Ymir had known she was gay since she was twelve and seen Ellen Ripley on her TV screen and felt a tingling sensation she'd never felt before. There had been growing pains, of course. Her family was working class, with some fairly traditional values, and it had taken some time for them to accept it when she finally came out. But after a few polite but rather insulting suggestions that maybe she should try dating boys anyway from her mother, Ymir had made it clear where she stood. In the end, through her stubborn determination and the lucky fact that her parents loved her enough to try and understand, she'd grown up without being particularly miserable. Life had still been hard. She'd dropped out of school to work in a shop because in her neighbourhood, nobody could afford college. She made her meagre earnings, living at home until she was well into her twenties, before finally being able to afford a crappy one-room apartment where the water was only hot if you were lucky, and the heat worked if her landlord felt like it. But it was her own place, even if it wasn't pretty, and she'd worked hard on making it hers.

She had always preferred her women butch- girls with short hair, a bit of an attitude, girls who never took shit from anyone. It was because of this that she never expected to fall for somebody like Historia Reiss.

When she first met the girl, she had wandered into Ymir's shop, seemingly by accident. She was well-dressed and spoke with the polite, articulate accent of someone born with a silver spoon in her mouth. She had seemed completely out of place in a dollar-store that sold nothing more valuable than a used toaster. Ymir had casually noted as an aside thought that she was quite pretty, but thought nothing of it. Historia had paid for her goods, some baubles she thought were 'cute', and Ymir had expected that to be it.

She hadn't even liked her. She'd never liked people who had everything handed to them, and even less people who were dependent on others. A rich girl spending daddy's money? Some blond bimbo who was bound to be somebody's trophy wife down the line? On paper, Historia Reiss was downright contemptible to Ymir.

She had had to blink and look twice when she'd passed her in The Chaps, the local gay bar where Ymir would spend most of her Saturday nights. She just hadn't seemed the type. A statement, of course, any of her Femme friends would rip her apart for.

Sure, there were some rich girls who stumbled down there every now and then, driven by a bi-curious fascination or a drive to experiment. Ymir had slept with one or two of them in her time. They'd never called back. But most of the time, it was just… ordinary people. Workers or middle class people like herself, people without much excitement in their future looking to get drunk and, if they were lucky, get down.

Historia had stood out like a sore thumb in there, even though she had dressed down for the occasion. She was bright and cheery, like a very small sun, and Ymir had been surprised to see the bar's patrons taking to her with ease. She seemed genuinely nice, and Ymir never caught her patronizing or condescending anyone.

She had shrugged and turned her eyes away, looking for a hookup more to her tastes, and she'd been surprised to see the short girl head on over with a determined look on her face and one drink in each hand.

"Hi!" she'd said.

Ymir had sized her up, and when her surliest, least interested expression didn't scare the girl off, she'd said,

"Hi."

She had introduced herself as Krista, which Ymir later found out was the name she preferred to go by. It was more personable than something as high-brow as 'Historia'. Initially, Ymir had just been annoyed by her presence, but there was something about Historia- Krista- that was impossible to hate. And to be honest, Ymir admired her determination, even if she was very confused by it. She was pretty. She could have had any girl she wanted, Ymir was sure of it, but for whatever reason she insisted on talking only to Ymir. Gruff, extremely average Ymir. Ymir, who had bags under her eyes and whose greatest treasure was a worn leather jacket. Ymir, who barely had a few dollars to spare in her savings account. Ymir, who looked at best presentable in a flattering light.

"Why?" she'd asked, later that evening, taking a puff on one of her cheap cigarettes, "Why are you talking to me, of all people? I get coming here. That prince-and-pauper shit. Being rich must get boring sometimes, I get that. Wiping your ass with gold paper must get old. But do you need to find the dirtiest bitch around also? Is this some kinda game?"

She had been rude and aggressive, she knew that. Not nearly as rude as she could have been, because despite herself she found that she rather liked the naïve little rich girl, but rude all the same.

"Firstly," Krista had said, "you're not nearly the dirtiest bitch around here. I have an eye for dirty, and you're not that dirty. Secondly, I like you. You're nice. Even if you don't show it much."

Ymir had laughed at that. The rest of the evening had passed like a blur, and the next morning, Ymir had woken up in her bed with a tremendous headache, and a small piece of crumpled paper in her hand, with a phone number scribbled onto it, and a little heart doodled at the end. Why she'd called back, she wasn't sure. It had been something about the girl's stubbornness and audacity that had made Ymir curious.

