Histories and Annals

Pater

The break in had been in the middle of the night. Armin had not seen any of it, because his father had ushered into a small cupboard, pressing his finger to his lips. Armin had mimicked him confusedly, his tiny, plump fingers resting against his mouth. He'd hugged his knees to his chest, his back pressed up against wood, and he'd listened. There had been sounds, scary sounds, strangled shouts and grunts from outside, from another room, but they were so loud…

Armin had begun to shake. By the time his father returned to the cupboard, there had been tears in Armin's eyes. The man looked at Armin with sympathy and sadness, and his eyes darted away, flashing in the darkness of the kitchen. Then he looked back to Armin, and smiled brightly.

"Come here," his father whispered gently, offering out his arms. Armin flung himself at his father, burying his face in the man's bony shoulder. He began to sob uncontrollably as his father rubbed his scrawny back, his palm running smooth circles around Armin's nightshirt. "Shh, shh… It's okay now."

"Papa," Armin sobbed into the man's shoulder. "Papa…"

"Hey," his father whispered, tilting Armin's tiny head up with the knuckle of his forefinger. Tears glistened against the toddler's face, snot collecting in his nostrils as he hiccupped weakly. His father kissed his hair, and hugged him tightly. "Do you want to go see Grandpa, Armin?"

The tears stopped immediately. Like any child, he was distracted by a tantalizing idea. He wanted it. He wanted it badly. He wanted the books and the stories, and he wanted the smell of tobacco and the hats in the attic, and the harmonica and the pipe. He wanted his grandfather's voice to pacify the bad things, the nightmares, the intruder in the dark.

He nodded eagerly. His father wasted no time, and he scooped Armin up, rushing him from the kitchen. They were outside suddenly, and Armin had no time to even glance about the hall, though he was sure there was a shadowy figure curled upon the floor. He stared vacantly, unsure if the figure had been anything but a lumpy shadow.

It was a blur after that, but somehow they had ended up at Armin's grandfather's home. There were crickets echoing against the humid night, and against Armin's cheek, his father's chest rose and fell heavily. The air smelled sour, of sweat and petrichor and pipe tobacco. Armin blinked rapidly, tiredly, and he smiled big at the sight of his grandfather. The man was in his pajamas, looking rather stunned and confused at the sight of his son and grandson.

"Grampa!" Armin cried enthusiastically. His voice was no longer thick with tears, but now with exhaustion. His father set him down, and he ran on stubby legs, throwing his arms around his grandfather's legs. The older man buckled in surprise. He patted Armin's head, and pulled him up into his arms.

"Wait!" the man cried out, his voice wavering in alarm.

Armin twisted in his grandfather's arms. He caught sight of his father, the first time he was truly seeing him all night. His face was pale, and his hair was almost dark around his face. His rumpled shirt was splattered with flecks of red, which sprinkled the pale fabric like crimson freckles. Armin stared, and he wrapped his arms tightly around his grandfather's neck. He was half turned toward the door, but he had frozen with his hand extended.

"Papa…?" Armin yawned, rubbing his eyes. "Papa, where are you going…?"

His father's face crumpled. He put on a big smile, and whirled around to face Armin. "I'm just going back home to get a few things. I'll be back before you know it."

"You don't—" his grandfather started, his voice soft.

"Dad," Armin's father said steadily. He was still smiling. "I'll be right back. Give me an hour, and then you can yell at me all you want."

"I don't want to yell at you," his grandfather croaked. "I want to know what the hell is going on."

"Papa," Armin said. "I don't think home is any good right now."

"Ah," his father said, his smile tight. "You've woken up, haven't you?"

"Papa, I was awake the whole time," Armin mumbled, his face flushing.

"Never mind that," his father said, running his fingers through his hair. "Just… don't worry." He pressed his hand to the doorknob, and nodded. Armin's grandfather stared at his son with terror clear in his eyes. "Everything is fine."

"I expect so," his grandfather said quietly, cupping the back of Armin's head and cradling it gently.

"Be good, Armin," his father said, opening the door and backing away. Armin watched his father melt into the blanket of night with a small smile and empty words. "Go to sleep, okay?"

