Songs for the Nature Boy and the Runaway

by thesketchytepe

A collection of one-shots for Aruani fans in the Attack on Titan world. Each chapter is based off songs and is told through its tune and lyrics. Scenarios differ on each song including POVS and AU/Canon-verse. There are a million different ways to tell if they're a good person for you.

9. In the Woods Somewhere (Hozier)

**Based off Let the Right One In. I finally got around to watching the Swedish classic a while ago and LOVED IT—I read the book years ago and enjoyed that too and was pleased to find the movie was pretty close to the novel. I suggest it if you're interested.

Definitely broke my one-shot rule here (with it being so long) but I love the story so much that I couldn't take out too many scenes. Also it does not help that Kȧre Hedebrant (the lead of the movie) already looks like a little Armin (except with brighter hair and smaller eyes) so that's only adding fuel to my fire. Anyways, hope you enjoy, despite the word count!**

As he admired the soft gleam of the switchblade in his hands, something bright poked in the corner of his vision. Distracted, he glanced up and watched a taxi gently roll its way through the snow-packed parking lot. He found this a little strange—he never saw anyone outside the apartment complex (he hardly saw any other residents simply walking to their car or fetch their mail), so he let his eyes linger through his window and into the winter night, the knife forgotten like a flyaway strand of hair.

He watched two men get out of the car, the taxi driver and his passenger. They both went to the trunk of the car and began unloading suitcases and boxes. Armin paid more attention to the passenger, probably a new occupant of his apartment building (which, again, he found strange). He was short and dressed entirely in black, a floppy hat concealing majority of his facial features. The taxi driver's lips moved but the man never spoke back. Armin could sense the awkwardness from his bedroom window.

Suddenly another person got out of the backseat. This person was even shorter and had blonde hair, a striking contrast to the darkness all travelers wore. They merely shut the car door and then lumbered into the building, disappearing from Armin's view.

Once all luggage was out of the trunk (which wasn't very much at all if these people were new residents), the taxi driver got back in his car and drove away. Overtime, Armin could hear heavy footsteps and shifting around from his wall. He was right—new neighbors.

Armin stroked his thumb over the knife's blade once more before tucking it beneath his bed and closing his eyes.

"I'm going out, Mom."

His mother, sitting on the couch, flicked her tired eyes his way, watching him shrug on his heavy winter coat. "You're not gonna watch the show?"

He forced on a weak smile and shrugged one shoulder. "I already saw that episode."

She blinked back to the television in front of her as she wrapped the blanket tighter around her. "Alright then. Don't go farther than the parking lot."

"I won't." He finished tucking a deep blue scarf around his neck and then opened the front door, giving his constantly exhausted mother one more glance before stepping out of the apartment.

He tried not to think about the argument she and his father over the phone a few nights ago and turned his mind to Porco, Marlowe, and Floch. He thought back to earlier that day in school when the trio ganged up on him after gym class, pushing him against the lockers and flicking his nose and telling him to "squeal like the little piggy you are." Of course, it was nothing serious, compared to the other things they had done to him, but it still boiled his insides and made him think awful thoughts.

His hand twitched and grabbed at his jacket as he pushed open the doors to the apartment complex. The harsh winter cold attacked his bare face and hands, but the feeling was nothing compared to the numbness in his chest. He marched pass the playset, a sad-looking thing made of pipes and sheets of metal, and toward the few slender trees near the edge of the property which led into an open wood of snow and quiet. He slowed down until he was a few feet from the first tree, staring at it hard, imaging Porco's square face plastered on it.

The anger jolted in his fingertips and tugged on his tongue. Slowly he pulled out his switchblade from the inside of his coat and flicked it open. He gripped it tightly and aimed it at the tree. He recalled the words Porco said to him earlier that day and repeated them back to the tree in a quiet and shaky voice.

"What are you staring at? What are you looking at, little pig?" He took a few cautious steps toward the tree. "Why don't you squeal like the little piggy that you are?"

He lightly stabbed the end of the blade at the tree, his face trying to master the same merciless taunt that Porco so often sported. "Well? Go on. Squeal, you pig."

When the tree didn't respond, Armin let the bottled-up anger uncap itself a little and gripped the knife so tightly that his bony knuckles bulged like tiny stones beneath his skin. "Go ahead and scream," he growled under his breath as he drove the knife into the tree, into Porco's gut.

He imagined Porco's blood and intestines spilling out of the tree like candy from a pinata and his screams penetrating the silent black sky above them like a dying animal. He imagined the blood staining his hands like gloves as he rammed the knife back in again, bark chipping off in tiny flakes. He went in for another good stab when he had the sudden feeling of eyes on him.

Embarrassment and fear bloomed across his cheeks as he slowly turned around and looked at the playset not too far from where he stood. Standing upon the highest platform was a little girl, staring unblinkingly at him with a dead expression on her face. Blonde hair framed her sharp features—piercing blue eyes, a large Roman nose, full frowning lips—and a white shirt rolled up to her elbows hugged her small torso. She also wore black pants, but no shoes, jacket, mittens, scarf, or anything else that would protect her from the cold. Her skin was so white that she could've blend easily into the thick snow around them.

The two merely stared in silence at each other for a good thirty seconds until the girl parted her lips and asked, "What are you doing?"

Armin swallowed and stumbled out, "N-Nothing. What are you doing?"

She hesitated before replying, "Nothing."

Another sea of silence washed over them. Armin studied the girl closer, but his feet were rooted firmly in the snow beside the poor tree who had to stand in Porco's place. Even though he felt mighty uncomfortable in the presence of a stranger who just saw him stabbing a tree, there wasn't a certain vibe or aura he got from the girl. No rays of judgement came his way and there was nothing in her demeanor that suggested she thought he was crazy. It was kind of reliving in a way.

He finally recognized the girl's blonde hair and small structure and said, "You just moved here, didn't you?"

She slowly nodded her head like an old toy running low on batteries. "I live next to you."

A tiny spark of fear lighted in his chest. "How do you know where I live?"

Still moving no faster than a sleepy sloth, she turned halfway and pointed at the window beside his bedroom. He noticed that he left his lamp on in his room, but the window to the right was completely dark. In fact, it looked like something was covering it up like cardboard or posters.

"I saw you looking at me through your window last night," the girl said simply and another prick of anxiety poked at his lungs.

"Um, I, uh…" he stumbled, looking around the glittering snow as if there was a response already prepared for him lying around somewhere. When he found nothing, he tried swallowing down the nervousness practically dripping off his tongue like honey and peered back up at the girl.

"Who-Who are you?"

She didn't answer, but instead hopped from her place upon the playset and landing gracefully in the snow. Armin blinked in mild shock. That had to be a good fifteen-foot drop from where she had been standing and she landed without so much as a stumble. If he had done that, he surely would've landed flat on his face or fractured something at the very least.

She took two steps toward him and he took two steps back. "I can't be friends with you," she uttered in a low tone (though it wasn't daunting or threatening in any way).

Confusion crinkled his eyebrows together. "What?"

"Just so you know. We can't be friends."

He glanced to the side and then back at her. Was that an underlining that, yes, she did want to be friends but was too shy or scared to commit? Or was she dead serious and just getting things out of the way? And where did this concept of friendship come from all of the sudden? She just saw him knifing a tree and the first thought that came to her mind was friendship? They were strangers, neighbors—acquaintances was too strong of a word for whatever this was. What a strange girl.

"Um, okay?"

She glared in the slightest as if she thought he didn't believe her. "I'm serious. We can't be friends."

"I know, I heard you—" he trailed off once she started walking away from him and toward the apartment. She hardly casted a second glance his way, leaving him in the dust. He watched her go just like how he did last night, eyeing the bitter snow coating her bare feet.

He waited motionless for another minute or two after she vanished from his sight. Stuffing the switchblade back into his pocket, he lumbered back toward the building, peeked up the stairwell, and, when he didn't see her there, hurried back to his own apartment and spent the rest of the night watching TV with his mom.

With his arms crossed over his desk, Armin listened to the class's guest speaker, a policeman named Officer Pixis, talk about dead bodies in crime scenes. He walked in between the aisles with a dignified air, back straight, arms crossed behind him, and Armin tried not to let his acute interest show. His eyes followed the old man around the room, his ears perked up like a fox.

"And so whenever we come across a body in a burning building or some enclosed space with a fire inside, we go to remove the body immediately before the flames get to it. We need to know if the person was killed before the fire was started or what exactly happened to them." He turned around and leaned against the desk at the front of the room beside his teacher, Ms. Ral. "What inside a person's body would give away that they were killed by the fire and not something else?"

Armin, unable to contain himself, shot his hand into the air. Officer Pixis motioned to him and Armin answered, "There would be smoke in the person's lungs. They would've died of suffocation and not the fire itself."

Officer Pixis raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Why yes, that's correct. How'd you know that, young man?"

Suddenly humiliated, he curled into himself, feeling the eyes of his classmates bore into him like drills. "I, uh, read a lot."

"Is that so? And what kind of books would those be?"

Armin shrugged shyly. "Just books."

Officer Pixis pursed his lips and let the matter drop. He chatted a bit more about all sorts of homicides he dealt with, and Armin's curiosity got the best of him as he unfurled himself and stared at the policeman as if he was reading one of his books.

Class soon came to an end and Ms. Ral thanked Officer Pixis for stopping by and reminded the class to turn in their field trip slips by Thursday. Armin packed up his things and headed out the door with the rest of his classmates. His ears eventually picked up a nearby conversation shared by two girls, Mina Carolina and Hannah Diamant.

"Did you hear about the dead guy they found in the park the other day?" Mina asked frantically, always one for gossip.

"What? No. What park?"

"The one by the lake. They said they found a man hanging upside down in a tree with his neck slit. They said there was blood, like, everywhere. But they found a funnel and a jug underneath him full of blood like someone was collecting it or whatever."

"Ew, oh my God, that's creepy." Hannah visibly shuddered to show her distress.

"Yeah, and they didn't catch the guy! He's still roaming around. Like, who would do that, go around and kill people and full up milk jugs with their blood?"

"What a freak. I hope they catch him."

Armin lost interest in their conversation once he heard the familiar taunt "Piggy, piggy!" ring through the halls. He rushed off, hoping and succeeding that he would escape Porco's round of insults for at least a day. He trudged through the snow on his way home, observing the beauty around him. Most weren't fans of winter, but he enjoyed the stillness and simple splendor of the February month. The soft crunching of snow beneath his boots and the sparkling of snowflakes in the air distilled the numbness inside him for a while.

