Christa Lenz makes a choice to live like this.
And every day you, Ymir, make a choice to stay.
You don't understand why. You thought she was stupid for helping out Potato Girl during the first day of training. But you could take advantage of that type of generosity; after all, being generous can be just as bad as being simple-minded in a place like this. It can, and will, get a person killed. Try to help out those dragging the brigade down, go down with them. That's the rules of army life.
Then why stay with her?
There are several reasons, you suppose. She's similar to you in certain ways. Most would take that as a joke – the Goddess of the 104th unit like bossy, conniving Ymir? Impossible. But, like you, she is hiding something. You can feel it in your bones. It's not something unimportant, from what you can tell. It's a secret as important as yours. You're curious about it, however, that's not really one of the reasons. You just know it's the reason behind her death wish. You've known for a very long time that she has one and it's not any old death wish. She wants to die a heroic death. It's probably connected to her secret, in some way. You don't care though. You're not letting her die. There's no way you'll let her die. Why? Why her, of all people? Someone so generous and kind will only get in the way. Why do this when the only person you should care about is yourself?
It's because she's already significant.
At least to you.
Christa always smiles at you; she says kind words to you. She doesn't know you're a monster – your personality is monstrous enough on its own to make anyone stay away. Yet, there's not a day where she's not by your side. Currently, it's one of those rare moments you have by yourself in the barracks. You're just lying here, in civilian clothes, because it's the last exercise of the day you're skipping: the hand to hand combat exercise.
Some days you think that maybe you have a good side, even if it's only around her. You're not quiet. You'll make your opinions known and then walk off. With her, though? You talk. It's as simple as that. You don't force conversation; it just happens naturally. You feel like a person around her and that is something you've never felt before. You don't know how it happened or when it happened. Feeling anything was hard for you before this. You'd been trapped in the nightmare so long you forgot most feelings. Indifference and hatred were your company, and you intended to keep it that way. It's infuriating sometimes. 'Cause you know what it is. You've learned the most human feeling of them all because of her.
Love.
You hate this part of being human. Hate for yourself is what you're used to. But love and hope? Never was your style. This hope that maybe she'll take one of your jokes seriously one day – that maybe she'll take you up on that offer to kiss her wounds from training better – or run away with you and never return. You want to know her more and more. You probably know more about her than anyone else; but that's not enough. As selfish as it is, you want all of her. You never claimed to be righteous like her. Everything is for you and your benefit only. You want her to be yours, and yours alone.
You hear a creaking sound; it must be the door. It's too early for the hand to hand combat exercise to be over. It might be Annie. She usually ditches, after all. You don't even bother to look at the door. You're lying down in your bed so you may as well pretend to sleep. You don't exactly want to deal with awkward silence. You're content to continue your thoughts without interruption. Footsteps come closer and closer. You can tell when they stop by your bed side. That's odd. You don't bother to open your eyes, though. Breathing in and out, slowly, your act is almost perfect. You've done it too many times. It's not until you feel hot air on your cheek and a slight pressure on it, something soft, that you open your eyes and turn your head.
Behold, a surprised and blushing Christa.
Christa opens her mouth once. Twice. she stammers multiple times before she shuts her mouth entirely, redness all over her face. Adorable. Turning onto your back, and leaning on your elbows, you sit up a little bit. You stare at her, a questioning look placed upon your visage. It's a little while more before she says anything.
"I didn't mean to – what I meant to –"
She goes quiet for a while.
"Sorry."
"What for?"
You raise an eyebrow. Of course you know what she's sorry for. She doesn't really have to say it. You just want to know why she did it. Plus, you like hearing her speak. Her voice, though a bit high pitched, is beautiful to you. When she sings or hums to herself it soothes you. You'd do anything to get her to talk more.
"For invading your personal space. I've kind of always, sort of, okay – I've always wanted to do that." Christa says with a barely noticeable stutter this time. Her gaze isn't toward you; it's at the floor. You stay silent. Contemplating your next move. She mutters another sorry and attempts to walk away, turning around. You don't want that. Not at all. You know what you want, but are you sure you deserve it – her? It doesn't matter now, though. You sit up quick, maneuver your body, and grab her wrist, the frame of the bed shaking a little from the quickness of the movement. She gives a little squeak of surprise, her body pivoting toward you.
"Don't."
Her face shows confusion, her eyebrows furrowing together, trying to piece together what you mean.
"Don't what, Ymir?"
"Don't go."
Christa seems stunned at first. She doesn't know what to do – she doesn't know what you want. To be honest, you don't know where this is going to go. Letting her leave isn't an option though. You take your hand off of her small wrist, pulling your hand back to yourself. Almost. It hangs in midair before you grab her hand, interlacing your fingers. You look to your side, feeling the heat under the freckles on your face. The two of you stay like that for a minute or so. This feels good. You can tell she's burning holes into you with her clear, blue eyes. Questioning. What are you doing? Ymir, get your act together. When she breaks the hold you have on her hand, you're disappointed. You knew it. You knew it all along. You aren't good enough for her anyway.
