He was feeble, pathetic, his emotions as delicate as glass. He could admire from afar, let feelings develop and soak and plague, but nothing would ever be returned.

”You should at least try,” someone had said once. He could not see past the whiskey’s wall of fire to remember who, but he had never heeded their words of wisdom. He was too cowardly to act on his own desires. It was humiliating enough to be acknowledged only for his physical weaknesses, but to add rejection to the platter? He would only be hurting himself. That was why he spent his trainee days gluing himself to his friends whenever possible. If he was alone, he would watch the other trainees interact. Of course, there was never anything else to talk about other than training and romance (what else did hormone-doused teenagers talk about?) and Armin was always thrust into conversations about it. He would always avoid the topic of himself and instead discuss other people and their blossoming relationships.

He was doing that even now, and he didn’t mind. Seeing other people bloom was an excellent distraction. ”I think she does like you,” he said. ”She’s always looking at you, and she’s always been very protective of you. She’s had her eyes on you since we were all trainees, it’s no secret.” How else could they explain her behavior? There was a solid line drawn between friendship and feelings beyond that, and almost everyone had noticed Ymir crossing that border long ago. She practically pined over the girl, and discovering that the feelings were returned? This was great news for them. ”You should give it a chance.”

For a moment he felt giddy, and it was wrong. Swinging back and forth between emotions like a human pendulum was exhausting. How did we switch from discussing murder to crushes? His gaze flickered to Annie. He tried to acknowledge the murder again, but the fuzz in his head dragged his thoughts away and stored them for later examination. All he could think about was Historia’s situations, her feelings. Feelings in general, and how he really had nothing to report about his own experiences. He tried to shove the thoughts away, but they forced themselves on him. The voices of old, faceless trainees whispered into his conscience. What would they say if they saw him now? The same things, probably. ”Weak,” “Useless,” “He’ll get himself killed” “Who could like a guy like that?” And it was all true, wasn’t it?

He took another swig of whiskey and soothed his need for distraction with a long, bitter burn.