A/N: Sorry it's been so long! But here's a long chapter for the wait! Forgive me! I hope you enjoy the read! I appreciate the feedback from you all :')
Historia was never one to engage in reckless behavior, but during rehearsal the next day she thought nothing of her bruised feet and stiff joints, forcing herself to dance in spite of the pain.
"From the top!" Nanaba commanded, her gaze scrutinizing each and every assigned pair as they performed a selected variation from Swan Lake.
For this exercise, Historia had been paired with Bertolt Hoover, whose performance thus far had allowed for him to demonstrate his strong potential for the role of Prince Siegfried. His tall yet lean frame effortlessly glossed each and every movement, and his flexibility was spectacular.
Historia also admired his gentlemanly qualities; respectful and always considerate.
"Are you all right?" he whispered, after taking note of her slight wincing. "The last sequence was a bit rough with the landing."
Historia shook her head, insisting his worries were unnecessary. "I'm fine," she lied. With an elongated stretch of both legs, she returned to the starting position and waited for Bertolt to align himself with her accordingly.
The truth was, however, Historia had been rather apprehensive since waking up in her apartment that morning. Her thoughts were solely consumed by a single notion.
The vigil for her sister was to promptly follow her training.
And this very day marked fives year since-
"Stop!" Nanaba ordered for everyone in the rehearsal studio to cease all movement, shaking her head in disapproval. "Again!"
Bertolt and Historia simultaneously let out gruff sighs in frustration, both equally unnerved for having to repeat the same motions for what felt like the millionth time.
As they held themselves in the previous formation, Historia took a moment to scan the room, observing the other duos amid their exhausted states with an exceptionally keen eye. Some were faring better than others in that regard, and she wondered which specific qualities, if any, the accomplishment could be attributed to.
Ymir had been paired with Reiner for the lesson, and Historia was only surprised the pairing hadn't yet resulted in explosive arguments or, at the very least, a tasteless exchange of sarcastic remarks jabbed back and forth. Maybe Ymir didn't have the energy to chew him out. Maybe she pitied Reiner to a degree. They danced well together though, in spite of their disagreements. Perhaps it had something to do with what Ymir referred to as some sort of 'solidarity'.
Pieck had been paired with newcomer Colt Grice, a quiet and unassuming dancer who had just moved to Sina City to join the company. They appeared perfectly at ease when rehearsing together, and although their movements were slightly out of sync, they remained calm and collected even with fatigue wearing them out. Historia figured Pieck just naturally had that effect on people.
Hitch had been paired with Marco- and they certainly proved to be quite the dynamic duo. Bertolt's competition for the lead male role didn't have to flaunt his abilities; as they ordinarily demanded an entire room's attention on their own. His partner for the day's lesson appeared as perky and confident as ever, a crafty smirk following each perfected movement, and she carried herself with such poise and control. Hitch had always been so sure of herself when it came to learning new things, and it showed in her dancing. Perhaps she wasn't as graceful or elegant as some of her well-seasoned cohorts, but she beamed with sanguine resolve and executed the variation in dutiful fashion.
Confidence is key. Sometimes, it's what makes all the difference.
In that moment, Historia remembered what she had to overcome.
She needed to have more faith in herself for one thing- as well as avoid comparing herself to others. That would definitely help in guiding her down the right path.
"Ready?" Bertolt asked, docile and patient like the true gentle spirit he was. Historia could only be thankful for how understanding and relaxed he was.
I must have been out of it for a sec there, she thought, internally chastising herself.
Historia nodded, giving him a smile in compliance. She wanted to succeed not only for her sake, but for his as well. After all, this was a partner exercise- if she were to fail, then so would he.
She wouldn't feel right if her mindless daze had brought him down with her.
At Nanaba's behest, Historia brought her hands to meet Bertolt's once more and waited for the music to start up again. Soon, the percussive melody emanating from keystrokes of a piano accentuated each of her movements, each pull, each thrust.
But her ankle…
The pain tinged every time she pivoted on her heel; dull yet overbearing.