Armin nodded, and he rested his head against his grandfather's shoulder, staring confusedly into the massive abyss as it swallowed his father whole, and refused to regurgitate him. Armin was tucked into bed, and kissed on the forehead, and given a bedtime story. He was given the promises of when he awoke, when his father would return, when he could go home.

They were empty promises. His father would never return.

And perhaps he had known that all along.

Armin walked quietly through the hall. Jean and Sasha were outside, and Mikasa, Eren, Historia, and Connie were in the kitchen. Armin had ducked out on his chores with a stroke of luck. No one seemed to need him, and that was fine by him. He had some things he wanted to discuss with Hange anyway.

His mind was abuzz with theories, but he had no one to bounce them off. Except Hange. So maybe he was thirsting for a little intellectual banter. No one could really blame him for that, could they? He stopped before the room he knew Hange had locked their self in, and he stood there pensively. Maybe this wasn't a good idea. Maybe they were busy. It wasn't like he had anything particularly important to say.

Armin sighed, and forced himself to knock on the door. In reply, there was a long groan of acknowledgement. Armin didn't know how to take that. Was that an okay to come in? Or a command to go away? Or maybe it was an inquisition of who was at the door. Maybe…!

"Squad Leader Hange?" Armin called, leaning his head close to the door. "It's Armin."

The sound of a chair skidding back, footsteps falling heavily behind the door, sent him stumbling back. The door was flung open, and Armin glanced around the hall nervously as Hange appeared in the doorway, an eager grin on their long face. Armin wasn't quite sure how to interpret that either.

"Armin," Hange said, reaching out and snatching him by the front of his shirt. "Perfect! I need your help."

He squeaked as he was yanked into the room, the door slamming shut behind him, and he blinked rapidly as Hange pulled him to a desk sitting in the corner, a dimming lantern illuminating the crumpled parchment strewn across the surface of the wood. A worn, stained black book sat atop it all like the peak of a mountain, the focal point of an incredible mess.

"What is that?" Armin asked. Hange pulled him closer, and snatched the little book from the desk.

"This?" Hange held it up. It looked rather thin and decrepit. Years of wear had done its work on the binding, which appeared to be falling apart, and the leather cover was peeling away, stained and cracked and faded. The pages looked yellowed and crinkled, which proved the little book's age was certainly older than Armin, at the very least. "It's something Levi picked off a Wall Cultist— or at least, that's what he said when he gave it to me. Now I'm not really sure."

"A Wall Cultist?" Armin took a step forward, and peered at Hange's notes. They were all scribbles and drawings, things he could barely understand. They were Hange's notes, written so she could understand them. That meant little to him at first glance. "So you think that notebook could help us?"

"Well, whoever wrote this thing definitely didn't want anyone else to read it," Hange said, jerking the book into Armin's face. He took it carefully as they ran her fingers through their hair, and collapsed at their desk, their eyes darting across their notes. "The code the guy used isn't like anything I've ever seen before. He wrote shit like a children's picture book, and I can't crack it."

Armin stared at Hange, and then he looked down at the little book. And Hange thinks I'll be able to help? he thought in awe. "Okay," he said, carefully opening the notebook. "Did Levi say when he got this? It looks like it's about to fall apart."

Hange laughed, and rested their cheek against their fist. "You think Levi told me anything past the fact he stole it from a guy who had a wall fixation?"

"Okay," Armin said with a weak smile. "Point taken. Did you crack anything in here? Even a little hint could unravel the entire thing."

"Well," Hange said, flipping through their papers as Armin began to thumb through the journal. It was handwritten, and the pictures were penned in ink. They were lovely pictures. Familiar pictures. He blinked, and squinted intricate drawing of the ocean that stretched across one page. "He repeats pictures a lot. I think the pictures might be people, because he talks about the ocean in repetition with black snow and, uh… inverted ice mountain things."

Armin found the pictures of snow after Hange spoke about it. He leaned back against a wall, flicking through pages and beginning to read along with the text. "We should probably figure out what represents the narrator first," Armin said. There was something bothering him about the picture of the ocean. It was too familiar. He bit his lip, and looked up at Hange.

"That would be easier if we knew anything about him," Hange said quietly, folding their hands over their mouth.

"You know," Armin said, "for a Wall Cultist… the person who wrote this seems really interested in the outside world."