Historia had always liked people, and people had always liked her. When Ymir had come into her life, seemingly determined not to like her, it had been something of a challenge. Historia loved challenges. But when she'd managed to get past that point, when she'd managed to get past those outer walls of semi-hostility and defensiveness, it was a bit too late. She'd already fallen for her, which really hadn't been her intention.

Ymir wasn't pretty. She wasn't even handsome. But to Historia, who had gone through a private boarding school constantly reminded by the school's prettiest girl that she was an illegitimate child, that she was her father's dirty little secret, physical beauty really wasn't much of a concern.

Ymir had something about her. Like she always knew what to do next, like she was never doubtful of anything. Like she knew her place in the world and was content with it. To Historia, who had struggled her entire life with finding out who she was and what to do with herself, that was deeply fascinating. Sure, her father had eventually taken her in, but there was always a strain between them, and even more so between her and the rest of the family. She didn't belong, never did, and although she still lived there, it didn't feel like home. It was a mansion, a veritable palace compared to Ymir's dirty, cold flat, but one of them felt like a home and the other didn't.

She'd started dating Ymir, falling heads over heel for the tall, lean girl, despite a little voice at the back of her mind warning her that it could never work. Because they were worlds apart. Because Historia was thoroughly educated with a degree in digital design and excellent degrees wherever she had gone, where Ymir had never set foot in any institution of higher learning. Because Historia read books and appreciated art, whereas Ymir's idea of culture stopped at watching shows like CSI. Because Historia had a job that paid good money- despite whatever assumptions people would make about blond girls with rich fathers- while Ymir barely scraped by.

Two people that different, she had reasoned to herself, quietly before going to sleep, could never work out. Could they?

Her father certainly didn't think so. Bad had gone to worse when it had been found out that the bastard child was not only a bastard, but into girls. But her father, business-minded as he was, had disapproved more of the fact that she was seeing a scruffy, impoverished nobody without a future. They had had words. It had ended with her father angrily stomping out of her room, and Historia considering if she shouldn't just move out.

Love was crazy. Ymir had had a few crushes, but nobody in her adult life had made her feel like Krista did. Like she mattered. But she was fiercely practical, and once the rush of the first few weeks of dating, cuddling and sleeping together, exploring each others' bodies… once that had begun to pass, Ymir had come to a hard realization.

It couldn't possibly last.

Nothing this good ever lasted for Ymir the slum-rat. Krista would figure out, sooner or later, that she could get just about anyone who would be better for her. That almost anyone could provide better, that there were prettier girls, girls who weren't so stupidly proud, stubborn and combative. Girls who were easy to live with, girls who you didn't need to fight with over small things like a restaurant check.

Money was the issue. Ymir had, for all her lack of means, always refused to be a moocher. What little she had left after rent was all she used. She wouldn't loan, wouldn't depend on others, and if that meant she couldn't go out with her friends to dinner or to the movies, so be it. It didn't matter they didn't mind- she minded, and her opinion mattered more.

Krista had only meant well by trying to pay for her girlfriend, but it had hurt Ymir in a way the sweet, rich girl couldn't have imagined. The first night it happened, Ymir had let herself be convinced after all, only to explode on the unsuspecting girl with harsh, unfair words when they walked home. They hadn't spoken for a week, and Ymir had been sure it was over, that she'd had her shot and blown it. But a persistent Krista had come back when Ymir had least expected her to, and talked her into it. She had apologized, even though she had done nothing wrong, and from then on she had picked the places they went to eat very carefully.

She deserved better. That was the crux of it. She deserved better. She was radiant, wonderful and sweet, and Ymir didn't deserve her. She was too moody, too stupid, too harsh. She loved the girl, sincerely, in a way that scared her, and she loved her enough to let her go. It would hurt like a knife to the gut, but they'd both be better off.

Well, at least one of them would.

She could be so difficult. One night they'd be cuddled up on the couch, watching a movie, and everything was right with the world. The next day, she could be sour and sullen, taking offence to imagined insults- and she wouldn't show it until she snapped.

She was so… insecure. It was funny how somebody could be two things at once. Historia admired Ymir's spirit, her independence, and she was genuinely strong, genuinely her own woman who asked nothing of anyone. When she saw a problem, she didn't get angry or sad. She thought of a way to fix it. She didn't lose her cool easily.