She sits down on your bed while you aren't paying attention, merely staring at the hand you originally had in hers. She takes your other hand in hers. You move your head a little to see her face; you can't tell what her expression is. When you turn your head fully to her, she smiles at you. Her hands are warm and a little calloused. Yours are too, more so in fact, yet it still feels nice. Her thumb rubs your hand absent mindedly. This – this is comfortable. Soon, her head is on your shoulder, your hands laced together on Christa's leg, and before you know it your head's against hers. Your heart is pounding. You use the same shampoo as her when you shower, as all the soldiers do, but it seems to smell nicer on her. You two stay like that; you're enjoying this comfortable silence being shared. Then, Christa breaks it. She takes her head off of you, leaving an empty feeling. She keeps your hands together, though. You're a little dazed out by the way this is going.
"Ymir?"
"Hmm?"
"Can we...?"
Christa's eyes are pleading. Her nervousness is obvious. She's biting her lip in the most attractive way. You wonder what it'd be like. To touch it. To feel it. Before you realize it, you're getting closer and closer, moving yourself in her direction. You repeat the question.
"Can we?"
Her eyes are closing and yours are too. Should you do this? Is this really what you want to get into? It's too late for that, though. You can feel the heat going down to your neck. You're already in too deep. Your lips touch hers just barely. You're afraid to do more than that. However, before you can back out, her lips are gently pressing against yours. Gentle as it is, it's still more pressure than you dared. The tiniest moan comes out of you – you're surprised that you can moan. Christa pushes a little harder in response, then sucks on your bottom lip. How did she get this good at kissing? You don't remember the last time you kissed someone or if you ever did. This feels too good. Way too good. In the pit of your stomach is this mixed feeling of fear – fear that this won't last – and something reminiscent of a pressure. An urge.
You can't resist her anymore, especially when she runs her tongue along your bottom lip. You try to squelch the noise that comes out of your throat when her tongue caresses yours. Muffled as it may have been, it was still there. Christa's hand is out of yours and behind your head, tugging at the band that holds your pony tail up. Her other hand is on your thigh, not moving up – you can tell it's there just to keep her stable. You have one hand on the side of her neck. The other on her cheek, cupping it. Christa manages to get your hair out of its pony tail; she places her hand on the back of your scalp and tugs a little. Not roughly. Where did she learn this? This is ridiculous. You refuse to let her take the lead in all of this. You need to do something. You smirk into the kiss when it delves back into closed mouth. This time you're the one to ask for entry. You can feel her shiver. She lets you in without a hassle.
"Mmm," she hums. The vibration feels amazing against your lips.
You don't dart your tongue in. You don't keep it firm. You allow your tongue to relax; you gently lick the tip of her tongue with your own, making her chase after your tongue for a while and occasionally letting her succeed in catching it, before you go to the roof of her mouth. You heard this spot was sensitive once before. Why not try it? You start by writing your name.
'Y'
Christa makes a muffled sound against you. Good sign? You think so.
'M'
She makes another sound. It's muffled by your lips but it almost sounded like...
'I'
And she's pulling away from, her hands returning to her person . Before you know it, she's giggling. What the fuck did you do wrong, exactly? That wasn't supposed to make her laugh; it was supposed to turn her on. Not that you wanted sex. It's just fun to tease her. Once the laughter stops, she looks at you.
"It tickled." Christa offers.
You let out an "Mmhm".
"This is the first time I've seen you pout, you know."
"I am not."
She grins.
"Are too."
You sigh, and lay back on your bed, legs dangling off it. Whatever. It's not like this is something you really should've done with her. You've wanted to, sure. But what will be the consequences? You always think about your actions. You should've thought this through. How will it affect you?
But most of all, how would being with you affect Christa?
Nothing good can come out of it. Not for her. You know what you are. She doesn't. It's people like you that are the reason for the future is bleak in this world – for humans. There's no way humanity is going to survive; you know this. The world's sky is dreary. It only gets darker from here.
Your bed groans as Christa climbs up next to you; you forgot how short she is. She curls up next to you, holding your arm hostage, her feet barely off the bed. You can tell without looking that she's smiling at you. She lays her head on your shoulder once more and you instinctively put your head against hers again. You can't fight your feeling anymore. Nuzzling – she's nuzzling you.
Adorable.
Kissing her on the top of her head, she grabs your hand, clasping it tightly. You don't know what's going to happen. You don't know anything anymore, really. What you're doing here with Christa is a mystery to you; you do know one thing, however. As black as everything becomes, as far as the expanse that is the sky goes, there is a light. It's yours only – you're selfish like that. You will protect that light because you're the only one who can. You suppose there's a little bit of truth to what everyone says. You accidentally snicker out loud. Christa picks up her head, curiosity most likely peaked.
"What was that for?"
"You really want to know?"
She nods, gazing at you with such sincerity that it almost hurts.
"Christa."
"Yes...?"
"You really are a Goddess."