Hange looked up at him sharply. "Wait, what do you mean?" Hange bent forward eagerly. "Do you think that maybe he's not a Wall Cultist after all?"

"I think that he's more of a heretic, actually," Armin said, his eyes glued to the page he'd stopped on. His thumb brushed the words, and he couldn't help but laugh.

"What?" Hange jumped to their feet, and grabbed him by the shoulders. "What is it? Did you figure something out?"

"No," Armin said, looking at them with wide eyes. "It's just… this notebook uses terms from my book on the outside world."

Hange stared at him, and they looked utterly fascinated, their mouth dropping open. "Are you serious?" they gasped, shaking his shoulders. He gave a shout of surprise, nearly dropping the notebook. "Go get it!"

"I-I don't have it anymore!" Armin gasped, wincing as she ceased shaking him. "I lost it when Wall Maria was taken."

Hange let go of him, slipping back to their chair. Disappointment was clear in their eyes. "Oh," Hange said. "That's… unfortunate."

"But…" Armin licked his lips, and he lurched forward, grabbing a pencil and a spare bit of paper. "I remember most of it. I don't think I could rewrite it, or anything like that, but if I write down the chapter titles—" Armin numbered the paper from one to twenty six. Beside the numbers, he wrote the chapter titles. He stared at them for a moment, and then looked up at Hange. "What do you think?"

Hange studied the chapter titles for a moment, lamplight glinting off their glasses as they pulled the paper closer, and they looked back at the little journal. Armin stared at Hange with large eyes as they chuckled, their lips pulling taut into a grin.

"I think," Hange said with a soft, excited voice, "that we can crack this."

"I met a woman today with eyes like the ocean," Armin read aloud. The first sentence they had managed to decode.

"Sounds like the beginning of a shitty romance novel," Levi said. He was standing near the door, arriving at their request because of their recent discoveries. Hange and Armin had been working for about three days. In that time they had uncovered exactly how to decipher the coded journal through Armin's hazy memories and their combined intellect.

"Not far off," Hange said. "Unfortunately, your not quite Wall Cultist doesn't refer to himself by name. He does, however, mention a certain noble family."

Levi glanced between them impatiently, his arms folded across his chest. It had been a long day, and Armin understood that the man was tired, but he had been the one who had requested the journal's translation. Hange and Armin were just glad to oblige in the task.

"Reiss," Levi said blankly. "So what the fuck is his connection to them?"

"Yeah, that confused us at first," Armin said. He scooped up the journal they had chosen to use to detail the translation, and he offered it to Levi. The man watched him suspiciously, but took the journal, and glanced to where Armin was pointing. "See, at first all he talked about was this woman— that was my fault, because I wasn't deciphering it in order. But here he talked about meeting with Reiss to pursue a job offer. That's where the narrative begins."

Levi was silent as he read along the page, his dark blue eyes flickering. They then narrowed for a moment, his brow furrowing. It seemed as though he was confused, and he spoke quietly, "No, that's not right…"

"What?" Hange asked eagerly, moving closer to Levi. He glared in response.

Levi sighed, and he clapped the book shut. "He definitely didn't work for Reiss," he said. He tossed the journal onto the desk carelessly, whirling to face them. "If there's nothing actually in this shitty journal, tell me now. I don't need you two wasting your time on something that clearly can't help us."

"Captain Levi," Armin said quickly, feeling a little desperate at Levi's sudden turnabout. Levi looked at Armin impatiently. "This journal was heavily layered all sorts of coding. There is clearly something in here that this man didn't want anyone else to see!"

"Yeah!" Hange cried. "It took us days just to crack through the surface of it all. There is so much we're missing here!"

Levi glanced between them, and he shook his head. "Whatever," he said with a frown. "What else did you learn?"

Hange and Armin glanced at each other. In their three days of buckling down and decoding, the two of them had become increasingly involved in their project. Armin was determined to get the entire story straight, and Hange was determined to find some sort of link between the writer and Titans.

"Well," Armin said, reaching for the journal. "This guy met a woman at the Reiss house." Armin opened up their decoded copy of the journal, and scanned it quickly. "He thought she looked sick, so he… helped her, I guess?" Armin bit his lip, and handed the book to Hange. "It was a little unclear. We're still trying to work that bit out."