When he got home, his mother warned him of the said killer that he heard Mina and Hannah talking about earlier. "You can't go anywhere else without my permission," she scorned. "You only to go school and back, is that clear?"

He nodded his head and inquired more about what the killer did exactly but she tucked the newspaper in her back pocket and refused to discuss the subject any further. He then asked if he could at least go out to the playset at night which was in perfect view of the living room window. After a bit of bickering, his mother ultimately allowed him this tiny slice of freedom but said she would be watching very carefully whenever he did. He went out that night after dinner but instead of taking his knife, he took his Rubik cube.

As usual, no one else was there. He lumbered over the sheets of metal called a playset and sat on the lowest platform. Before taking out his scrambled Rubik cube, he peered into the darkened woods. Nothing but lumps of snow and naked, skinny trees could be seen. There was a certain beauty about winter trees—yes, they looked dead and boring, but Armin believed their nakedness, their slender trunks and bare limbs was an incredible sight to behold. There was magnificence in these woods somewhere. It was only a matter of finding it.

He sighed and peered down at the colorful cube in his hands and began twisting around its sides and corners. The tiny cranks it made echoed in the still air, being the only sound for perhaps miles and miles. He continued to turn and spin and move the parts and he was vaguely aware of a body looming behind him.

He froze for a minute but once he recognized the familiar unjudgmental atmosphere they carried, he eased a little and glanced his gaze to the side, still twisting his Rubik cube around. He found the bare toes of the girl sitting one platform higher, deep red, almost to the point of being black.

Lifting the corners of his lips, he shifted around and looked up at the girl. She peered down at him with the same emotionless frown as last night. She even wore the same shirt, except this time she had on shorts, her pale thighs camouflaged with the thick snow underneath her.

"Hi," he mumbled timidly.

She didn't respond, only stared. He drifted back to his Rubik cube, feeling a blush of pink glow around his cheeks. A full minute passed before she said, "I told you we can't be friends."

"I know you did. I wasn't suggesting otherwise."

"Then why did you say hi to me?"

He felt his lips twitch. Has no one ever been courteous to her? What kind of ideology did she carry? "I was just being polite."

When they fell into another pit of silence, he was suddenly afraid that she would bring up what happened last night. That was the first time anyone saw him doing that; he always made sure to put his knife safely away, so his mother wouldn't catch him and think him a madman that needed to be locked up. He swore he wasn't demented or evil in any way, just a little tired.

"What's that in your hand?" came the voice of the girl, knocking him out of his inner worries.

He peeked behind him and found her stretching her neck forward to get a better look at it. He held it up for her to see. "A Rubik cube."

Her clear confusion didn't subside at all. It was like she never saw anything like it before. "Is it a sort of puzzle?"

"Yeah…" She really didn't know, did she? Another strange thing about her; these toys were widely popular and he saw plenty of his classmates passing the cube with one another, hoping to solve it.

He offered it up to her. "You can try it if you want."

Very gingerly she took it. She turned it around in her hands, scrutinizing it like it was a complicated math formula. He saw her eyebrows crinkle and her lips frown; she was truly lost.

"How do I do it?"

"Here." He took it back and started twisting it again. "You have to get the sides to be one color like that." He held up a solid white side and her eyes lit up in understanding and impressiveness.

She took it back from him and shifted the sides around, hunched over in her work. Waiting to see if she got anywhere with it, he leaned back against the railing. He was hit with a strong smell that made his nose scrunch up. He leaned forward again and, though it was still there, it watered down some.

The girl reeked of body odor like she hadn't taken a shower in weeks. He peered up at her. Her shirt, wrinkled and a dull ivory shade, was probably once a starch white color. Her blonde hair was straight with heavy grease and tiny pimples were scattered along her hairline. And the lack of clothes on her made him even colder. This girl obviously didn't know how to take care of herself.

"Aren't you cold?" he asked her.

She shook her head, eyes glued to the cube. "No."

"Really? It's beyond freezing out here."

She shrugged. "I guess I forgot how to be cold."

Forgot how to be cold? How could one forget to feel? This girl was more complex than the Rubik cube.

"Where do you go to school?" Armin asked, wanting to unlock a side of her.

"I don't go to school."

"Are you homeschooled?"

"No."

"Do you live with your dad?"

A pause. "Yes."

He noticed the pattern of one-worded responses and the lack of emotion in her voice. This was obviously not going to be easy. He studied her face once more, accidently catching her eye and then looking away quickly. For the most part, she seemed wrapped-up in the puzzle before her and wasn't really giving him enough attention to hold a decent conversation.

"You can have that until tomorrow night," he told her, gesturing to the cube. "See how far you get."

Her eyes turned to him and, when she didn't say anything for a while, he asked, "Will you be here tomorrow?"

Uncertainly, she nodded her head and pursed her lips.

"Great, I'll, uh, see you tomorrow. My mom is probably worried about me right now." He pushed himself off the platform and gave a little wave as he lumbered back inside. The girl didn't wave back but instead watched him walk up to the door and then resumed to the cube.

He slept soundly that night and, when he got back home from school the next day, he found his completed Rubik cube sitting on the playset where she had sat. He picked it up and examined it, turning it around in his hands. His eyes lifted to the brick building and looked at her covered window. He couldn't help but to crack a smile. What a strange girl.

He watched the little hands on his wristwatch tick away the hours, the minutes, the seconds until he was given the freedom to go back outside. His mother never mentioned the girl from last night, and he figured she wasn't watching him like he said she would. He considered telling her—or at least asking her—about the girl next door, but he later disregarded the idea. In a way, he felt like he would be destroying something if he told anyone about her. She was so mysterious, so peculiar. He felt like he would ruin the idea of her if he spilled her quiet existence, so he kept his mouth shut.

Once he pulled open the doors of the apartment building, he was delighted to see the girl sitting upon the playset, kicking her legs in impatience. She turned her head to look at him and he could vaguely make out the shape of a tiny smile upon her lips. With the finished cube in his hand, he jogged over to her, the chilly air biting at his cheeks.

"You did it," he smiled as he sat down beside her. "How'd you do it?"

She shrugged. "I just turned it."

"Yeah, but how?" He stared at the cube like it was the fountain of youth. "Were you out here for long?"

She shook her head. "Not too long."

He looked up at her. She looked a little different from the other night. Her hair was brighter shade of sunshine and had volume to it; it looked soft and silky. Though she still barefoot, she had on thick demine jeans and a sweater. She was still really pale, but now there was a glow to her skin, a tint of pink on her cheeks. She looked healthier, a little prettier.

"Um, what's your name?" he asked.

She looked back at him with the same inquisitive eyes that he was giving her. "Annie. And you?"

"Armin." He paused and then inquired, "How old are you?"

She glanced to the side. "Thirteen, more or less. What about you?"

He frowned. "I'm twelve. What do you mean 'more or less?'"

The girl, Annie, shifted in her seat, uncomfortable. She supplied no answer, and he kind of expected it. Something told him to drop it, but how could he? Did she not know how old she was? "When's your birthday?"

Her eye drifted for an answer. "I don't know."

"You don't—" He clamped down on the words, not wanting to be rude for her not knowing something. But her birthday? It was one of the first things a person should know about themselves; at least she knew her name. He pursed his lips and phrased another question: "Well, don't you celebrate your birthday?"

A slow head shake from Annie. His shoulders slumped and his heart shrunk the more questions he asked. He felt so sorry for her. His heart ached at her bare, blackened toes, her high walls, her hazy knowledge on herself. What kind of life was she leading?

"Your parents would know. Hasn't your dad ever told you?"

Her eyes momentarily strayed on her window above them, shielded with ripped pieces of cardboard. She then peered down at the completed Rubik cube in his hands. He looked at it too, twirling it around in admiration.

"So, you mustn't get birthday presents, don't you?" he muttered under his breath.

He caught the ends of her hair shake once again. "No."

He hesitated before offering the cube to her. "Have this. Consider it a late birthday gift."

Annie blinked but shook her head. "No, it's yours."

"You probably need it more than me. Please, take it."

"No, thank you."

In her eyes, he could see that she truly didn't want it, but was touched by the present, so he retracted his hand with a sad smile. Another moment of awkward silence passed before Annie eventually scooted an inch or two closer to him.

"Do I smell nice?"

Armin raised his eyebrows in puzzlement and glanced up. She was fiddling with a few strands of her hair shyly, eyes casted downwards but periodically sneaking a glimpse up at him. She smelled clean which was significantly better than yesterday. Armin wondered if she caught his displeasure at her appearance and body odor and that was why she decided to take a shower and wear something that covered her limbs.

Blood rushed up to his face as he looked back down. "Uh, yes."

He noticed the muscles tense in her thighs for a quick moment, probably satisfied with his answer. Praying that his blond fringe would shield his blush and searching for something else to say, he referred back to the cube, his only backup plan. "I still can't believe you figured this out in such short a time."

"You want me to show you?" Her monotone voice perked in the slightest and he grinned as he mixed the colors up and handed it back to her.

"You start with the corners. That's the fastest way…" She mumbled the directions as she clicked the plastic parts around. He leaned closer to watch but pulled away some to look at her some more (with her temporarily distracted). She appeared a lot better than the other night—despite the semi-warm clothes and washed hair, she didn't look quite as…well, dead. Her skin had brightened a bit, flushing in her cheeks and neck. Even her cold eyes melted some. She was like the woods, he realized, a spark of loveliness in this cold, dark forest.

He bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling too widely.

Armin huddled in the corner of the hallway as he copied down his notes. School had let out a few minutes ago and he hoped staying in the presence of several other students and teachers that Porco and his gang would keep their hands off of him. It worked, for his eyes caught his familiar snowy sneakers along with Marlowe and Floch slow down near him but pick back up when the principal walked by.

Breathing a sigh of relief, he snuggled into his coat and continued writing down the morse code page he found in his American-Vietnamese war textbook. It took him another fifteen or so minutes (he lost track of his purpose and ended up reading a little on the history of morse code and how an American general blinked the language while he was filmed by the Vietnamese as means of propaganda) and he shut up his notepad and textbook and stuffed them in his backpack. He opened up the double doors to find the school grounds mainly empty, save a few students waiting on the sidewalk for their parents come pick them up.

