Ymir's not much of a people person, she's more of a clay person. She spends hours with it, molding the clay into different shapes, loving the sensation of what's essentially earth in her hands. It makes her feel connected. She's very proud of how she's responsible for making physical things.
She looks at her hands, stained with grey gunk and smiles. She loves this feeling. If her hands aren't covered with traces of clay she feels anxious, which is why she's prone to spending her Saturday nights working on pottery.
Ymir starts out her Monday with getting into a little trouble with Zoe, her professor.
"Ymir, why do you always leave your projects unfinished?" they ask, frowning.
"It's finished to me." Ymir replies.
"It's not painted." Zoe states.
"Does it need to be? Look at it, it's beautiful!"
"It is quite good handiwork, I'll give you that." they agree. "But part of the assignment is that you paint it afterwards."
"Do I have to?" She knows she sounds like a toddler, but she hates painting. The brushes always fumble awkwardly in her hands.
Zoe sighs. "Not for this piece, but the next one."
"Fine." Ymir gives in, woefully.
"Ymir, I'm not going to paint your bowl for you." Christa rolls her eyes.
"But you're really good at painting!"
"Flattery isn't going to help."
"Really? Because it worked the other day when-"
"Ymir!" she cuts her off. "Look, you can just paint it a solid color if you're that lazy."
"Aw, that's hardly going to get me points for creativity."
Christa sighs. Ymir stares at the purple bags under her eyes, and knows that she shouldn't push her- even if Christa painting it for her would have gotten her an A.
"Fine, I'll paint it myself. But you owe me one."
"Owe you one for what?"
"For not painting my piece this time."
The blonde shakes her head but a tiny smile spreads across her lips.
On Tuesday Ymir walks into the painting studio, surprising Christa.
"What are you doing here?" she asks warily. Her blonde hair is scrunched up in a messy bun, and there are some paint smudges on her face. Ymir thinks it's cute.
"Whoa, am I not allowed to come visit my best friend?"
Christa just stares at her.
"Don't give me that look, I brought you tea!" she says, memorizing the way Christa's eyes light up. "But I may have taken a few sips to, you know, make sure it was safe."
Christa takes the cup gratefully.
"Why are you really here?" She's smiling.
"I was thinking maybe if I watched you paint it would inspire me." she explains, half joking.
Christa snorts. "No ulterior motives?"
"None." Ymir answers seriously.
Christa leads her to the back of the room, where she sits with her canvas on its stand.
"Don't distract me."
"I won't." Ymir promises. And she doesn't.
Unless she's molding clay, Ymir can't sit in one place for very long. Except now, she finds that she can. She's sitting a few feet behind Christa, watching the girl make swift brushstrokes, a technique she hasn't tried. The girl holds the brush delicately, there is no awkwardness with her tiny slender fingers.
Ymir wasn't just flattering Christa for no reason earlier. She's associated Christa as a painter for years, and it feels nice to witness the magic happen. An hour passes, and Ymir is still entranced, watching as more colors are added and image becomes complete.
When Christa's finished, she turns around and nearly trips.
Ymir can't help but laugh. "What, did you forget I was here?"
"Yeah." Christa stammers, hear face slightly flushed.
"It's okay, I probably would have done the same thing if I were concentrating so hard." she pauses, grinning. "Want me to help clean your stuff?"
"Thanks, that'd be great."
It's Wednesday afternoon and Ymir is eating lunch with Christa, Mikasa, Annie, and Sasha in the cafeteria with the best food.
"Yeah." Christa laughs. "Like, my parents make no sense- they're fine with the gay thing, but they hate that I'm an artist. I just don't get it."
The other girls laugh along with her and mention how their families take it.
When Mikasa leaves, there's a small smirk on Annie's face.
"Have you guys seen her abs?" she asks.
"Yes oh my God they're amazing!" Christa agrees, oblivious to Ymir's pout.
"She's really hot." Sasha points out, both blondes nodding in agreement.
"I thought you weren't attracted to people." Ymir says with forced nonchalance.
"Not romantically." Sasha explains. "Anyways, Annie, class is starting soon. We should probably get going."
After Sasha and Annie are out of earshot, Christa finally notices Ymir's frown.
"What, are you jealous?" Christa asks with disbelief.
"I have abs too!"
"Yeah, they're just not as noticeable." she smirks, unsettling the freckled girl. "So when do you think they're going to start dating?" Christa asks.
"Annie and Mikasa?" Christa nods.
"They're probably already boning." Ymir answers, shrugging.
Christa's face pales.
"Are you serious?"
Ymir's heart sinks.
"Are you jealous?" she asks, in attempt to cover up her feelings.
"No it's just- never mind." she stammers, evidently trying to compose herself.
On Friday Christa is sitting across from Ymir at her potter's wheel. Ymir tries not to pay attention to her, but it's hard when she feels as though Christa is just staring her down wordlessly with her huge blue eyes. She gulps.
"So you feel uncomfortable if your hands aren't covered in clay, right?" Christa brings up (even though she swore she wouldn't distract her).
"Yeah." Ymir answers, eyebrows furrowing. "Why?"
"I was just thinking there might be something else you wouldn't mind covering your hands with." she says suggestively.
Ymir's hand twitches. There's no way that wasn't an insinuation. Part of her regrets letting Christa come watch her, the other is thrilled.
Her heart is hammering inside her chest. She knows they flirt with each other on occasion, but it's never been like this.
"I'm going to bake this." she tells Christa, and rushes to the kiln.
Impatiently, she washes her hands as thoroughly as she can, using a million paper towels to get rid of her beloved slimy feeling.
All she can do is think about Christa's implications. She can't deny she's been craving the girl's touch, wondering what it would be like to make her moan and to have Christa's lips trace every inch of her body. Okay, she knows she's definitely overthinking things at the moment, which is not helping the butterflies in her stomach.
Ymir takes Christa to one of the back rooms in the ceramics studio. To talk. Or make out. Or something. Her heart is racing and she opens the door and-
She can't quite believe what she sees.
The only lights are from two small windows at the edge of the room, but it's enough to see Mikasa and Annie making out. And they're both naked.
"Oh my God." Ymir says, loudly.
The kissing noises stop and they're staring at her and Ymir shuts the door.
"Oh my God." she repeats. Her eyes are wide, and Christa looks worried.
"Ymir-"
"Did you see-"
"Ymir, please calm down." her voice is small.
"In a classroom-"
"Quiet down they could get in trouble."
Ymir's making inhuman noises with her mouth closed, and her eyes look like they're going to pop out of their sockets.
"Come on." Christa urges. "Let's go somewhere else."
She nods. "That sounds like a good idea."
They're sitting on a bench. The shock is still written all over Ymir's face.
"I mean, I just can't believe that-"
"They beat us to it?" Christa fills in.
"Yeah." Ymir can feel her cheeks heat up, but Christa's a little red too, so maybe it's a good thing. She starts to grin, a wave of confidence pulsing through her.
"So you never were into Mikasa then?"
"No."
"Were you gonna ask me out or something?"
"Don't get full of yourself." Christa warns.
She's smiling though, practically beaming. And before Ymir knows it, they're leaning into each other and kissing and it feels so good.
It doesn't last for too long since the bench puts them in a slightly uncomfortable position. They pull away with flushed smiles. Christa intertwines their fingers.
Ymir wants to say something witty, but she looks at the ground instead, unable to shake off her smile or the giddy feeling.
"Come on, let's go to my dorm." Christa suggests, with a mischievous glimmer in her eyes.
"Alright." Ymir manages to say. She squeezes her hand, and she knows one thing: Christa's hand feels a million times better than clay.