"But!" Hange waved the journal excitedly. "He ended up totally blowing off Reiss to help the woman. That part was clear."

Levi seemed to consider this for a few moments, before nodding. "Okay," he said. "So who was the woman, then?"

"Well," Hange gasped, eyes flying wide, "don't you think that's what we're trying to find out?"

"Captain, if you told us when you got a hold of the journal…" Armin said cautiously. He was feeling awfully brave, but also incredibly curious. He needed to know what this man had found out. What was so important that someone had to code it so meticulously? "I mean, we'd definitely have a better understanding of what we're looking for."

Levi stood silently, looking a little awkward as his eyes traveled from journal to journal, avoiding looking at Hange and Armin directly. "Honestly," Levi said, "I have no fucking clue. Over a decade ago."

"A decade?" Armin asked. Levi glared at him, and he flushed, quickly trying to recollect himself. "I just mean, um, that you weren't part of the Survey Corps then. So why hold onto this?"

"I was morbidly curious," Levi said in an absolute deadpan. "I knew the fucker had secrets. I wanted them."

Armin looked at Hange, wondering if they had picked up on what Levi was insinuating as well. And oh boy, did they. Hange had strode forward fast, their eyebrows shooting upwards as they pointed an accusatory finger at Levi's impassive face.

"Aha!" Hange cried. "You did know him!"

"Not really," Levi said, his eyes narrowing at the pointed finger. "No."

"But you did know him a little bit, didn't you?" Armin asked desperately. Levi glanced at Armin with an expression that made it clear that both of them were treading on thin ice. The man looked ready to punch through a wall, his brow growing heavy as he glared. "I… I just mean, you talk about him like he was more than just some stranger you pick-pocketed."

Levi closed his eyes, and he pinched the bridge of his nose as he exhaled sharply through his teeth. "I don't see," he muttered, "why the fuck that'd be important."

"Is that a confession?" Hange asked eagerly.

The man stared at Hange, and pivoted sharply, moving toward the door. Hange made a sharp noise of objection, reaching after him in distress. Armin glanced at Hange, and then looked down at the journal. Something struck him as he held in carefully, his mind trying to unravel what little he knew of this mysterious narrator. Over a decade ago…

"Wait," Armin said sharply. He didn't look up from the journal, but he heard Levi's and Hange's boots stop scuffling against the floor. "What if…"

He didn't know how to say it. There was no ground to base it on, really, he was just spouting theories but… it could be true. There was nothing to say that it wasn't. And over a decade ago, surely…

"Spit it out," Levi snapped.

"Oh," Armin gasped, looking up at the man, startled. "Right! I was just thinking, it could be possible that the woman the writer had met was… um… Historia's mother? If… if the timing matches up…" He saw the look Hange gave him, and he flushed bright red. "B-but, that's just a theory, and a ridiculous one, I mean the probability in itself…"

"Sixteen years ago," Hange said slowly, staring at Armin with large eyes. "You know, I don't think that's ridiculous at all. If the timing fits, I'll back that theory a hundred percent." Hange rounded on Levi, who was standing in the doorway, frowning at them both. "Does the timing fit?"

Levi shrugged. "I told you," he said, rolling his eyes. "I don't—" He stopped himself. His expression did not change, but he did clamp his mouth shut rather tightly, as though something had came to mind to shut him up.

"Is that a yes?" Hange asked, giving a tiny grin.

Levi gave them both sharp, dangerous looks, and he raised his chin at them. "Listen up," he said impatiently. "When I stole that book, I was living in a pisshole. The years blurred together after awhile. I can't say for sure when I took it. It could have been sixteen years ago." He shrugged, and turned away again. "Hell, it might've been."

He left, shutting the door behind him, and leaving Armin feeling incredibly unfulfilled. Now what? Levi clearly wasn't up for talking about the past. That wasn't surprising in the least, but Armin still couldn't help the loss that swept over him. How were they supposed to unearth this man's writings if Levi, who had been there, refused to tell them anything about it? It was absolutely nerve-wracking, and Armin found himself sitting down to get a better grasp on their situation.

"So," Hange chirped. Armin glanced up, and wondered if perhaps they really were wasting their time. "Let's say, hypothetically, it is Historia's mother…"

"That could cause a lot of complications for our narrator," Armin said thoughtfully, thumbing idly through the thin yellow pages of the original journal.