He walked around the building to take his usual shortcut home but stopped dead in his tracks when he found Porco, Floch, and Marlowe waiting for him, a long skinny stick in Porco's hands.

That sly smirk creased his chapped lips, sending a shiver down Armin's spine. "Hey there, little piggy. What's up?"

He gulped nervously, unable to form any words with his sandpaper tongue. He cringed when they all lumbered toward him like the undead and surrounded him. Floch held no particular expression, just staring at him with his hands in his pockets. Marlowe tried looking intimidating, but Armin knew there was a splash of concern behind his small eyes. Porco planted himself in front of him and lightly smacked the stick in the palm of his gloved hand.

"I saw you jotting something down just now," he said. "You were writing like your life depended on it—must've been pretty important. What were you writing?"

Armin's hands, slick with sweat, clamped and unclamped at his side. How he wished he had his knife on him right now. He licked his lips. "N-Nothing."

Porco snorted. "Is that so? Well, if it's nothing, let me see it." He stuck out one hand while the other loosely held onto the long stick at his side.

Armin's eyes peeked at Marlowe and Floch behind him. Floch stared him down like he was cramming for a test in the next hour and Marlowe's gaze was trapped somewhere between the snow and his boots. There was no way out of this one. They were either going to take away his notebook or do something else (hopefully nothing permanent). But, if there was no escape, then might as well go down fighting, right? Those notes were worth a beating or two.

He turned back to Porco, glaring. "No."

His thick eyebrows scrunched in puzzlement. "Excuse me? What did you just say?" He leaned forward on his toes, his eyes narrow like a snake's, his breath hot like a bull's. He was testing him, or maybe he was really surprised that Armin resisted. The fear in his stomach did curl into itself, wanting to flee, to surrender, but he pushed the feeling back down and drew a shaky breath.

"I said no."

Three incredibly long seconds passed of Porco boring holes into his eyes, processing what was happening. He finally cracked a smile and chuckled under his breath. "No, huh? What, is little piggy brave all of a sudden?" His smile then evaporated. "I'll show you what happens to little piggies when they don't do what I say."

His meaty hand sprang out and grabbed a fistful of Armin's jacket. Armin gasped as he slammed him against the brick building of the school, the rough texture scrapping across his knuckles. The knot of fear tightened in his tummy, but he tried his best not to let it show—his teeth clamped down on his bottom lip to keep from crying and his eyes glared into the glittering snow, searching for something pleasant.

Just when he thought Porco was going to shove the end of the stick up his nose or ram it into his ear, he noticed him glance to the side.

"Floch," he ordered, "take this." He then offered the branch to him and Armin watched Floch nimbly wrap his fingers around the end.

Porco kept his grip on him as he gave Floch a knowing look. Out of the corner of his eye, Armin saw Marlowe turn around—to look out for unwanted company or to not watch at all, he wasn't sure. Floch stepped in front of Armin and stared at him, still unsure but willing to step up. Armin closed his eyes and waited for the pain.

Some time had pass (it was probably a couple of seconds but it felt like eons to Armin) before he felt a bright stinging sensation swipe across his right cheek, his head whipping to the side. It wasn't as bad as he thought it would be, but it still stabbed at his self-esteem all the same.

"Hey, Floch!" The grasp on Armin's chest fell and his eyes peeled open. Porco threw an irritated glare at the tall redhead. "Not at his face! Who's gonna tell his mom?"

The boys casted a glance at Armin and Floch threw down the stick at his feet before they all dashed away. He watched them go, breath heavy, blood seeping. He would tell his mother that night that he simply fell at recess and she would give him that sad, puppy-dog look, slip a band-aid over the cut, and kiss his cheek.

"I have just the thing." Armin fished his notepad out of his backpack, opened it to the page, wiped away some of the thin snow that gathered on the platform, and laid it down. Annie craned forward like a swan and read the strange alphabet.

"We can use this whenever we can't go outside or something," he explained. "Through the wall in our apartments, we can communicate through morse code. The dots stand for taps and the lines are drags. You'd have to pause between each letter for clarity. So, for example, if you wanted to say 'hello', you'd go to your wall and just—" Here he spelled out "hello" aloud while he tapped, paused, and dragged his finger across the metal platform, the sound echoing like a drop of water in a cave.

He smiled up at Annie. "See? Simple as that." He tore off the page from his notebook and handed it to her. "This is your copy."

She held it up to her face, her eyes darting around the paper as if she tried memorizing the language right there and now. "So," she said, the word crawling in mild confusion, "the dots are taps and the lines are drags…"

"Yes." He referred to his own copy. "Let's spell your name. So, you'd tap, drag for A and then pause before dragging and tapping for N." He demonstrated on the platform again, watched Annie do it, and then together they wrote her name on the cold, metal plate, marking her spot on the playset.

The tiniest of smiles graced her lips. "Thank you, Armin."

He grinned back. "No problem."

"Armin?"

"Yes?"

"What happened to your face?"

His smile melted off like a popsicle in the summer heat. He lowered his gaze to his open notepad and he pretended to reread his notes. His previous kicking legs had slowed to a stop, dangling below him like the legs of a hanged man.

"Right there on your cheek." Annie stroked her own cheek, on the spot where the ugly, glossy sand colored band-aid was taped. "What happened?"

Should he tell her the same thing he told his mom? He hated people worrying over him, keeping his well-being in the back of their minds like a sick puppy with a brain tumor. To worry is to suffer twice, and he didn't want Annie to suffer anymore than she probably already was. But, then again, he couldn't ignore the sense of trust he felt around her either. He felt totally at ease with her (despite their awkward first meeting) and he somehow knew she wouldn't betray or hurt him if he opened up a little.

His numb fingers gently pushed around the flakes of snow littered all around the steel platform. His voice came out barely above a whisper: "It's these three boys at school. They were giving me a hard time is all. But I'm fine; it'll go away in a few days."

He sensed her gaze zoom in on him and he cowered a little under the heat of it. "Armin, if those boys try to do it again, hit back. Don't just stand there and take it. Hit them back and hit hard."

The steady, low tone she carried frankly concerned him a little. There was an underbelly of anger and he (although he never saw her like that) knew he didn't want her to be angry.

"I'm serious, Armin. Hit them back."

He gulped nervously. "But what if they—"

"Hit harder than you ever dared. If you do it hard enough, then they'll leave you alone."

When he didn't respond to this, he watched her bare hand, the fingernails crusted a deep red, cover his own tracing hand. He stopped, just relishing in her touch for a moment. It was cold, as expected, but there was a hidden warmth to it that made him want to stay right where he was. Perhaps if he waited long enough, their hands would fuse together like hot glue and then the warmth would spread its way into his numb chest, making them one.

"If you want, I can take care of those boys for you," Annie said, her voice now soft and gentle like a wooden windchime. "I can do that."

He looked at the certainty—no, determination—in her eyes. She didn't blink, she didn't look the other way. One part of him was touched that she cared this much to get involved in his personal life, to be a possible solution to his problems, but another part still wasn't entirely sure what she meant by "take care of" them, and he figured it wouldn't be nice.

The longer he stared, the more he realized he wanted her to be a part of his life anyway, come what may.

He withdrew his hand from hers and packed his notebook into his backpack. Annie appeared confused and maybe a little hurt by his departure, but once he slipped his backpack on and got on his feet, he shot a smile down at her.

"Come on," he said as he started walking backwards out of the parking lot.

She straightened up, interest perked. "What?"

"Just come on." He turned on his heel, but his eyes remained on her. Once his pace got faster, she stood up, stuffed her morse code note in her jeans pocket, and followed after him. Soon enough, they were both running out of the apartment complex's property and diving to the nearest square, their parents and the runaway killer far from their minds.

Although it was nearing nine o'clock and many shops were beginning to close for the night, they had loads of fun simply peering into store windows, weaving in between cars in parking lots, waltzing across the streets, and admiring the city lights. They invented their own inside jokes and periodically bumped into one another, both on accident and on purpose. Armin honestly couldn't remember the last night he laughed that much or smiled that big; he knew he would cherish this moment forever.

They came upon a goody stand that was still open; a man with long dark hair and round glasses sat behind a wooden cart, filled with all sorts of chocolates, gummies, and other sugary treats. Armin, remembering that he carried about five dollars on him, faced Annie to see if she wanted something. She was preoccupied, however, observing a fluffy white cat that sat on the windowsill of a rundown bar. The cat either was having a bad day or wasn't fond of children in the first place, for it hissed through the window at her, but Annie continued to stare at it as if it meowed affectionately and rubbed its side against the fingerprinted window.

Armin decided to let her be and scrutinized over what sort of candy she'd like best. He didn't know her favorite food—he didn't know a lot of things about her—but he figured red licorice would be the safest bet (it was a classic, right?). He gave the man behind the cart his five dollars and he gave them back three along with a white paper bag filled with red licorice. He thanked him and then caught back up with Annie.

He nibbled on the end of a red stick as he lightly nudged her arm. She turned to him and he offered the bag to her.

She shook her head. "No, thank you."

He grinned and poked her again. "It's red licorice. Haven't you had it? It's really good."

"No." Her tone was firm and curt; it wasn't the answer to his question but rather a complete sentence.

He flinched in the slightest and he felt the all-too-familiar rush of heat in his cheeks. With an uncomfortable, toothless smile, he nodded his head once and went to put the bag in his backpack. He noticed the quick apologetic and desperate look dart around in her eyes like dragonflies and she took a half-step toward him, the tips of her toes bumping against his boot.

"Well, maybe I can try one."

He knew she was wholly saying this on his behalf and he was half-tempted to say "forget it" and toss the thing into his backpack, but he figured he would only make matters worse if he did that. She'd feel guilty about herself when she didn't do anything wrong. So, he held out the bag to her and watch her cautiously pull a single stick out as if it were a scorpion or crab.

She observed its curvy appearance and bright red color before glancing up at him hesitantly. He was the one who now felt guilty and really wanted to tell her to chuck it into the garbage can if she was that uneasy about it. Was she allergic to it? Was she afraid of trying new foods? This whole thing was a bad decision on his end.

Her teeth chewed off a tiny piece of it and then she gnawed at it for a good long while before making an effort to swallow it down. She didn't look like she was going to throw up nor did she look like she particularly hated it. Just very uncomfortable. As if for good measure, she took another bite, a little bit bigger this time, and he actually heard her gulp it down.