Five, six, seven, eight…
Historia carried on with the routine in spite of the ache, moving into the series of fouette en tournants, still spinning and spinning and spinning…
One, two, three, four…
The next thing she felt was sharp, jerking her to the ground, her ankle ultimately giving way to the sudden spike in pain.
Historia let out a small yelp, expecting to fall and then find her ankle twisted, rendering it a goner for sure.
Before the disaster she had envisioned could manifest itself, Bertolt caught her fall with barely a second to spare, easing her back up on her feet again.
"Are you all right?" he asked, his concern far more serious and insistent. "If you're hurt, you shouldn't be over-exerting yourself."
Historia shook her head, maintaining her composure by the narrowest of margins. "I'm fine," she told him, dismissing his claims. "I was just…"
Distracted.
"Stop!" Nanaba's command intercepted their brief exchange, scanning the studio with a stoic expression. Suspense hung in the air as she resumed her contemplative observation. Finally, she lifted her chin up once more, resolute. "Again!"
Historia braced herself.
After rehearsal, Historia retreated to the dressing rooms and sat motionless in a thinly padded armoire chair, gazing emptily into a vanity mirror.
Following a shower and a fresh change of clothes, she took note of the time.
3:34pm.
Her chauffer would arrive to pick her up for the vigil in half an hour.
As she dipped one hand below to nurse the slight ache around her ankle, she remembered she still had unfinished business to take care of.
Her thoughts suddenly shifted from the close call with her ankle earlier to that of Eren. Neither he nor Mikasa had been informed of the vigil; which would ultimately be the reason for her absence in the upcoming lesson.
I should call him, she thought. And let him know I won't make it tonight.
Historia pulled out her phone and thumbed the Jaeger Ballroom Studio's number from her contact's list, having saved it a couple weeks prior.
Guilt inexplicably consumed her as soon as she heard the spirited tone of his greeting on the other end of the line.
"Jaeger Ballroom Studio," he said. "Eren speaking."
Historia paused before speaking up, emotions spinning on a turbulent axis. "Hey, Eren," she said as politely as her despondence would permit. "It's Historia."
"Oh hey!" Eren enthused, further amplifying her guilt. "I take it you're done with rehearsal for the day." He chuckled before adding, "Hope you're not entirely tuckered out for tonight's lesson."
"Actually," Historia began, biting her lip, "that's what I wanted to talk to you about."
Eren wasn't quite sure what to expect now, but judging by the tone of her voice, he wondered if there was reason to worry. "Oh, okay. Shoot."
Historia chose not to beat around the bush. "I can't make it tonight. I know I probably should have mentioned it yesterday, but I… I guess it slipped my mind." She closed her eyes, and waited.
There was a brief pause before Eren spoke again, as though choosing his words carefully. "It's okay if you can't make it… but is everything all right? You sound…"
Historia interjected before he could finish. "I'll be okay," she affirmed, attempting but failing to assure him. "There's just a lot going on right now."
She merely expected that to be it. Until Eren pressed the subject further. "With the company?" he asked tentatively.
"That's a part of it," Historia replied quietly. "But there's a vigil being held tonight. In remembrance of my sister." She stopped herself from expanding any more than that. "I'll, um, be there for the next lesson though. I'm sorry."
"No need to apologize," Eren assured her.
It became instantly quiet on both ends again, the silence daunting and uncomfortable. Somehow, it seemed to give away more than Historia had initially revealed- as though the stress and anxiety her voice exuded had communicated with Eren far better than the words she relayed to him.
It gnawed away at him, and he felt like he should say something, do something. The way any friend would.
Maybe she'd think him to be too bold or intrusive, but his concern for her weighed too heavily on his mind.
"Look, I don't mean to overstep a boundary or anything…" He trailed off, quelling any second thoughts of extending such a bold idea. "…but I could go with you. Keep you company. If you want, that is."