"Blowing off a job interview for the boss's mistress?" Hange laughed, and then they cupped their chin, staring off into the reflection of light bouncing off the window glass. "It's a shame. If he did get that job, he'd be a lot more important to us."

"If he was just a little clearer…" Armin said quietly. He bit the skin of his thumb, his eyes trailing over the intricately coded words. The ocean, Armin thought. He felt that he could truly understand where the man who had written the journal had been coming from. He felt that the detailed coding was simple, once the pattern unraveled. It wasn't difficult to read into what the man had been thinking as he'd penned his story in cipher. The outside world was just a dream to the man. A dream that fueled his reality, that fed his thoughts and drove him forward. The ocean, Armin realized. That's the woman at the Reiss home. "He mentions the ocean a lot."

"Yes, he does," Hange agreed. Hange was behind Armin, but coming closer slowly. Their eyes were glinting in the dimming lamplight. They could tell he was grasping onto something, and the two of them had a moment of acute unspoken understanding. "Do you think it means something beyond what we first translated?"

"I think…" Armin bit his lip, and flipped the journal open to a page that held the drawing of the ocean, the one that appeared like a copy of the one that had been in his old book. "We've been looking at the mentions of the outside world as just part of the code, but what if they mean more? What if the ocean refers to more than just the woman's eyes?"

Hange listened to him calmly. "What else does it refer to?" Hange asked. Their excited brown eyes widened, and they leaned over the desk to peer at the drawing as well. "If you're right, then we might have misinterpreted it."

"No, I don't think we did," Armin said quickly. "I think he did compare her eyes to the ocean, but that's… not all. I think that maybe the man… thought her entire existence like the ocean."

Hange pulled back, assessing the desk as though to remove their self from the situation and observe the story in its entirety. They adjusted their glasses, and nodded slowly. "Okay," Hange said. "Tell me where you're going with that."

Armin took a deep breath, and he pointed to the drawing of the ocean, tapping it twice with his forefinger. "The ocean is a constant with this man," Armin said, feeling the words spew from his mouth. He could not contain them, and he could barely understand them, but somehow this felt correct. "All the other symbols— and, yeah, I'm going to call them symbols, because that's what they are— they only pop up a few times, but the ocean just keeps coming back. I think the ocean is a symbol for the woman."

Hange cupped their chin thoughtfully. Their eyes were shielded by the glint of their glasses. "What kind of symbol?" Hange asked. "How is the ocean symbolic of a woman?"

Armin smiled up at Hange, feeling a little sheepish. "Well…" he said, his voice trailing off as he tried to find the words to correctly describe what he was feeling over this old journal. "I think that he studied the same book I did, but… extensively. Like, I was just a child reading it, almost like it was a fairy tale. This man, though?" Armin shook his head fiercely. "No, he read the book knowing how foolish it is to wish for the outside world. But he wanted it anyway. I think, maybe, that's why he was looking into the Walls? To find out more about the outside world." Armin tapped the drawing again twice, his fingers brushing the rough texture of the paper. He could trace the pattern of waves inked against the yellow page by heart. "The ocean, Hange. It's everything he could ever want, and everything he can never have. It's the outside world, the temptation and the danger, and it's this woman."

Hange was silent as she stood, listening attentively to Armin's hypothesis. When he finished speaking, he felt silly and uncertain, his cheeks flushing from embarrassment. He didn't know where it came from, but he was almost certain that this was correct. He could feel it, as though the man who had written the journal had written is specifically for Armin's intellect to decipher. There was no explanation for the feeling, nor was there any ground for it. It was an inexplicable belief that thrived within him. There was no explaining it. It was pure faith.

"You talk about it," Hange said slowly, "as though you know how the man felt."

Armin shifted in his seat awkwardly. "Well, I guess I kind of do," he sighed, glancing away from the squad leader. "I mean, not with the woman. I've never had any kind of experience like that, not really, but I do know what it's like to want to see the outside world." He smiled dimly, and closed the old journal, running his fingers across the faded leather. "The ocean, and the seas of fire, and the mountains that spout burning snow. It's always been my dream to see that world." Armin raised his eyes to Hange again, and this time his smile was large and excited. "It's a child's dream, yes, but this man clearly understood that dream, to the point where everything in his world reflected upon it." Armin grinned broadly, feeling a little giddy at the revelation. "And that's amazing!"