"Are you okay?" he asked her.

Slowly she nodded her head. She shuffled forward without saying anything, holding her licorice stick like a bouquet while daring herself to continue nibbling it down like a beaver until it was all gone. He trailed after her and he tried coming up with different topic ideas to get her mind off the oh-so-horrible licorice she was forcing herself to eat. She merely nodded or shook her head, though, and when he told her to just throw the treat away and that she wouldn't be hurting his feelings if she did so, she'd glare up at him and chomp down on the stick and chew it angrily as if to prove him wrong.

This continued on for a while and when she was two bites away from finishing it, she stopped dead in her tracks and dropped the stick. He saw her ice-blue eyes widen to the size golf-balls, her hand slap over her mouth, and watched her sprint across the street and behind an alleyway.

Sharp anxiety pierced his heart as he ran after her. He heard the sound before he reached the corner. It sounded more than just that mostly-eaten licorice stick; it was as if she was puking up a whole Thanksgiving dinner. The whole situation made him feel like vomiting too: what was wrong with him? Why couldn't he just ask her what she wanted? Why couldn't he not push her forward into trying something she really didn't want to? This was all his fault; here she was, puking up her lungs and it was all his fault.

He found her hunched over the snow, one hand pressed against the brick wall, her hair and back shielding the mess she created from him. She lurched forward as another round of strained, gagging noises erupted. When she was done, she took a few deep breaths, covered the puke up with the surrounding snow, and then got back on her feet, her legs trembling under her own weight.

She turned around and found him staring at her. She tugged down on the hem of her loose-fitting shirt as her eyes drifted awkwardly to the side.

"Sorry," she muttered.

Armin's shoulder slumped. Without a reply, he dropped the licorice bag and marched over to her. His arms reached out and enveloped her small body against his. He simply held onto her; he didn't squeeze her tightly or pushed her against the wall. His arms hung limply around her torso with his chin resting on her shoulder. He could vaguely smell the vomit wafting out of her mouth, but he didn't let it bother him. He just held her like a pillow.

Annie didn't hug back (her arms were pinned to her sides). She was stiff as a railing and he could only imagine the hopelessly confused look she was giving to the darkness behind them. Was she never hugged before? He frankly wouldn't be surprised if she hadn't been.

"Armin?" Her voice was tiny and bashful, so unsure of what was going on.

He closed his eyes. "Hm?"

"Do you like me?"

He couldn't help but to slip in a little smile at her innocent question. It was remarks like these that made him seem like the older one. "Yes, a lot."

"Would-Would you still like me even if I wasn't a girl?"

His eyes cracked open. Like if she was a boy? A strange query, but no more legitimate. All long as she was she (or he was he), then it wouldn't matter, right? "I suppose so."

He could feel something relax in her frame as she leaned into his arms.

"I like you too."

Later that night, when they got back home and went off into their separate apartments, Armin went straight to his room, leaned against the wall, and then tapped morse code into Annie's room.

"S-W-E-E-T D-R-E-A-M-S," he dragged.

He awaited and Annie eventually tapped back, "S-L-E-E-P W-E-L-L."

Sweat rolled down his back, arms, and legs as he exited the school's gym and dragged himself to the boys locker room. He tried to keep himself from panting like a dog, but it was just too much. Gym class was the only exercise he got (did running from class to class while carrying heavy textbooks count?) and everything they did drained the life out of him. He knew exercise was healthy, but God, at what cost?

He heard the other boys' conversations ahead of him (he, of course, always walking by himself). Connie Springer and Berthold Hoover were the closest to him and the more he unintentionally eavesdropped, the more interested he became.

"Crazy killer guy strikes again!" Connie declared. He raised a fist in the air and brought it down inches from Berthold's shoulder, stabbing him with an invisible knife.

"Wait, what? What do you mean 'crazy killer guy strikes again?'" Berthold peered at him with frightful eyes.

"You didn't hear? My brother told me that the guy who killed that one guy in the woods the other day tried killing someone again last night."

"What? Where?"

"At the high school. He—"

"At the high school?" Berthold jumped in place and looked around them as if the killer himself were within earshot. "But that's just around the block!"

Connie cracked a grin. "I know. Isn't it cool?"

"That is not cool, Connie. Did he kill someone?"

"Actually, no. A few students were at the gym late last night and police found one of them in the boys locker room hanging upside down with an empty jug beneath him, just like with the other dude. There wasn't any blood though, and the guy is fine, but they did find another guy—an adult, an old man—in the showers with his face half burned off. They found a, like, acid bottle next to him."

"Was the killer caught?"

"That's the thing: they don't know. The acid guy looks awfully suspicious, but, because of his burns, he can't talk, so they can't get a confession out of him. He's in the hospital right now, but he'll most likely go to trail once he gets better."

"If he gets better. Acid? On his face? I'm surprised that didn't kill him."

Armin stared at the back of their heads. So, the killer has an obsession with blood and acid? What an interesting combination.

The thought of his knife back home floated into his mind, but it left as quickly as it came once he noticed a poster plastered right outside the locker room's door. It was a promotion to join an after-school weight training class. It was held by the gym teacher, Mr. Shadis, and would meet right after school every Tuesday and Thursday.

Normally, Armin would totally disregard such an offer, but Annie's words rung in his head like church bells: Hit them back hard. He was obviously in no shape to do that, but with this class, perhaps he would soon gain the muscle and stamina to knock down his enemies. He stood still in thought for a moment or two before turning around and heading toward Mr. Shadis's office.

Through the glass pane of his door, Armin recognized the bald head of his gym teacher, bent over paperwork and still in his basketball shorts. Armin's shoulders tensed up. Mr. Shadis was a strict teacher and was maybe too invested in his work, considering he was teaching a flock of twelve-years-olds how to play dodgeball, but that told Armin that he meant good, that he expected work out of everyone, no matter who you were. Maybe with his teacher's constant motivation and Annie's odd reasoning, he would get stronger and fast.

He gingerly knocked on the door and, without turning around, Mr. Shadis called out, "Enter."

Armin pried open the door and stuck his head in. "Hello, Mr. Shadis."

His teacher turned his bald head halfway and his dark eyes widened slightly once they came in contact with Armin. "Arlert," he stated simply in his gruff voice. "What can I do for you?"

"Um, I noticed a poster for your weight-lifting class, and-and I was wondering if I could sign up for it?" He suddenly felt nervous; he could feel fresh sweat bead along his hairline.

Mr. Shadis hesitated in his awkward position in his desk chair, but ultimately turned back to his work. "You don't have to sign up for anything. Just show up. First class starts next Tuesday right after school here in the gym."

"Oh, o-okay."

"Is that alright with you?"

"Yes, sir. I-I'll be there."

"Great. I'll be looking forward to bending that little body of yours into shape."

Armin decided to let his strange comment pass by and thanked him for his time before shutting the door and walking back to the locker room, feeling somewhat proud of himself and actually looking forward to next Tuesday.

By then majority of the boys were gone and Armin had the small pleasure of changing in private, but when he went to grab his clothes, he noticed they were gone. All there was were his hiking boots and winter gloves. He wandered around the room, having a faint idea of what happened to his stuff and he was mildly disappointed to find his suspicions correct. He soon found his winter jacket in the restroom, sitting in a recently used urinal and his jeans were nowhere to be found.

He expected this from Porco (which was why he was mildly disappointed), and he blamed himself for not changing first and then going to see Mr. Shadis. He should've known. And so, because it was in the negatives outside, he had no choice but to slip into his urine-infested coat and walk home in his thin basketball shorts.

He kept next Tuesday in his mind like it was the only thing he had.

Despite the missing clothes and his uncontrollable shaking, his bones frosted and skin numb, he fell asleep pretty quickly that night. After taking a good long shower and slurping down a bowl of hot chicken noodle soup, he went to sit beside the wall in his room and tapped on it: A-N-N-I-E. No response from the other side and when he tried again and met the same silent answer, he figured she was doing something with her dad or was maybe already asleep. So, he snuggled up in his covers and fell quickly into the land of sleep.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been asleep when he heard a gentle knock on the door.

He shifted around a little, but didn't say anything, figuring his mother would eventually come in and tuck him in or kiss him goodnight or whatever it was she wanted to do. The knock sounded again but this time it appeared like someone was tapping on glass instead of wood.

Something creaked open slowly and then he heard her voice: "Armin."

Still deeply buried in sleep, his eyes remained shut, but his face scrunched at the hazy interruption. "Hm?" he managed between closed lips.

"Armin, can I come in?"

He switched onto his side, pulling his covers tighter around him at the blast of cold wind entering his room. "Yeah, sure."

"You have to say that I can come in, though."

A sigh. "You can come in."

He heard the window squeaking close and sensed the bitter cold subside. Tiny footsteps patted across the floorboards and it was only then that his mind began to awaken, realizing who he was talking to and what was happening. Concerned, he started to get up. "Annie?"

"Don't look at me." Her voice quick and a bit harsh, but he knew she didn't mean it.

He turned back around, eyes now open and fixed on the closed window. Annie was in his room and she just climbed in through the window. But his window was on the third floor, several meters off the ground with nothing around to pull herself up. Perhaps he was dreaming.

"How did you get here?" he mumbled to the window. "It's so high up."

Something was moving around behind him like fabric on fabric. He didn't know what she was doing, but, because this was all a dream, he didn't question it.

"I flew," Annie answered almost innocently.

He giggled and she giggled back. He suddenly felt the bed lower behind him, the gentle squeak of the springs beneath him echoing in the small room.

"Please don't look at me, okay?" Annie asked as she crawled into bed with him.

"I'm not looking," he affirmed as he thought to himself, What a strange dream. I guess it's only fitting that she's here because she's a strange girl.

He sensed her inch closer to him, getting herself situated into a comfortable position. When he moved his arm in the slightest, it bumped lightly against her chest and he was greatly surprised to not feel a shirt or jacket on her. Instead he felt a small round lump, cold as ice.

His body immediately tensed and blood rushed to his face. "You're not wearing anything," he stated, a little terrified, "and you're freezing."

"Sorry." She paused. "Is that gross?"

He too paused for a while before he finally admitted, "I guess not."

