When Christa sleeps, she sleeps. She doesn't snore, or sleep-talk, or even roll around in bed. Once those eyes flutter shut and the light upstairs dims down for the night, Christa is like a statue of the goddess that she is by day, or at least that's what Ymir thinks. And statues, being inanimate objects, are thankfully easy to pick up and lug. Little blonde recruits, on the other hand, pose a much greater problem, and this is proven when Christa wakes up and, finding herself slung over Ymir's shoulder, raises holy hell about it.
"Calm the fuck down, will you?" Ymir hisses as Christa's fists pound furiously at the small of her back. "I don't want to drop you!"
"Ymir, you put me down right this instant!" the goddess shrieks as quietly as possible. She flails her feet at Ymir, only to have the brunetted reach over with her free hand and envelop both her ankles in a somewhat-bear hug. "Ymiiiiir! Where are you taking me?!"
"You know, I learned something... a while ago," Ymir mutters to Christa, completely ignoring the other's protests. "Several times a year there's this little lightshow that goes on in the sky. No one notices it though; they're all too busy huddling in houses and crying about Titans and dying." Ymir smirks sadly. "Not that I can blame them, of course."
"What are you talking about?"
They reach a small hill a ways away from the camp; Ymir seats herself on the damp grass before moving Christa from her shoulder and positioning her on her lap. The blonde attempts to squirm away, but she's firmly trapped between Ymir's arms, and settles reluctantly against the taller girl's frame. "So what are we looking at?" she demands.
"You can't see it with the torches and lights and everything, but they're up there." Ymir leans back on the hill, which is inclined somewhat graciously, providing the perfect angle with which to recline and observe the heavens.
"The stars? Ymir, we can always see the stars-"
"You'd think a goddess would know a bit more about her own territory," Ymir smirks. "Just keep watching."
Christa doesn't see the point, but she listens to the older female and settles back against her again, keeping watchful eyes on the silver specks above. Sometime during the silence she feels Ymir's arms slip down from her shoulders and fasten around her waist; she briefly considers telling the other girl off, but decides against it. The night stretches on, as long as the blue-black canvas above them, and just as Christa feels her eyelids weighing heavily on her face and wants so desperately to let them slide shut, she sees it- a streak of cyan against the backdrop of darkness. "Did you see that?" she breathes, astonished, and feels one of Ymir's hands move to ruffle her hair in reply.
They sit there for what feels like an eternity; each time something darts across the heavens Christa can't help but exclaim something, and each time the silent Ymir lets her tiny companion know she's been heard: whether it's a nuzzling of heads, or a squeeze to her waist or hand, or a kiss planted gently atop her head. At some point during all this, Christa begins to cry- softly at first, but when Ymir notices the girl's shoulders starting to tremble, she spins her around and gazes at her, head tilted to the side, with an obvious expression of concern.
"I-I'm sorry," Christa splutters out between gasps for air. "It's just... I really-" She hiccups as Ymir's hands find their way to her back and begin to rub slow circles into her skin. "It's really beautiful, and I'm glad I could see it with you."
"You're crying over that?" Ymir chortles, and Christa hits her with an angry protest of, "Don't laugh!"
"You know there's a legend that if you see one of those falling star things, you get to make a wish on it," says Ymir. "Wanna give it a try?"
Christa shakes her head, glancing oncemore at the heavens to her back before she buries her face in Ymir's shirt. The older girl gives an audible sigh of exasperation and fishes the blonde out from the rough fabric before pressing an even rougher kiss to her lips. Christa, as always, gets taken by surprise, and breaks away for air far too soon. As she does, she sees Ymir's head snap back up, and from her vantage point she notices those chapped lips moving ever so slightly in the night air. "What are you saying?" she asks, intrigued.
"If I tell you, the wish won't come true," Ymir replies.
"Tell me just one?"
"Can't," the older replies with a shake of her head. "It's the same thing every time."
Christa's mouth opens slightly, torn between asking another question and wondering exactly what means so much to Ymir that she would, Christa assumes, make the same wish on each passing star on each night that they fall. She settles for a comfortable silence, nestling her head into Ymir's chest, eyes flicking every so often to glance up not at the stars, but at Ymir, and every time she looks up she begins to notice something.
There's plenty of dirt on the other girl's face; showering is a privilege not often granted in training camp, and as such a fine layer of grime has fixed itself to Ymir's face. But beneath the dusty facade, Christa can barely make out darker patches of skin, needle-point small, scattered like stars across the tan canvas that is Ymir. She wonders briefly if the stoic girl has ever cried, if she's bothered making wishes on shooting stars of salted water. But the moment passes, and as Ymir looks down, Christa quickly averts her gaze to stare back up at the stars. One flickers by, quick as a lightning bolt, and she seizes it with her eyes and burns into it a wish from her heart.
Never let the stars go away, she prays. Neither those in the sky, nor Ymir's.