Ymir and feelings had a great relationship. They said hi, they did Sunday brunch, smiled for the camera, then went on their merry way. No muss, no fuss, no clubbing anyone to death in a back alley.

That didn't mean she wanted them for a house guest.

Porco, in typical Porco fashion, had been no help.

"You kept saying you didn't like her."

"We're a little past that, try to keep up."

"But you said—"

For someone who'd been so offended by the idea that a person could want a strictly lustful connection with someone, he took the idea that Ymir might have been underselling the value of Historia's pretty eyes very hard. Ymir could have mustered up an imitation of sympathy, but when she'd confided in him, the idea was that he'd be able to offer some kind of help, and his starting contribution was mainly making his eyes go as wide as his mouth.

Then the morning after hit, and he'd given a shot at trying. Enter Ymir having finished up brushing her teeth in the cramped bathroom while she gave her beloved housemate a few token moments that more awake people would appreciate for thinking.

"So," Porco had said, speaking through gravel, "you like her."

"Sure seems that way."

"Historia."

"Are you going to be like this all day?"

Porco had dunked his head in the sink and come out splashing water all over both of them. Marcel had crashed so hard from the homecoming backlash his bed was still buffing out the dents, so for a brief segment of time soon to be all but erased, all this was his fun to miss. With a breath Ymir hoped he'd found fortifying, Porco wiped his face raw. "How badly did you screw up the kiss?"

Ymir rolled her eyes and came up with several biting retorts that made him cry, then they never spoke of it again.

If fucking only.

No, what had actually come out was, "I didn't screw it up, I was savoring it. Standing still for romantic moments is what you're supposed to do."

Porco had mumbled something which the record could not verify was actually, "Not that still," so murdering him would not be the easily excusable brand of crime Kenny let slide, and Ymir still, in theory, had someone to bounce the wondrous trauma of emotion off of.

"Did you even talk to her after?" he asked.

"And ruin the mood?"

Porco had dropped his towel and looked close to a stroke. "Are you for real?"

"Between the two of us," Ymir said, flossing with truly admirable precision, "my date's the one that ended on a kiss." A kiss which, Ymir had found out at that point, was not a good thing to reference if she needed more words to complete a burn. Because Historia. Historia and lips and warmth and her soul melting into a puddle. That was how the brain worked now. She rallied like a champ, though. "Unless you're holding out on me, you don't have much room to criticize."

On another morning, a very closely following morning in fact, the pale look of panic that bunny-hopped across Porco's face would have been of interest. In a twist of very bad luck for one of them, they'd been living through this particular morning, where Ymir was trying not to hit the ground too hard from cloud nine, and Porco had not yet been embarrassed into silence.

"Maybe you should check your phone," Porco had said, sure to have nightmares about the suggestion for another week. "Thing's almost surgically attached, she might've sent you something to work with."

All previous arguments to the contrary, Ymir had known by then that she was in some massive fucking trouble with the Historia situation. Her brain periodically turning to sappily romantic fuzz all night long when she was supposed to be sleeping was a good hint. So were the nine thousand other fluttery problems that came before.

But when she'd turned her phone back on and found a waiting link to Pieck's homecoming photos, she'd fallen down a whole new rabbit hole of emotion, and fuck Pock's comments, if Historia had been in the room, she would have kissed her until she was the frozen one.

Needless to say, the conversation took a turn after that.

A turn Porco was still trying to skid out of as they walked to school the next morning.

A bright, crisp fall day, sunlight gleaming through the lingering fog, and their sneakers squeaking through the morning dew trapped on the weeds breaking up the sidewalk. A fitting setting for someone to aid in burying himself.

"Your girlfriend," Porco said acidly, for the fifth time, glaring so ferociously at Ymir, "told Pieck she could collect the Homecoming Queen crown for her. Pieck's legs were acting up, so she gave it to me, and the King and Queen dance is traditional. It has nothing to do with anything!"

"Oh my gosh you two are so cute together," Ymir said for the seventh time, scrolling delightedly through the shots Pieck had collected of the crowned royals dancing through the night.

Pock made a failed grab for her phone.

"Aw, and here your boyfriend is with Marcel. It's so nice when everyone gets along."

That locked Porco's jaw right up, along with his fists and his gait. Probably because he could see the same smitten look Reiner was wearing in the Marcel pictures as he didn't see in their pictures together.

Ymir didn't mean to have a feeling about that, but she cuffed Porco on the shoulder anyway. "Don't be like that, they're best friends. It's easy for a budding relationship to feel threatened by that kind of love, but I have faith—"

"Enough," Porco said.

Ymir shrugged as gaily as she did everything. "Suit yourself. You should thank Pieck; she made sure to get your good side."