Her eyes, he could feel, were stuck on the back of his head. What was she thinking? Could she read his mind? He wouldn't be too entirely surprised if she could. Strange little girl.

Near his bare spine, he felt her hovering fingers. They barely brushed the hairs on his skin and, once her fingertips lost their iciness, her touch became braver. Like rose petals, her fingers dragged up and down his back, counting the knobs in his spine, tracing his shoulder blades, and curving along his jutting hips. The sensation was unlike anything he ever felt in his life. Excluding the times whenever his mother or father held him when the other one wasn't in the room, this was the only loving touch he ever felt. Her fingers were as slow as the sunrise and as gentle as the grass on a warm summer day. It made his heart beat faster yet calm him totally at the same time. He wished this dream would never end.

"Annie," he breathed (though intentionally or not was up for debate).

"Hm?"

He squirmed deeper into the covers with her, feeling shy all of a sudden. "Do you…want to be my girlfriend?"

Annie shifted behind him, the springs squeaking some beneath her. "Armin, I'm not a girl."

His blush deepened. "Oh." Nevertheless, he tried again. "But do you want to start…going out?"

"Can't things just stay the way they are?"

He wasn't sure if that was a yes or a no. "If you want them to."

She hesitated and he felt her touch slide toward the side of his neck. "Well, what sort of things do you do when you go out? Do you have to do anything special?"

From what little he knew about dating, he believed that a lot of couples often just enjoyed one another's company, merely staying inside and talking or going on random walks around the park. He figured it must've been different for everyone.

"Um, not really. I guess it mainly depends on what they want to do exactly."

"So…nothing really changes?"

"I guess not."

Annie paused again before replying, "Okay. We can go out if you want."

Armin couldn't suppress the smile creeping up on him. "Okay."

His eyes fluttered closed and a satisfied hum vibrated his throat when Annie's hand curled around tiny shoulder like how a koala wraps around a tree. Her fingernails dragged down his arm and over his knuckles and then she weaved their fingers together. He clutched her little fingers tightly as if he could physically hold down this and keep it from disappearing into thin air. Her thumb lightly stroked his knuckles and he felt her inch even closer behind him, her nose resting against the nape of his neck and her small breasts against his spine. He wanted to roll over and embrace her or tangle their legs together, but keeping her first request in mind, he stayed where he was until he eventually drifted off once again, darkness swallowing him whole.

When the sun shone through his window and his eyelids peeled open, the first thing he noticed was Annie's absence and the heavy defeat in his chest at the realization. He sat up and looked at the space where she laid in his dream last night. But she felt so real as if she was really there. If only he held on a little tighter, maybe he would've never woken up and stayed in the simple yet wonderful bliss.

Sighing, he got out of bed and walked over to his desk when something caught his eye. His notebook was laid open and an uncapped pen sat next to it. Long black lines decorated the page and when his sleep-crusted eyes took a better look, he realized it was a note, a one-sentence letter.

"If I stay, I'll die. If I fly, I'll survive. Yours, Annie."

She was really here, he thought in bewilderment. She really came into my room, she really held me until I fell asleep. He smiled giddily at her handwriting, tracing the lovely cursive letters. And we're really together now.

"Alright, kids!" Ms. Ral clapped her hands twice to get their attention as they shoved their feet into ice skates. "Make sure you stay within my line of sight and not go too far off. I'll be right over here if you need anything. Oh, and don't go toward the middle of the pond—I was told there's a hole there and I don't want anyone falling in, is that clear?"

"Yes, Ms. Ral," everyone responded in dull unison.

"Alright, you kids have fun."

Armin, strapped into his old pair of ice skates from his father, stared solemnly ahead, watching his classmates slide across the park's frozen pond. Mina and Hannah held hands as they giggled wildly, slowly turning around in tiny circles. Connie and Marco played invisible hockey with two skinny sticks they found. Normally Armin would be excited to go skating, but it was only fun when was with someone he knew and liked. His classmates only knew him for being the weirdo who read "murder books" for fun. So, no, this definitely wasn't going to go well.

As if to add to his personal turmoil, Porco snuck up behind him and leaned on his shoulder. "Care for a swim later on?" he smirked, giving him a little nudge as he, Floch, and Marlowe slowly skated away like sharks searching for prey.

Armin sighed to himself. He wished Annie were here.

Instead of engaging with Ms. Ral or any of his classmates, he strayed near the border of the pond, exploring on his own account. His eyes periodically switched from his worn-out skates to the flaky snow on the ground beside him. He saw tree roots and fallen branches and the occasional crumpled-up beer can, but other than that, no magnificent discovery could be spotted. Determined to not let boredom overtake him, he dug through the thicker piles of snow in hopes of finding something.

It took some time, but eventually his gloved hands knocked against something hard. He dug a bit further and came upon a long metal pole with a thick rubber band around the end. He wasn't one hundred percent sure what it was, but it reminded him of something a dogcatcher would use to grab a rabid dog in. It wasn't spectacular, but it something to keep him busy for the next hour.

He continued skating (again lingering by the border) with his newfound plaything. He stuck the end into the snowy ground and pushed himself onward, pretending he was on a canoe, rowing himself down a beautiful river with no particular destination in mind. He had nowhere to go; he just wanted to enjoy the scenery.

His imagination was shattered, and he was dragged back into reality when he noticed up head (instead of a mighty mountain or a group of tall pine trees) Porco and his minions skating his way. He stopped moving, letting his skated slow to an eventual halt, knowing he couldn't outrun them. But, he reminded himself, he did have his paddle, his dog-catching tool. It wasn't his knife, but at least it was something.

For the first time, he couldn't wait for them to come.

Porco was the closest to him, but he was still about ten feet away. Floch and Marlowe were even further, but they weren't really the threats, just the dogs that were trained to follow their master. Armin stared at Porco and he at him.

"So," Porco started, "you ready to go swimming?"

Armin stared at his sly grin and, pushing down the usual spark of fear in his chest, pursed his lips. "No."

Porco shifted his weight onto one foot, putting his hands on his hips. "Man, what is with you lately? Standing up for yourself and all that shit. You've never been like this before. What's up with you?"

Armin didn't respond; he only stared.

Porco, getting aggravated, glared back with his fists at his sides. "Go to the middle of the pond, Armin. I will push you there if I have to."

Armin held up the metal pole. "If you come anywhere near me, I will hit you with this."

"Is that a threat?"

"It's a promise."

Floch clucked his tongue and Porco whipped his head back toward the sound. "What was that, Floch?"

The redhead flinched. "N-Nothing."

"You know what, you take him to the hole. Unless you prefer to take his place."

Armin saw the worry apparent in Floch's eyes. He just stood there, shivering in the cold and looking like Porco just asked him to saw off his own hand. Porco turned to Marlowe beside him. "What about you, Marlowe? Are you a little piggy too now?"

He grimaced, peering off into the distance. "Ms. Ral is right there."

Porco groaned. "Fine. I'll do it myself, you pathetic little shits."

He turned back to Armin and lunged forward, skating as fast as he could. Even though it must've happened pretty quickly, he felt as though he had enough time to think and the rapidly filling space between them was all he needed to act. All Armin could think of was Annie: Hit them back hard.

Without hesitation, Armin lifted the pole and swung. It was heavy to wield with his pencil arms, but he ran on pure willpower—he didn't need the strength. The pole slammed against Porco and the boy staggered, falling onto his knees. At first, Armin couldn't tell what he actually hit for a second, but once Porco started yelling and covering his ear, he knew what had happened. He pulled back his hand for a moment and peered into it, and Armin could see blood coating his exposed ear, trickling down his scarf and onto the ice below.

At the sight of Porco on the ground and hearing his painful screams echo around the frozen pond, Armin savored at his dream coming true. He thought back to when he practiced stabbing Porco in the gut with the trees taking his place; he imagined what it would be like to be on the other end of the situation. And now here they were, Porco finally getting what he properly deserved.

Marlowe was right, however—Ms. Ral was right there. She skated over as quickly as the whole affair had unfold. She knelt beside Porco and, seeing the blood, took off her own scarf and tied it around the injury. Her eyes looked up at Armin looming over them, expressionless, still as a statue. Something flickered across her big golden eyes as if she couldn't believe he would do something like this.

She shook her head. "Armin—"

Just then, another scream reverberated around the pond. Everyone except Porco looked up, searching for the owner of the voice. The other students, who previously were staring at Armin, were now doing the same thing, searching like a group of pigeons looking for food. Armin's gaze came across Mina on the other side of the pond, where he hadn't been yet. She was crawling across the ice, screaming and crying as if she too had been hit across the head with a metal pole. Armin's eyes moved toward Hannah not far from her. She was frozen place, peering down at something in the ground. What did she see? What was there that made Mina scramble away like a frightened rabbit?

"Mina? Mina, what's wrong?" Ms. Ral called over the noise, still holding Porco in her arms (though his own screams changed into panted breaths).

"There's a man in the water!" she cried. "There's a man in the water!"

"What?" Ms. Ral muttered under her breath. She switched from Mina's hectic crying to Porco's bleeding ear to motionless Armin, obviously stressing over about what to do. "You stay there," she told Armin eventually before taking Porco with her as she skating across the pond toward Mina and Hannah.

Everything happened so fast. Ms. Ral had called the police, saying that there was a dead body in the park's pond and that she needed an ambulance for one of her students. Police cars, an ambulance, and some construction-like truck showed up. Doctors rushed Porco to the hospital and crowded around the startled and confused children, taming any signs of shock or hysteria. The police questioned Mina, Hannah, and Ms. Ral concerning the body in the pond as they surrounded the pond with yellow caution tape. Men controlled the truck with a giant claw at the end and craved out the man (whom Armin only saw from a distance) from the ice. They examined the stiff body and later determined that he had a wide slit in the middle of his throat, and thus most likely making this a case of murder. It reminded Armin of the killer who liked throwing acid and draining blood.

What stayed in the back of Armin's head during all of this was Porco's blood and Annie's words: Hit them back hard.

Because he wanted to celebrate their relationship with an official "date" (although he didn't use that specific wording with her) and he wished to share all the things that happened recently, Armin decided to take Annie to the old rec center in the basement of their apartment. No one came down there except for teenagers who would drink and smoke on weekend nights, but, given that it was a Monday night, he suspected they would have the place to themselves.