Historia was immediately stunned by his sudden offer, mouth slightly agape. "But…" She swallowed down the massive lump swelling in her throat, still processing the problematic scenario in what small window of time she had left.
"Eren, what about the studio? The lesson? Mikasa?" Historia felt her heart beat spike in elevation. What was the reasoning behind that?
Eren merely huffed at that, like he had everything sorted out in preparation beforehand. "Mikasa can handle being the sole instructor for one measly evening. Honestly, I think she prefers it when I'm not in the way." His quip served its purpose in making light of the situation, but he still sought to get his main point across to Historia. It was as if nothing else mattered. "And I don't know… I just… something's off about you. You shouldn't be alone. Not unless you want to be alone. Do you?"
Not at all, Historia thought.
There were times when she preferred solitude, but on days as particularly rough as this… loneliness scared her.
Luckily, Ymir had agreed to accompany her to the vigil, albeit on such short notice, but seeing as how Eren seemed more than willing to extend his support, it behooved Historia to accept.
Having Eren there, by her side, was a rather pleasant thought.
She felt strangely relieved.
"It would mean a lot to me, if you came," Historia finally replied, leaning back into the chair. "I just hope it's not an inconvenience-"
Eren was quick to cut her off. "You're not an inconvenience," he said a bit hastily, slightly embarrassed by his eagerness in responding. He cleared his throat. "I just want to make sure you're okay."
Historia warmed at that, feeling the tension within her body dissipate. "I appreciate that," she said softly. "The vigil's at five o'clock, at the community garden in the Stohess Neighborhood. When you're ready I can give you the address."
It wasn't long before she heard the clicking of a pen and a quick swipe of paper on the other end of the line. "Ready," Eren affirmed.
Historia had approximately ten minutes before her chauffeur was due to arrive.
She stood from her seat and was intent on heading for Ymir's assigned slot in the dressing room when felt someone sling their arm around her shoulder, pulling her back to face them.
"Ymir!" Historia gasped. "I was just about to look for you. Our ride's almost here, so we should probably head out."
Ymir merely stared at the blonde, uneasiness marked on the tense lines of her face. "You almost wiped out back there," she whispered grimly. "That fall could've seriously screwed you over."
"It was nothing," Historia contended. "I'm fine. Bertolt caught me."
"Is it your ankle?" Ymir asked, ignoring Historia's attempts at downplaying the mishap. "Do you need to see a PT?"
"I'll see one tomorrow morning before rehearsal," Historia relented, knowing full-well Ymir would continue hounding her if she wouldn't let up. "Like I said, I'm fine. I just didn't shift the weight to my foot properly. I was off-balance."
"Were you distracted by something?" Ymir inquired, prying with the goal of addressing the real issue at hand. "Were you… thinking about tonight?"
Ymir could read her like an open book.
Historia lowered her head, avoiding Ymir's gaze. "Maybe…" she admitted. Then… "It's been five years, Ymir. Five years since I've… heard her voice."
In an exceptionally rare moment, Ymir shut herself up, figuring it would be best to listen.
"There's not a day that goes by that I don't think of her," Historia whispered. "I miss her."
That was all Historia would say for the time being; too exhausted to brood, too anxious to delve in the complexities of loss and grieving. Her emotions were still battling in an entanglement of ups and downs, only worsening the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.
Ymir offered her silent condolences by way of a gentle embrace, gathering the blonde in her arms. Historia reciprocated the warm hug in earnest, sighing in dejection.
"Thanks for coming with me tonight," Historia said once she'd been released.
Ymir waved her off casually, smiling. "Don't mention it. You know you can always count on me."
Together, they commenced a brisk pace out of the auditorium and down the steps outside the building towards the street, where the familiar black town car was waiting for them.
"I've told you about my dance partner at the ballroom studio, right?" Historia asked while in mid-step towards the vehicle.
Ymir nodded in recollection. "Your ballroom crush. I remember. What about him? Are you two steady now or something?"
Historia blushed at her remark, wishing oh-so desperately she hadn't. "N-no… anyway, he's going to be there tonight. For the vigil."