Hange grinned just as broadly, their expression reflecting his own. "That is amazing!" Hange exclaimed, clapping him on the shoulder. "But I don't think we have any proof that this guy had anything to do with the woman beyond helping her at the Reiss house."

"No," Armin said vacantly, rubbing his head. "Not yet."

"So," Hange said, "let's find some."

Armin couldn't help but grin, and nod eagerly. It was becoming abundantly clear that whatever this man's secret was, they were hell-bent on uncovering it. And they would. How could they not?

Nearly a week into their quest to decode the old journal, and a few things had light shed upon them. For one thing, Levi had left out a significant amount his involvement in the man's personal life. Hange had been deciphering alone while Armin had fallen asleep in the chair in the corner of the room, beside the window. Armin had awoken to arguing.

"Why the fuck would I have told you that?" Levi's voice was icy as it drifted through the thick cloud that hovered over Armin's lucidity. It broke through the barriers of Armin's mind, forcing him into attention.

"You didn't think that maybe that'd be important?" Hange cried with a voice that was sharp and clear, exasperated and disbelieving. "You knew him, and not just as an acquaintance, I mean you were his friend and you didn't tell us!"

Levi gave a soft scoff. "Don't blow it up to be anything it wasn't. I was a criminal, and he wanted shit he couldn't get on the market."

"Wait," Hange said quickly, sounding stunned. "Did you sell him drugs?"

Levi was quiet. The silence was heavy, and Armin cracked open an eye. Through the bleary light, he saw Levi standing near the door, his face turned up toward Hange's. His eyes were narrowed and daunting.

"I sold him books, four eyes," Levi said sharply, a bite in his tone.

"Oh," Hange said. "You could have said that!"

"I didn't think I had to make the distinction." Levi sighed, and he pinched the bridge of his nose irritably. "Why does this even matter? I don't believe he would have bothered to bring me up in that damned notebook."

"He did, though," Hange gasped, whirling around, and Armin sat up curiously. He was still a little delirious, but he thought he might understand what was going on. "At first I didn't think it was you— he kept referring to you as the kid, the boy, and the like— but then he called you by your name!" Hange jerked their journal used for deciphering under Levi's nose. "Look! He asked you if you wanted to learn how to read!"

The book when flying across the room, and Armin jumped to his feet, his eyes following it as it smacked against the window, and fell pages first to the wooden floor. Hange glanced at it, and gave a low whistle as Levi whirled around and marched to the door.

"Okay," Hange called as he yanked open the door. "Touchy subject?"

He slammed the door behind him, and Hange's lips pursed indignantly. They glanced at Armin, and gave a heavy shrug. "Guess so."

"What happened?" Armin asked, carefully moving to scoop up the journal. He smoothed out the bent pages, frowning a little at the damage done.

"Levi is a child," Hange said, tucking their hair behind their ear as they wandered back to the desk. "I guess I struck a nerve, or something."

"Yeah," Armin said nervously. "Yeah, he was definitely angry…"

"I think he should have said something," Hange said. "I mean, that's important, isn't it? The fact that he knew the man, but refused to tell us anything about him!"

Armin looked down at the translation journal. It had fallen onto a page they had recently translated together— an anecdote about the author's run in with a gang in the lower level of the capital of Wall Sina. The "boy" had been the highlight of that anecdote, because the boy reappeared later on to warn the author about wandering to the Sina underground, since the man clearly wasn't native to the city.

Armin turned the page, and saw what Hange had been talking about. In the midst of an argument, the narrator had asked the boy about books, and had gone off on a tangent. The kid had been silent, and according the journal he'd looked gloomy and close to homicidal. The man had asked the kid his name, and the boy had told him to fuck himself.

"I can't…" Armin struggled to find words. "I can't imagine Captain Levi as a kid."

Hange laughed and shrugged. "I don't think he'd be much different," Hange said, dropping into the chair and stretching. "But… heh." Hange smiled sheepishly, and tilted their head back at Armin. "I don't know him nearly as much as I'd like to."