He skipped ahead, his mouth running a million miles a minute as Annie trailed behind, politely letting him talk her ear off. "I'm taking weight-lifting classes with Mr. Shadis and even though it's kinda hard, I can feel myself getting stronger. He said that we'd also be practicing swimming because he said he wants to strengthen my entire body. I'm the only one in his class, so that's pretty nice because then I can't feel anyone looking at me. Just Mr. Shadis and Mr. Shadis doesn't make fun of me."

Annie nodded her head, her bare feet softly sinking into the snow. Armin creaked open the door, flipped the light on, and peeked his head in. As suspected, no other life could be seen in the room. There was an old ping-pong table, a couple armchairs, and a table filled with all sorts of empty cups and CDs of bands. He stepped in and Annie followed.

"Oh, and guess what happened on our field trip? Porco tried to push me down a hole, but I had this metal pole I found in the snow with me and I told him that I would hit him if he came too close. Of course, he didn't listen, so when he came near, I hit him in the head with the pole. His ear started bleeding so much that he had to be taken to the ER. My mom's really made and blaming my dad for what I did, but I think she'll understand soon. But Annie, I—"

"Armin."

He looked back at her. Her back was to him, dressed in only a thin red sweater and black pants. She spun around and her lips curved up in a crooked grin.

"That's amazing. Great job, Armin."

He smiled back, shutting the door behind him. He felt like kissing her for some reason but decided not to.

They then ventured forth, surveying the remnants of past hangouts. It smelled vaguely of alcohol and cigarette smoke, and only two of the three lights were working in the room. Annie investigated the table overflowing with all sorts of crap. She picked up some old CDs and started putting them in a neat little pile. Armin sat down in one of the grey armchairs, torn in some places but comfortable enough. He stared at the mold growing near the corner of the ceiling for a while, thinking of what he wanted to do next.

His hand fished through his jacket pocket and pulled out his switchblade. He flicked it open and admired the shiny blade. He never actually used it before (excluding stabbing at trees) and he figured nothing would be better to use than this. After all, he wanted them to stay together, for he had no one else in the world but her.

"So, what did you want us to do down here?" Annie asked from her place by the table.

Armin bit down on his bottom lip as he squeezed the blade, running it through his palm like butter. A sharp stinging pain erupted, but it diminished once the blood began spilling. The color popped out against his pale white hand and he marveled over the color contrast before standing up and walking over to Annie.

She turned toward him as he held out his bloodied hand to her. A deep frown creased her lips at the sight of him.

"I wanted to do a blood bond," he told her. "That way we will not only be tied in soul, but in body as well. We'll always be together this way. I've read about them in books before: It's a bond that's unbreakable, one that can't be separated." He smiled earnestly and, with his bloody hand still reaching out toward her, offered her in the knife. "It doesn't hurt too bad."

Annie's ice blue eyes widened, and he could see the muscles in her neck stand on end, her jaw clenched tightly. She took a few steps backward, her hands tightened into rock-hard fists. Her usually calm and comforting aura was now strained with hard confusion and tight anxiety. It was the first time he saw her scared and it scared him a little too.

His blood slipped out of the pool in his palm and splatted onto the hardwood flooring below; the silence was so loud between them that he could hear the blood splashing beneath him. Annie's gaze flicked from the tiny puddle forming at his feet to his red palm still outstretched to her. It was like she was in a forest, trying to decide between left and right, light and dark, life and death. Her chest starting heaving with great strain as if she just ran a mile or two. Her cracked lips parted and he could make out the sharp edges of her yellowed teeth.

"Annie, are you—?"

He flinched back a little when she dived forward, but instead of grabbing him, she went for the floor, for the drops of blood staining the cement flooring. She fell to her knees, her usually greasy hair shielding her face of him. Strange noises emitted from her and Armin's heart began pumping faster and faster. Loud slurping and tiny growls filled the once noisy silence. It was like a starving, rabid cat was at his feet instead of a little girl.

Her head snapped up and Armin's stomach dropped. Annie's sweet, innocent face was no more; she had been replaced with an age-old demon, awakening from a long slumber. Splotches of red lined her lips from where she lapped up his blood. Her bright eyes darkened to a midnight black and the veins in her temples and neck stood on end, making her seem thinner or hungrier. Her lips were pressed tightly as if she were afraid of spilling a giant secret. He spotted her hands, flat on the floor, trembling and her pale fingernails were growing and retracting like a cat's, not sure to attack or not.

She then spoke (more like shouted at him) and the sound was anything but her calm, monotone voice. It was as if there were multiple people inside her, all crying out at the same time in different octaves. "Run! Go away!"

He couldn't. His feet were stuck to the ground and his stare was locked onto the creature in front of him. What was going on? What is this? Where's Annie? The creature's black gaze stared right back up at him, waiting, quivering. When he didn't do anything, a low snarl ripped through her throat as she flew forward, pushing him out of the way with such momentum that he nearly tripped and fell over the armchair.

He watched her rip open the door, fly up the stairs, and disappear from his sight.

For the longest time, he stood there, frozen with fear as a million questions bombarded his brain. His eyes were glued to the open doorway, half expecting for Annie—the real Annie—to come back waltzing down the steps as if nothing ever happened. He didn't know how long he stayed like that, but it was long enough for his neck to stiffen up at the odd angle his head was tilted.

He craned his neck back and peeked at the bloodstain on the floor. Nearly all of it was gone (only a drop or two was left behind). His eyes then trailed to his open hand. The blood had stopped flowing now, but it somehow hurt to see just how much damage he inflicted on himself. He tugged off his scarf and wrapped it around the cut, dull stings vibrating in his palm.

He was suddenly reminded of all the murder victims found in town over the last week or two; Annie arrived at the apartment complex a week or two ago. Their blood was either drained for found in milk jugs; Annie just drank up Armin's blood on the floor. The bodies were found at night; Annie only came out at night.

A conclusion (completely absurd yet it somehow fit) popped into his mind and he should've been scared of the results. But he didn't. As he stood there, his hand enveloped in his scarf, all he felt was intrigued and a little hurt that she ran away.

Several days (and nights) go by without a word from Annie. He sat on the playset outside for a few nights, waiting for her to join him, but she never did. He tapped out her name on his bedroom wall, but he was only met with silence. He didn't understand why she was purposefully ignoring him. Maybe she was still mad about the whole blood bond. But he understood now, so he wouldn't do it again. Or was she mad at herself? What was keeping her away from him exactly?

One night, as he laid in his bed, he suddenly recalled the letter Annie left for him a few nights ago. Sitting up, he reached over to his desk and picked up his notebook and turned to the page with her handwriting sprawled over it. "If I stay, I'll die. If I fly, I'll survive." Is that why she ran away? Did she think he would turn her in or ran or scream at her if she stayed behind? Maybe she was so used to running that she forgot when it was okay to stay.

The anxiousness to see her again overtook his heart and brain, so he threw on a pair of jeans, a shirt, his boots, and his jacket, and marched out of his room. He checked on his mother sleeping soundly in her own room before leaving the apartment and moving towards Annie's.

For a minute or two, he merely stood outsider her door, thinking of what he should say or do. Is her dad there? Apologize for the other night? Where has she been? He knew she wouldn't answer anything she was uncomfortable with, so maybe he should act like nothing happened. No, that was silly. He needed clarification if this was going to work. He'd be honest with her as long as she was honest with him.

Taking the risk, he knocked on the door.

He waited impatiently for what seemed like hours when he noticed the doorknob turning. The door creaked open a crack and the lovely blue eye of Annie peeked at him through the slim opening.

"Hi," she mumbled, expressionless.

Armin smiled. "Hi."

She was herself again. Her teeth weren't bared, her eyes weren't black, her skin was back to its winter snow texture. She looked normal (or rather, how she always looked like) and the sight was relieving for Armin.

"M-May I come in?" he asked softly.

Annie nodded her head and pulled the door back more. She stepped aside and Armin took another risk.

The first thing he noticed was the smell radiating off Annie. She smelled dirty again and her hair hung limply, drenched in grease. All she wore was a large, baggy T-shirt, no pants or shoes. Though he wished she would continue to bath every once in a while, he was glad to see her back in her normal skin.

The living room was almost completely void of any furniture. There was a lumpy mattress with a few thin blankets positioned by the wall and Armin wondered if that was the wall that was adjacent to his bedroom. A small coffee table was tucked into another corner, filled with all sorts of old antiques like jewelry and candleholders. He saw the only window in the room that was covered up with slices of cardboard and posters. It was eerily silent, and he did feel a bit uneasy as if he were a haunted mansion.

He saw the threshold that most likely led to a kitchen and he headed that way. Annie thudded backwards and got in his way before he could get too close. She laid her hands on either side of the threshold and stared up at him, waiting for something. He immediately lost interest in her home and turned his attention to one of her hands. He slowly reached out and lightly pushed his thumb against hers. The rest of his fingers inched forward, covering her knuckles and fingernails. Annie lifted her hand with his still over hers and moved it through the space between them as if they stood on opposite side of a mirror. Whenever her hand moved, his followed, making sure that their palms and fingers stayed attached.

"Are you a vampire?" he asked into the void, remembering why he was here in the first place.

Annie didn't respond right away, but instead kept her eyes locked on their hands. She lifted her other hand and he went to catch it automatically, keeping up this little dance of theirs.

"I feed off of blood, yes," she eventually whispered into air. She sounded ashamed, disappointed.

"How old are you?"

One of her fingers slipped and tucked itself in his pointer and middle finger. Her touch was cold yet lovely.

"Thirteen." Her tone was higher somewhat as if she was proud to admit that this part of her was true. Her gaze then drifted downwards, lost in thought. "But I've been thirteen for a very long time."

"Does your dad know?"

He clasped their hands together, weaving their fingers together and bringing them to their sides. She looked down at them while she spoke. "He knew, but he wasn't my dad. He was just a man who was helping me get blood."

Armin frowned. "He wasn't?"

Annie looked up. No particular tinge of sorrow shone in her eyes when she said, "He's dead now. He was the man who poured acid on his face to cover up his tracks, but it didn't work. I went to see him at the hospital and I…" She sighed to herself. "I ate him."

While holding onto him, she stepped backwards and let him into the kitchen, seeing more of the life she lived. He peeked up for a moment; the room was the same as the living room. The table and counters were bare, and there was a good chance that nothing laid behind the closed cabinets lining the walls. There was nothing in the sink and the fridge didn't even appear to be running.