Ymir's eyes widened beyond their maximum circumference. "Oh really?" The look of incredulity morphed into mischief when she came to her own conclusion on the matter.
But she kept her snarky witticisms to herself- opting to wait for a more appropriate setting to relinquish their current state of confinement.
"Interesting," was her only reply.
Yet even after they were buckled into their seats, Ymir's uncharacteristic silence prompted Historia to voice her confusion.
"What?" she asked innocently, knowing Ymir was holding something back. "Is that a… bad thing?"
Ymir chuckled, assuring Historia that was not the case. Quite the opposite actually. "On the contrary, I think the more support you have, the better." Then in true Ymir fashion she added, "The more common folk there, the better."
Historia gave her a small smile. "Believe me when I say I very much prefer the 'common folk's' company."
The numerous bright arrays and fixtures of flowers in full bloom, emanating rich and bold colors of red, pink, yellow, and white, were indeed a sight to behold. The caretakers went above and beyond in the services they provided; not a single blemish among the cultured lawn of the community garden.
Unfortunately, such meticulous efforts were unable to lift the mood; the atmosphere seemingly poisoned by the circumstances.
The vigil's attendees were all dressed in black from head to toe. The charcoal canvas that was the sky maintained its dreary composition. And the music, of course- filled the already melancholic ambiance with somber melodies like those one would hear at a funeral procession.
Rod Reiss had hired a string quartet for the occasion. Only the best for Frieda. At least Historia hoped that was his motive behind inviting them to the vigil. Her eyes darted towards the musicians while ruminating on the past, quickly identifying the source of the sorrowful, but tragically beautiful pieces.
She remembered when they played for Frieda's 18th birthday. The music was lively then, upbeat and full of joy.
Yet another distant memory.
Historia acknowledged the quartet with a polite nod as she walked passed them, earning her nods out of respect in return. She'd be sure to thank them properly later.
With the vigil's formalities having concluded, guests were permitted to stay and consort amongst themselves. Conversations were only briefly centered around the dearly departed, until they quickly shifted to illicit gossip about the Reiss family and their dealings.
Historia wanted no part in either.
After greeting one of her supposed cousins on her father's side (twice removed, he claimed), she scurried away out of view from the others, in search of Ymir.
She found her tall freckled companion near an elaborate fountain, indulging in fine wine from what Historia assumed had been imported from the lavish vineyards of France or Italy.
The Reiss's were so incredibly pompous.
Ymir gulped down a hefty swig from her glass before turning to Historia. "Your daddy-o was looking for you," she hummed. "Said to meet him by the funky gazebo thing."
"You mean the alcove?" Historia asked. "Near the garden's entrance?"
"I think so." Ymir shrugged, setting her glass aside. When Historia displayed little concern, she huffed in amusement. "Not in a hurry to see your old man, or what?"
"I know what he's going to say," Historia replied, disheartened. "I just… don't want to talk about Frieda anymore. I don't want to hear any more 'I'm sorry for your loss,' or 'she's in a better place'…"
Ymir frowned. "Bit overwhelming?"
Historia nodded. "I don't want to seem…"
Ymir stopped her right there. "Don't. Don't feel bad," she asserted. "It's obvious you're still hurting. Still mourning and grieving. And that's perfectly okay."
"Maybe…" Historia whispered. "I guess I'd rather not be surrounded by all these… frauds."
"Don't blame ya," Ymir huffed.
"All I know," Historia began, "Is that Frieda wouldn't want any of this. She wasn't about showing off and flaunting the family name in hopes of winning the approval of others. I mean, for gods sake, this is supposed to be a memorial. A celebration of her life. Something that was supposed to bring people together. And look." Historia motioned towards several groups of attendees, separated in cliques all the while mindlessly conversing over trivial matters like what clothes they had tailored specifically for this event, whether or not they'd be able to make their dinner reservations at some upscale restaurant downtime if they didn't leave soon, and by god, some were criticizing the wine supply for lack of diversity.