"That…" Armin pressed his lips together as the boy in the journal reluctantly told the narrator his name. In Hange's thickly scrawled script, it said, "If it's anything to you," said the boy, looking at me rather defiantly, "I'm Levi." Armin couldn't help but smile. He sounds kind of like Eren, Armin thought. "That might be intentional."

"Oh, it definitely is," Hange said, ruffling their hair irritably. "But I don't take it personally. Anyways, what do you think?"

"Captain Levi never asked for the man's name," Armin said quietly. "Or, if he did, the man never mentions it."

"I don't think Levi knows it," Hange said. "That's definitely something he wouldn't have hid from us. It could be that because Levi was so young— and I definitely think he was young when this happened— he just didn't care to learn much about the man, because he was kind of a nobody?"

"Yeah," Armin agreed, closing the notebook. "But it definitely explains a few things about why the Captain wanted this deciphered."

"True!" Hange chirped, nodding eagerly. "Definitely true. Now, why do you think our mystery narrator brought this up?"

"I…" Armin looked down at the journal in surprise. "Oh. I didn't think about that. I don't know, maybe… he was just writing down his experiences?"

"But why code it?" Hange asked, sounding incredibly confused and annoyed. "Why go through all the trouble?"

"Maybe he… didn't want to get anyone into trouble?" Armin offered.

"But why?" Hange asked sharply, not directing the ferocity at Armin, but rather at the ceiling. "Who was he?"

Armin stared at the squad leader, the translation journal feeling heavy in his hands. The light was low in the lamp, and outside the window was a blanket of darkness thicker than that of any sleep. Armin carefully walked up to the desk, setting the journal down.

"Squad Leader Hange," Armin said. "I think you should get some rest."

The squad leader looked startled. "Huh?" Hange asked, spluttering. "But—!"

"I know you have other work to do," Armin said slowly. "So you should get some sleep, so you can get back to that. I'll work on this tomorrow between chores."

Hange looked at him as though he had sprouted a third eye behind his fringe of thick blond hair. "But—!" Hange cried again. Armin quickly cut the squad leader off.

"Or I can take over for you right now!" Armin gasped, feeling desperate to let Hange have a break. "I mean, I just slept, so I should be fine."

Hange's brow furrowed, and shook their head. "No, I couldn't—"

"It's fine," Armin said, smiling and taking a step back. "I'm fine. I've pulled consecutive all-nighters before. Don't worry about it."

"No, that's—"

Armin cut Hange off once again, staring at their face with large, pleading eyes. "Please," Armin said. "I can do this."

Hange appeared uncertain, but their expression softened as though they finally let him convince them. Hange smiled softly, and rose to their feet, stretching their arms over their head and giving a lofty yawn. Armin jumped as their hand clamped over his head, ruffling his hair between long fingers.

"You're almost too nice," Hange said, sounding close to laughter.

Armin flushed, and shook his head. "No," he mumbled. "Not really…"

This time Hange did laugh, and they gave him a sharp shove toward the desk. "You better have some fresh information for me tomorrow," Hange said in a teasing voice. Armin could tell that the squad leader was exhausted though, their eyes betraying their lethargy. "Got it?"

"Yes," Armin said, settling in the vacant seat. "I told you, I can do this."

Hange smiled, and nodded slowly. "All right…" they said slowly. They backed away toward the door. "I'm gonna go…"

"Go," Armin said, focusing his attention on the journals. He waved her off. "Good night."

"Good morning," Hange corrected, all too enthusiastically. They left Armin to his work, and he stared down at the little notebooks and sighed.

Hange's right, though, Armin thought glumly, picking up the older journal. Who are you?

Golly gosh. Happy birthday to me, huh?

So, if you haven't read the recent chapters of the manga, this will probably make very little sense. I've been a little obsessed with the idea of Armin and Historia looking alike for months now, but it wasn't until chapter 53 that realized that Armin and Historia not only could pretend to be siblings but could actually be siblings. I don't care if it doesn't make any sense timeline-wise, or what actually happened to Armin's parents, or anything really. All I care about is telling this story. It's really important to me for reasons I can't explain, but I just love it so much (not the story, really, because my writing here in particular is pretty atrocious). And I want to share some platonic Armin/Historia with the world.

The story is named after two historical recordings by Tacitus. Hence the Latin.