He peered down at her again. "So, are you dead?"

She looked at his chest in thought before shaking her head. "No. I breathe and my heart beats. And I bleed, just like you."

Just like you. But they weren't the same, were they?

Annie let go of their hold on one another, giving him permission to roam and explore, which he did. He slowly walked around the empty kitchen and then backtracked to the living room. He stared at the mattress placed against the wall and thought about all those nights they passed secret messages to each other, talking about everything and anything, and only they knew, no one else.

"You don't have a lot of money, do you?" The words slipped out of his mouth by accident. It just made him so sad to see her own home in shambles.

"Not necessarily."

She wrapped her hand around his again and pulled him to the coffee table. He got a better look at all the nick-nacks she kept on this one piece of furniture: jewelry boxes, empty bottles of perfume, candleholders, earrings, gold dice, lockets, tiny satin bags for carrying change. They were old and rusting in some places, but they were all gorgeous, crafted from the finest smiths and jewelry-makers.

He picked up one of the dice, examining its rich contents. "Where did you get these from?"

"A lot of different places from long ago." She plucked up the perfume bottle. "This is from France and these earrings are from Russia. I think the bags are from Hungary and the candleholder is from Germany."

A wide smile spread across Armin's lips as he reached out and took the bottle from Annie. "You can sell these to a museum or antique shop and get some real money out of it. Then you can afford a bed or a nice place to live in, not in these shabby apartment complexes."

She shrugged. "I don't need money."

"Why not? You need money to live."

"I haven't lived in a long time. I've just been surviving."

He looked at her sadly. "But don't you want to live? To stay somewhere instead of running all the time?"

She didn't answer his question, but instead, looked at him brightly as if an idea just popped into her head. "Do you need money? I think I might have some."

Before he could answer, she scurried off into the kitchen, her bare feet slapping against the tilted flooring. He put the precious artifacts back on the table. How exactly did she get these things? How old are they? If what she said is true, then she's been everywhere. But how long has she stayed at these places? Did she really experience any of it or was she just "passing through"? These things really deserve to be in a museum somewhere.

Annie came back into the living room with several slips of paper money in her grasp. She was counting them, and the several slips turned out to be small piles of money she was leafing through. His jaw dropped open when she pressed them into his hand and felt the heavy weight that came with it.

"Will that be enough, do you think?" she asked him.

"Annie." He leafed through the pile himself, finding a few one hundred dollar bills. "Where on earth did you get so much money? Why haven't you used this?"

In the end, he counted three hundred and twenty-three dollars. Some were neatly printed and fresh while others were crumpled and had probably been her hands for a while.

He glared at her. "You stole these, didn't you? You stole these from the people you killed."

Annie stared at the money in his hands rather at him. She didn't want to admit it, she was too embarrassed. Perhaps she was hoping that he wouldn't ask questions and take the money, but apparently, she didn't know him too well.

He shoved the money back into her hands. "I'm not a thief, Annie, and you shouldn't be either." He sighed. "I should get going before my mother realizes I'm gone."

Not expecting her to show him out or do anything for that matter, he tugged on his coat and headed for the door. Still he heard the swift patter of her feet follow after him. He went to grab the doorknob.

Maybe we're too different.

His lips pursed at the thought. It was cruel thing to think about, considering that she was just looking after him. She ran away to protect both of them, she gave him other people's belongings because she thought she was helping. It wasn't fair of him to think of her the very thing she tried running away from, was it?

He turned halfway to her and saw her impassive face staring back up at him. She almost like a confused puppy, wondering why its master was leaving him behind.

"Look," he murmured, "tomorrow night my mother works late; she won't be home for a while. If you wanna come over…"

A tiny smile graced her lips and her toes curled in excitement. "Okay," she breathed, and he had to suppress his own smile at the sight of hers. She was really pretty when she smiled like that.

"Okay," he whispered back before giving her a little wave. "See you tomorrow."

"Okay," she mumbled again, watching him slowly shut the door with attentive eyes.

He stood there with his forehead pressed against the doorframe for a moment, wondering if Annie was doing the same thing. Just to check, he rapped against the wooden door "B-Y-E".

Two seconds later, Annie tapped back the same word.

Armin sat on the couch in the living room, pretending to watch TV, anxious for his mother to leave for work. He sat on his hands and his legs bounced rapidly. He tried covering his impatience with a blanket, but his mother had mistaken his stiff body and shaking legs for coldness and laid another throw around him.

"If you're so chilly, why don't you put your jacket on?" she asked him.

"I'm fine, really," he assured her.

She gave him a suspicious look but shrugged it off and grabbed her own coat. "Okay, little man. I won't be back until about midnight, but dinner's in the fridge and I'll have my phone on me in case you need anything, alright?" She kissed the top of his head. "I love you."

"Love you too."

Once he heard the door click close, he turned off the TV, hopped off the couch, and ran to the clock on the wall. 3:59 PM. Nightfall should come around 5:30 or so. Hopefully, he should have plenty of time to prepare for Annie's arrival. He debated for a second if he should cook something (or at least heat up the leftover spaghetti that his mother planned on him having for dinner), but then remembered the whole red licorice incident. She obviously can't have normal, human food, so that was no longer a problem. Perhaps he should just clean up any sign of his mother's depression.

He folded all the blankets draped over the couch and kitchen chairs and tucked them in a hall closet. He collected any dishes lying around and ran the dishwasher. He grabbed an old broom and swept up bits of food that accumulated over the past week. He wiped down the kitchen table and the counters. He dusted shelves and windowsills that were layered with months' worth of dust. He could feel sweat beading along his hairline, and he swiped it away. He hadn't worked this much around the apartment in a long while.

He was in the middle of cleaning the bathroom sink when he heard a knock on the door. His heart leapt to his throat as he quickly threw away the paper towel he'd been using and tucked the cleaning products under the sink. He popped out of the bathroom. He had the curtains around the windows closed and majority of the lights were on. He glanced at the clock again. 6:04 PM.

She was here.

He rushed to the door but tried opening it as casually as he could. There stood Annie, dressed a simple white top and blue jeans with the ends rolled up to mid-calf (though she was still barefoot—he was beginning to wonder if she owned any pairs of shoes at all). Her hair brushed her collarbone and appeared healthy and bouncy. She didn't reek of body odor this time. She looked nice, beautiful even.

She grinned at him. "Hi."

He smiled back. "Hi."

She gestured behind him. "Can I come in?"

He titled his head at her, puzzled. "But I already gave you permission. Remember last week?"

"That was through your window, not your front door."

"Oh." He looked the doorway up and down, reaching out his hand. "Why can't you come in? Is there a wall or…?"

He continued moving his hand around, squinting at the same between them, hoping to catch something that must've been invisible to the naked human eye. He heard Annie sigh under her breath and then felt her brush by him and into the apartment.

Blinking, he looked back at her. She was about six feet into the apartment and giving him an annoyed glare. Overall, she seemed fine. Without taking his eyes off her, he shut the door, but still nothing happened. He waited a few seconds and, when all was still, he grinned.

"Now, was that so…"

Annie's body twitched like a bug when you stepped on it but didn't end its life. Quiet choking sounds bubbled from her throat and her eyes started to roll back into her head. Blood began to leak out of her body in several different places: her scalp, her ears, her nose, her mouth. Even random spots on her body like her shoulders and stomach and fingernails. Her pale blonde hair had noticeable red blotches in it from all the blood oozing out of her head. She blinked rapidly as blood filled up her eyes and rolled down her cheeks like tears. It was like something was tearing her from the inside out; he could almost hear the sounds of an earthquake rumbling from within her.

Panic seized his heart as he rushed forward, arms outstretched like he was a man reaching out for his lover who was being sent to the gas chambers. "No! Stop!" He grabbed her shoulders and shook her hard. "You can come in! You can come in!"

At the sound of his words, her body instantly relaxed. He could feel the blood cease through her shirt, slick and surprisingly cold on his fingertips. Another bloody tear slipped down her cheek as she furiously blinked through the redness. She then closed her eyes and took a deep breath, thankful that the pain was no more. A tiny smile twitched at her stained lips once she opened them back up.

His chest lifted in relief like the wings of a butterfly. He exhaled, hugging her close. He couldn't believe he was that close to losing her so quickly. Life was fragile and death was unpredictable, even for vampires.

"I'm sor—"

"I'm only a thief because I have to be."

Armin pulled back. Annie's gaze, a brilliant blue against a red backdrop, was stuck somewhere behind him, deep in thought.

"What?"

Her stare drifted back to his face and she sighed once more before taking one of his hands and leading him deeper into his apartment. He followed her to the kitchen table where she motioned for him to sit down. He obliged.

She loomed over him, staring silently for a while and then uttering out, "Last night, you said that you weren't a thief and that I shouldn't be one either. And…you weren't just talking about the money, I know now."

Armin rubbed his hands together anxiously. "Well—"

"I steal lives because I have to. I need blood to live and I don't like doing it, but I have to. And it's unfair of you to say that you're not a thief, Armin."

"But…But I haven't killed anyone."

"But you want to." She then stabbed a finger at him and said in a perfect reincarnation of his voice, "What are you staring at? What are you looking at, little pig? Well, go on and scream like a pig!"

He jolted at her invisible dagger. It scared him of how perfectly she could mock his voice; it was like listening to a recording of his own voice.

She lowered her weapon and, when she spoke, her tone was back to her normally emotionless voice. "Those were the first words I heard you say. You want to kill, don't you? Why else would you be stabbing that tree so aggressively? You see? I kill because I have to, but you want to kill for revenge, for justice. Or maybe, somewhere deep down, you think you have to…"

When the uneasiness failed to melt from his eyes, Annie inhaled and exhaled with thought. She tenderly placed her hands on either side of his head and gave a genuine look. Her hands were cold and he could feel the wet blood stick to the side of his face, but he dared not to turn away.

"Just be me, for a little while," she said. "See what I see."

And then something remarkable happened.

All he could see was darkness. He wasn't necessarily scared of the dark, but something wasn't right with this type of darkness. It was sharp and quick like a knife, yet bitter and ambiguous like the woods at night. There was a creeping feeling that he wasn't alone, that something sinister was there watching him, a demon preying from afar and waiting for the right moment to strike.