I hate them. I hate them all.
Historia was seething.
But because she was expected to be ladylike and uphold the bearings of her family name, she had to keep her emotions bottled up.
Ymir's presence was the only consolation.
That being said…
"Come with me," Historia pled. "Please."
Ymir's face twisted in uncertainty. "I think your pops wanted to speak with you alone."
"I don't care," Historia retorted. "I'm at my wit's end."
Ymir sighed, relenting. "Okay, but I'm just saying. If you were to just go off on all these high and mighty folks and call 'em out on their bullshit; I'd be one hundred percent on board."
Historia let out a bitter chuckle. "The only reason why I haven't already done that, is for Frieda's sake." Even if I'm the only one here to honor her memory…
The two headed for the alcove once Historia had composed herself. Just as Ymir said, her father, Rod Reiss, was there, clad in a black suit, paired with the usual patronizing expression on his face.
He greeted their arrival in formulated fashion, as though the exchange was scripted.
"Historia… and friend." Friend being the oh-so-endearing title for Ymir. He seemed preoccupied, as their sudden emergence had coincidentally interrupted his previous discussion with a member of the Tybur family. "Excuse me, Ms. Tybur." He pardoned himself and subsequently turned to face his daughter, hoping to shield the conversation from the former.
"Father." Historia was interrupted before she could articulate any more.
"I don't mean to sound cross with you," Rod intervened, his tone belittling. "But for future engagements I would like to know in advance if you plan on inviting unsavory individuals."
His cold remark had Historia reeling. "What on earth are you going on about?"
"I'll allow your associates from the ballet company to attend our arrangements," Rod continued, eyes briefly flickering to Ymir with disdain, "but please, refrain from extending invitations to anyone from that wretched Fritz family." In response to Historia's incredulous look of contempt, he droned on with even more demeaning insinuations. "I expected better of you, Historia. I'm disappointed that you'd fraternize with such hooligans. Let alone a hooligan with ties to the Fritz."
Hooligans?!
"Excuse me?" Historia snapped. "You have no-"
"The riff-raff you invited," Rod interjected, clarifying with a scoff. "He's waiting at the garden's main gate."
With that, Rod Reiss turned his back and resumed his conversation with Ms. Tybur, washing his hands of what seemed to be an inconvenience.
Ymir gently placed a hand on Historia's shoulder, silently urging her to move on. The blonde was on the verge of releasing her pent-up anger, but was stopped by Ymir's soothing rationale.
It's not worth it, Historia concluded. She told herself she shouldn't be all that surprised.
Some days her father would play the nice card, perhaps in an attempt to make up for his lack of involvement when she was younger. But most days, like today, Historia was reminded of the kind of man he truly was.
"Come on," Ymir urged. "Let's go."
Historia heeded the suggestion, eyes still glaring at her father. Together, they vacated the alcove and headed for the main gate, anger propelling the blonde's steps. When they were out of Rod's earshot, Historia briefly offered Ymir an explanation- one that was completely devoid of any classist bias.
"The 'riff-raff' my father was referring to is more than likely Eren," she said. "Hopefully he wasn't hassled by the ground's security."
Ymir snickered. "At least your old man didn't run him off."
"What a horrible first impression," Historia groaned. She certainly didn't want Eren to think she was like-minded and equally pig-headed.
As soon as they reached the gate, however, all cynical thoughts Historia previously had instantly dissipated. There Eren was, standing nervously behind the gate, rubbing the back of his neck in what Historia surmised was a nervous tic. His attire was a basic ensemble of a black shirt and black slacks. Poor guy must have felt out of place, among other things.
His head perked up the moment he caught a glimpse of Historia, who had approached him with a look of apprehension invading her features.
"Eren." Historia quickened her footsteps, rushing towards him in a guilt-ridden pace. "I'm so sorry! I hope you weren't waiting too long!"
She stopped about an arm's length away from him, preventing herself from reaching out only because she was uncertain where to place her hands. Eren shook his head, smiling.