But if you brought up something that reminded her of her lack of money, her poverty, she was suddenly as sensitive as any sorority girl, except she hid it away like she was… a guy. She kept herself to herself, and Historia, who had hoped that seeing women would mean better communication, found it frustrating.

But she loved her all the same. She loved her strength. She loved the way she remembered the small things. She loved the way she cared. She loved the way she was completely devoted. Being with Ymir, Historia felt like she was the centre of the universe. She felt like a princess. She felt high on the sensation.

She loved her. She only wished there didn't have to be so much drama coming with it.

She reached for her cell phone, and with a flick of her fingers, she found her girlfriend's number. Hesitating a few seconds, she pressed the button and let the call go out.

"Ymir."

Historia took a deep breath.

"Hey."

There was a pause.

"…hey."

"So, um," said Historia, and determined not to stumble on her words, she forced her voice steady, "we need to talk."

"I… yeah, I agree. We do."

"Your place?"

"Sure."

There was something about Ymir's voice, how flat and unemotional it was in its response, that made Historia's heart ache. She was sure it was over already.

There was the chime of the doorbell, and Ymir had opened the door. They had exchanged cursory greetings, and Ymir had turned back into the apartment so quickly it was almost rude. She waited for her girlfriend in the centre of the one room her apartment had, on a worn and used couch. It had been salvaged from a dumpster, and was in good condition considering where it had come from. In fact, sadly enough, it was probably the nicest piece of furniture Ymir owned. She sat on it in silence, arms crossed, staring at the floor, until she could feel the pillows shift a little as Krista sat down.

"Ymir."

She didn't look up right away, trying to contain the turmoil within. This would hurt, she knew it would.

"Ymir."

"Yeah?" Ymir said, almost snapped, finally looking up. Krista looked wonderful as always, even in a plain dress. She'd dress down when they met, but somehow that too felt offensive, like she was being taken pity upon.

"We need to talk, okay? And we can't do it if you're just sitting there, staring at the floor.

Ymir nodded, remaining silent.

"We've had a lot of… problems lately, haven't we?"

Ymir grunted something vaguely affirmative. Here it came…

"With how things are… I mean, we could let it lie, but I don't think it's healthy. We need to-"

"Just say it already," Ymir said, unable to contain the anger in her voice, "say the words. 'You're a pain in the ass, and I'm through'. Say it, so we can get it done!"

Krista reeled back, looking shocked at the words. She'd become accustomed to Ymir's bluntness, but now it just felt… sad.

She's already given up, Historia thought to herself, and shook her head.

"Look," said Ymir, "I get it. I'm too… I'm poor and I give you shit for not being poor. I got nothing to offer. No future. I'm angry, and I get stupid about it. You could get someone better. Someone who won't treat you like this. So just… just say it, okay?"

She was almost pleading when she stopped speaking.

A resolute look crossed Historia's face, and she shook her head.

"No."

"The fuck do you mean 'no'?" Ymir said loudly.

"If you want this to end, you can say it," Historia said stubbornly, "look me in the eye and tell me you want this to be over. If you're so terrible, and if I should be with someone better, then you say it yourself."

Ymir looked her in the eye, but almost immediately, she looked away, staring into the floor with a quiet groan.

"You're not doing it," said Historia determinedly, "because you don't want to. Because you don't want this to be over. Am I wrong?"

Ymir grunted something incomprehensible.

"I said am I wrong, Ymir?"

"I…" Ymir said, "I mean…"

"Do you love me?"

"Look-"

"Because I love you. And I'm pretty sure you do too. Now, we can either put our backs into it and try to make it work, or we can give up. Which will it be?"

"Look," said Ymir frustratedly, looking up, "it's not that easy, okay?"

"Isn't it?"

Ymir felt like tearing at her hair. She'd wanted it at least to be clean, to be simple. It could have been settled by now, and she could have started to process the heartache. She could have tried to move on. Instead, they were having… this discussion.

"You deserve better!" Ymir exploded, finally saying it, "You deserve someone who doesn't treat you like shit! Someone who can get you… I dunno, nice things, someone who can look out for you, someone who won't be an asshole to your friends because you're from different backgrounds! I'm a shitty person, and you deserve better!"

Krista moved across the couch, sliding closer, and put a hand on Ymir's. The taller girl visibly flinched.

"Don't I get a say in what I deserve?" she said gently.