He would, knowing him. With her around to nudge the thought into his head. Some of the stony redness taking over Porco's everything backed off to plain ol' brick redness. With an extra shoulder hunch for pity points.

Ymir didn't need the pictures to know that he'd failed completely to turn his date into a date. She also didn't need photo evidence to know that didn't mean anything, because Pieck took care of Pock's heart the way more sensitive people looked after a baby bird, but Porco didn't know a thing about relationships. He'd be riding the sad until the next time Pieck smiled at him.

Or the grudgingly bitter. "What are you going to do about Historia?"

Ymir kept her eyes on her new prized possession. Pieck had caught the one nanosecond of Porco actually smiling when Reiner dipped him. "Are you back on that?"

Porco had the herculean nerve to roll his eyes. "Like you ever left?"

There was also a great shot Pieck had convinced Marcel to take of all three of them, both boys playing diligent honor guard to the lady joining their midst. The angle wasn't perfect, but Pieck's contented smile and Porco's dopey one next to Reiner's bursting grin made up for it.

"You barely even thanked her for those things," Porco was saying. "Do you have some sort of plan?"

Ymir pulled a wrinkle out of her sleeve absently. "Things have been going fine so far. Why would I need a plan?"

The flummoxed silence was gratifying, but it didn't last.

"You like her," he said, more confused than horrified for once.

"Right."

"…Shouldn't you tell her that?"

"I don't think dodging a confession for over a decade makes you an expert." Ymir kept going before Porco's softened nerves could pick up too bad of a bruise. "Look," she said, "it isn't something to rush into. I'm not gonna switch gears on her out of nowhere. She might not even be into that."

The photos on her phone lost some of their luster with the words. To go with the excruciating pang in her heart saying them caused. The least punkest of rocks.

Porco, responding the way he usually did to being mined for mockery for a solid day due entirely to his own actions, said, "You mean what if she's been a pervert all along who's only interested in you for your body?"

"Hey. Hey. Hey Pock. Fuck off."

She was not going to make it weird.

There was no reason for it to be weird.

The whole school already thought they were a thing.

They'd done it last week and no one cared.

Ymir was standing at the end of the fucking cafeteria line, wondering why in the fuck her legs couldn't seem to move. Her only answer was an image in the back of her mind of what happened at one of the dances she'd actually attended, watching Porco watch Pieck. She didn't care for it.

Historia was already seated, and looking at her was on par with how multiple lightning strikes probably felt.

The last time they were in the same room they'd kissed.

…Fuck.

How the hell was this doing this to her? Historia had always been beautiful. Her hair had always had that shine to it. Her legs had always gone on for days despite being a modest half-day, at best. Her arms always looked incredible. The very faded blue face paint on her cheek hadn't been around long, but there wasn't anything uniquely special about it. They hadn't even kissed that time. Wanted to, very much, and oh hell that just put the time the want had entered reality back, and—

She always looked up and let the world stop when she saw Ymir.

So it was just going to be fucking weird.

Okay.

Ymir made her legs work. She made them drag her over to the table, and she made herself sit down, and she didn't make herself stop thinking about kissing Historia because having all the romo didn't mean she was suddenly a saint.

"Hey," she said, sliding across the bench. "Thanks for the pics."

"No problem," Historia said.

Her phone wasn't in her hand. The Tamagotchi was.

Ymir had a very serious problem. One the giant lumps taking up root in her throat were not helping with. Such a problem. A problem an overabundance of bad pop songs were written about.

Historia wasn't going to bring it up. Ymir couldn't call that a good thing, but she wasn't going to complain. Who was to say there was even a reason to bring it up, when the whole stated excuse had been getting under her parents' skin. A kiss here or there in the pursuit of pissing people off wasn't anything at all.

What the hell was she supposed to do if Historia believed that?

What else was Historia supposed to think, when she went for a kiss and got jack back?

What if pissing people off was the only reason she'd gone for it?

How did people do this?

"Did you have a good… yesterday?" Historia asked.

"Yep," Ymir said, like it was easy. "Bothered Pock, went for a run. What did you get up to without me?"

The somehow living bit-creature in Historia's hand waved. "Not a lot." Historia shifted slightly on the bench, putting their knees within a hairsbreadth of touching. Ymir could feel them both watching the splice of space, and it brought some very vivid memories back. "My life's pretty boring without you."

Was that flirting or just the truth? Both?

"I guess I should find more excuses to stick around, then," Ymir said.

They were sitting too close for the kind of eye contact that brought on. Ymir tried not to look at Historia's cheek. Barely any of the wing left, glitter lurking invisibly, and it gave her a thrill that went down to her toes.

Historia looked at Ymir, and Ymir could see stars in her eyes.

"You should," she said.