"Not at all," he replied. "I was stopped here by security and then some guy, I think he said he was your dad, happened to walk by. I'm pretty sure the only reason why I wasn't given the boot was because he knows my half-brother's mom. My dad's first wife…" Eren realized he was rambling, and was quick to seize his nervous banter. "It's a long… complicated story."
Damn, this was awkward.
I thought his name was Jaeger, was all Historia could think of at the mention of his family's dynamic. But he's… related to the Fritz family? How?
Before she could pry for more details, Ymir had moved forward with introductions.
"Name's Ymir. Historia and I dance for the same company," she said, shaking hands with the brunet. "You must be Eren."
"Nice to meet you," Eren replied. "And that's right. Historia and I met through my family's ballroom studio."
Ymir nodded in understanding, smirking. "Mmhmmm. She's told me all about it."
Eren quirked a brow in amusement. "She has? Hopefully it's good things."
"Of course, it is," Historia intercepted, intent on stopping Ymir from indulging in any more quips. She reached for Eren's arm, imploring him to enter past the gate. Now without further ado… "Come. Ymir and I will show you around."
Historia did her best to keep both herself and her entourage away from the presumptuous eyes of the vigil's attendees. Neither Eren nor Ymir had taken notice of the stares directed toward them. It was quite possible that even if they had, they'd think nothing of it.
After reading the contents of the vigil's official pamphlet (and through general observation alone), Eren had pieced a few things together in regards to who Frieda Reiss was. Though his knowledge on the subject was extremely limited, he'd gathered that she too had danced for the Sina City Ballet, was the eldest of Rod Reiss' children, and was kind-hearted and surprisingly charitable. He now understood why Historia held a deep respect for her sister- and he could resonate with why her departure left her feeling… empty.
Dear god, he knew exactly what that felt like…
He was reminded of his own brother, and it left him feeling conflicted.
Eren wanted more than anything to test the waters. Regardless of the risks, he had the strong urge to converse with Historia about what he felt. What she felt. What they felt. How their lives had been affected in so many similar ways that it was uncanny. There was so much he wanted to share with her, so much he wanted to ask her, but he feared for over-stepping any possible boundaries, or inadvertently trigger some sensitive subjects. He could be patient, he reasoned with himself, and perhaps it would be better suited if she opened up to him first; on her own terms.
He was here for her, and to offer his support. The way any friend would.
The trio came across a memorial for Frieda in the form of a stone plaque, engraved with two separate dates and her name etched carefully in cursive. Candles were lit nearby, surrounding the memorial site in a soft, warm glow.
Historia was the first to pay her respects, head bowed, eyes lowered to the grass. The small crowd that had formed moments before suddenly began dispersing, and soon the memorial site had emptied into an adjacent part of the garden. Most attendees thought it'd be best to leave her alone and lend her some privacy. Ymir gently soothed her hand on Historia's shoulder, then wordlessly vacated the site, reluctantly turning away to give her a moment in solitude.
That's when it dawned on Eren that they were the last two left, ultimately deciding to follow suit and leave her undisturbed.
But before he could walk away, Historia had reached for his hand, gripping it with urgency.
"Eren," she whispered, voice shaking. "Please. Don't leave."
The sadness he felt upon hearing the quiver in her voice, and the sensation raging throughout his body from the touch of her hand were unlike anything he'd ever experienced. A feeling he hadn't the words to describe. Historia had been so closed off in the past, and had only recently began warming up to him; though merely in the smallest of ways.
But she no longer flinched when he'd hold her by the waist while dancing. She no longer avoided eye contact when he'd compliment her. And she no longer distanced herself from him when they'd engage in lighthearted conversation, brief as it usually was.
And now, in what he couldn't discern was the heat of the moment or merely a moment of weakness, Historia was pleading with him to stay.
He didn't think twice.
Gripping her hand in resolve, Eren acted accordingly and returned to her side.
"I'm here, Historia," he whispered. "I'm right here."
He had no intention of leaving her.