"I… look," said Ymir, lamely trying to take her hand away, to reject her forcibly, but she found she lacked the strength, "it's for the best, isn't it? We're all… different. I didn't go to school, and you did. You like all these… cute, artsy things and I'll never be able to appreciate them."

"So?"

If she'd had the strength, she would have stood up and told the little rich girl to fuck off. To put on a strong front and do what was necessary, to send her home in tears, to have it ended.

But she couldn't. She was transfixed, looking at her eyes, her beautiful face, her golden locks. She was paralyzed.

"I mean…"

"You have been difficult," Krista granted, "a bitch, sometimes. Is that fair to say?"

Ymir nodded, feeling stunned.

"So work on it. Be a better person. Because I know I'm a better person with you around. You make me stronger. You've made me feel more secure in myself. When I'm with you, I don't care what other people say about me, or about not belonging. Because I do belong when I'm with you."

"I mean… we gotta be realistic," Ymir said evasively, "see this dump?" she said, gesturing to the apartment at large, "that's as much as I can afford. You deserve better."

"I have a solution, actually," said Krista with a smile. From the folds of her jacket, discarded further back at the couch, she pulled out a folder. Enthusiastically, she opened it, thrusting its contents at Ymir. Bewildered, Ymir rifled through it.

"Plumbing," she muttered, "electrics… carpentry…"

"Evening courses," Krista said, smiling brightly, "if you pass enough, you'll have learned a new trade. A good one. One that pays more than minimum wage. There's dozens of them in there, so just pick one that suits you. Make something better of yourself."

"Krista…" Ymir muttered, looking through them, "these cost money. I can't afford jack."

"I'll cover it."

"Hell no," Ymir said heatedly, "no handouts, you know that!"

"It's not a handout. It's a loan. And you'll pay back every cent to me when it's done. I'm not going to charge interest, but you'll pay it all back. It's not a handout. It's a way for you to make something better of yourself, with your own strength, without having to freeload off of anyone."

Ymir felt genuinely stunned, lamely rifling through the course materials. These looked… doable. And if she learned it… if she had a real trade, if she had a profession, she'd afford someplace better. It would take years, sure, but… she could do it.

"Well… fuck me," she mumbled.

Part of her rebelled. Part of her hated the idea of being in debt. But looking into Krista's eyes, innocent, earnest, totally determined, she squashed those thoughts. Just minutes ago, she had been ready to give up. Just minutes ago, she was sure her future was nothing.

"I've seen your old grades," said Krista, "you can do it."

"I… I think I can, yeah," Ymir muttered.

She shook her head.

"Christ," she murmured to herself, "you really thought this through, didn't you?"

Krista nodded enthusiastically.

"Look", said Ymir, "are you sure about this? Even with me… being me?"

"I've never been surer," said Krista firmly.

Ymir blinked. She felt a little overwhelmed. The realization hit her like a truck.

She got it. She understood. Even if she could never know what it was like to go hungry because your rent took up too much of your pay, she understood how Ymir felt. She wasn't handing her a free ride, she was handing her an opportunity. A way to make it her own way. No pity, just… kindness.

How could she have been so stupid?

"Move in with me," she said, blurting the words out without even realizing it wasn't just a thought, that she'd actually said it out loud.

Krista blinked.

"That's… that's kind of a sudden change of attitude. A second ago you were giving up."

"I was wrong," Ymir said, her mind wandering entirely into improvisational territory. She had no clue what to do or where to go, and so she said only what was on her mind, with nothing holding her back, "I was stupid… fuck, I've been stupid, okay?"

"It's fine," Krista reassured her.

"Will you do it?" Ymir said eagerly.

Her girlfriend looked around Ymir's apartment, run-down, sloppy and grey.

"Well…"

"Not this dump," Ymir said hastily, "but if we pool our resources… we could afford someplace better. Someplace decent. It won't be as good as your place is now, but it'll be ours. Just you and me, together."

Krista smiled.

"Rent split halfway?"

"Always," Ymir said, nodding, a smile finally creeping onto her face.

Krista smiled back, giggled, and suddenly leaned in to kiss her. Ymir, caught by surprise, leaned into the kiss.

"Just one thing," said Krista happily as she broke away, leaving Ymir wanting more.

"Anything."

"Call me Historia. It's time I stopped pretending I was someone else."

"Historia," Ymir said with a nod, "Sure. Historia. My Historia."

"I could get used to that," Historia said happily.

"Yeah…" Ymir was interrupted by another kiss, and happily let herself be toppled over on the couch. It was some time before either of them got up.