Soon, red waterfalls rushed from somewhere above. He looked up just in time for it to come splashing down all over him. He could not feel it, however, but he knew it covered him from head to toe. He could not smell it, but he was certain it stank of pig's blood. He imagined it would taste delicious, or maybe it wasn't at all. Perhaps it was as refreshing as a glass of water in the middle of the night, but no tastier or filling as a glass of water. Blood was the life fluid of all living things, so it petrified him to wonder of where so much blood came from. He didn't want to think if it was enough or not.

He looked around him wildly, drops of blood flinging into the dark. Where was the light in this? The loneliness was realer than both the dark and the blood, and it hurt the most. Don't leave me alone with the monsters, he wanted to scream out. Don't leave me here in this deathless death. His frantic searching soon became hopeless; why would anyone in their right mind want to stay here just to comfort him from himself? It was just him and the dark and the blood.

Just then, a flash of blond whirled into his vision. He peered closer and realized he was staring at himself. But it wasn't really him. He was taller and stronger and more handsome. It was then he knew that he was looking through Annie's eyes, through a lens of love.

He jolted out of this vision and his eyes recognized the sky-blue orbs of Annie and that same blood that stained her snow-white skin like long, curvy fingernails. He saw the cream-colored walls of his apartment behind her and her red palms cupped at the corners of his viewpoint. Smells, sounds, and the taste of his own saliva returned to him, and he was relieved yet sorrowful.

Be me for a little while.

His gaze locked itself onto Annie's as he breathed out the words, "I'm sorry."

The look he received told him everything he needed to know.

Guilt weighed heavily in his heart, but still he attempted to lighten the mood and fix what he broke. He showed Annie the bathroom and gave her a towel. "Do you need anything to get the blood off?" he asked her. She shook her head firmly like she knew exactly what she was doing, but thanked him for the assistance, nevertheless. Once he heard the shower running, he checked the space by the front door for any blooddrops and, when he didn't see any, began his slow pace around the living room.

He expected that piece of darkness to follow him, but his mind was oddly focused on her letter. "If I stay, I'll die. If I fly, I'll survive." Due to the recent chain of events, he had a scary feeling that she'd soon be flying away again. If all those blood-drained deaths were her, then the police would come knocking on her door sometime soon. What if there was a family member or a friend of one of the victims that was more hellbent on revenge than he was? It only made sense that she'd run away, so…who was he to hold her back?

The dread that filled him up was never stronger than it had been at that moment. Not when his parents divorced, not whenever he awaited Porco in the hallways. His heavy heart physically dragged him to the floor and he had to stumble back onto his feet. But this isn't about you, he reminded himself. She'll surely die if she stays. It only makes sense.

He quickly swiped at his eyes when he heard the bathroom door creak open. Annie, one hand gripping her towel while the other held her soiled clothes, waddled toward him, hair still dripping wet. As far as he could tell, not a single splotch of blood was found on her. She stopped at his side and looked around them awkwardly with her clothes held out weirdly as if she were looking for a trashcan.

He carefully took the bundle from her and then gestured to his mother's bedroom. "You can borrow one of my mom's dresses. They should be in the wardrobe."

She nodded and shuffled forward, shutting the door behind her.

It was Armin's turn to look around the apartment awkwardly. He obviously couldn't just throw away her clothes—his mother would surely find them and start asking questions. Should he attempt at washing them, getting out the stains as much as he could before returning them to Annie? But there was so much blood; how could he manage cleaning it all out?

He began wandering away when the door opened again. He glanced back and saw Annie step gingerly out of the room with an oversized red checkered shirt on (though it might as well act as a dress, considering Annie's petite size). Her hands were sucked up in the sleeves and the hem circled around her knees. She shyly smiled up at Armin and spun around slowly, posing.

Armin cracked a smile, a breathy chuckle escaping his lips. "You're very—"

He was interrupted by the familiar sound of the front door quietly rattling, a key jammed within its lock. Armin visibly shuddered. Shit.

He swiftly rushed over to Annie and reached over to shut his mother's bedroom door behind her. Annie watched him do so, not frightened at all of the presence of his mother. He then grabbed her hand and hurried down the hall, pass the front door, and into his own bedroom. He locked them both in just as his mother opened the door.

"Armin?" she called out.

"Y-Yes?" He scurried around his room like a lost duckling, not really sure of what to do beyond this point.

"Did you just take a shower?"

"Uh, yeah. I did."

"Well, you forgot to turn the fan on again."

Without saying a word, Annie took her clothes from him, darted to his window, pushed it open, and then jumped onto the windowsill. His hand stretched out to steady her, but her fingernails and toenails dramatically grew twice their size in the flip of a switch as she effortlessly swung out the window. He peeked out just in time to see her land safely on the sill of her window, toenails digging into brick to keep herself stable. She threw her head back and her lips stretched into a playful smile. He beamed back as she slithered back into her own apartment.

Luckily, his mother didn't press too many questions when she found the used towel in her room and the lack of a fan running in the foggy bathroom. Armin apologized and asked her why she was home so early. She simply got off early, she said, and Armin had to repress his disappointed frown. He returned to his bedroom shortly after kissing his mother goodnight.

He was in the middle of dressing for bed when he heard tapping and dragging on his wall. Immediately recognizing the morse code for "come", he slid to his knees on the floor and listened intently.

"C-O-M-E T-O-M-O-R-R-O-W," Annie tapped. "D-O-O-R O-P-E-N."

Tomorrow was a Saturday, and his mother had another shift in the early evening, so he would be alone before the sun went down. She said her door would be open, which meant that he could go over to her place and wait for her there while the sun was still up. And once nightfall came, they could be together once more.

With a tiny smile, he tapped back "O-K" and left his fingers lingering on the wall before eventually turning around and going to bed, already counting the hours until the next sundown.

Armin did a whole lot of nothing the next morning and afternoon, which felt entirely strange to him, for he was always doing something. He woke up around nine and, after having breakfast with his mother, finished what little homework he had that weekend. He then practiced the daily workouts Mr. Shadis had instructed him to do (which was basically a bunch of jumping jacks, pushups, and sit-ups). Lunch passed by and the next two hours he spent wandering around his apartment while thinking about Annie.

His mother kissed him goodbye around 2:30 and, once he saw her car drive out of the parking lot, he grabbed his jacket, knife, and backpack before running over to Annie's apartment.

The door was unlocked just like she said it'd be. It creaked slightly and when he closed it behind him, the entire apartment was submerged in darkness. He could still see, obviously, and wandered around the place, wondering where she'd be. He came upon the empty room where the old, lumpy mattress sat in, and he discovered a piece of paper taped to the wall above it. He lumbered over and took it off the wall.

"Hi, Armin. I am sleeping in the bathroom. Please do not come in. Yours, Annie."

His eyes automatically fell upon the shut bathroom door across the hall. Out of curiosity, he got up and tiptoed over, but he respected her request and did not open the door or disturb her slumber. Instead, he gently pressed an ear against its wooden surface, listening, waiting.

There was no sound but his own breathing and the pumping of his own blood.

He withdrew, staring at the crack beneath the door. She would be asleep for the next three or so hours, at least he thought she would. Was she aware of when it was daytime versus night or was she perfectly capable of sleeping in like everyone else? Did she actually sleep in a coffin or was that just a myth (how could she fit one inside the bathroom anyway)? Either way he let the matter be and stepped away.

He tossed Annie's note into a trashcan in the kitchen and wandered around some more. He didn't open any cabinets or drawers out of respect for Annie's privacy, but he quickly became bored. He sat down on the mattress and merely stared at the bathroom door. It was pretty pathetic, he believed, to just sit there and wait for the door to eventually open. He peeked at his wristwatch. 2:43 PM. These next few hours were going to be painfully long.

He shrugged out of his backpack, placed it on its side, and laid his head upon it, letting sleep overtake his senses.

The sound of a door closing awoke him.

He blinked once, twice, trying to let his eyes adjust to the new darkness. He looked down at his watch again. 4:39 PM. His eyes travelled up the floor and landed on the bathroom door, which was indeed closed. Was she awake? Did she go someplace else? Did she see him? But it was still daylight outside, so where did that closing door come from?

The back of his wrist rubbed at his tired eyes as he sat up. He covered his mouth with a yawn and was about to jog into the hallway when a startling noise shook his core.

Heavy boots clacking against hardwood flooring.

For a split second, he remained frozen with fear. Annie never wore shoes, much less work-boots or combat boots, which is what those footfalls sounded like. They carried weight and Annie was remarkably smaller than Armin. She admitted that her father—no, a complete stranger—had died in the hospital while trying to collect blood for her. She drank his instead, so those noises didn't belong to him.

A random person just snuck into Annie's apartment, all because he forgot to lock the front door behind him.

Scrambling to his feet all while trying to be quieter than the air around them, Armin darted into the darkest corner of the room. That won't be enough, he told himself. His blond hair and pale hands would give him away in this blackness. So, he flipped up his coat hoodie, spun around, and covered his face with his hands, praying that his dark clothing would act as camouflage in this setting.

He listened to the floor creak under the newcomer's weight and his heart beat wildly out of control with each step that came closer. Would they hear it, his heart? He clamped down on his mouth, trying not to breathe. It was too much noise.

He heard a few more steps before they stopped altogether. Everything in his body ceased—his heart, his blood flow, his lungs—and a sickening horror settled deep in his stomach. He doesn't see me, he doesn't see me, he tried telling himself. But no matter how many times he hammered it into his brain, calmness never eased his trembling bones.

He waited for a knife to sink into his neck or a gun to go off and true darkness envelope him. The horrible silence was so long and painful that he almost wished that one of the two would happen, so he wouldn't have to stand there and wait. But death swept by him like a gentle breeze and the footsteps began again, this time heading away from him.

He swallowed down a deep breath and peeked back. It was just him and the mattress and his backpack. His eyebrows crinkled in puzzlement. His backpack was there, a valuable item to scavenge if you were a robber. Armin's ears strained to hear the footfalls, echoing from the kitchen, but he failed to hear any opening of drawers or rummaging around the precious artifacts sitting right there on that coffee table.

He wasn't here to steal, Armin realized with a new type of terror, he was here to kill.

Armin didn't know how or why he believe that, but why else would a stranger enter someone's apartment by themselves (a very inexpensive and shabby-looking apartment) and not take anything? They were here for a purpose, a lethal one. And if they were here, then they must've known who lived here. It was either the man helping Annie or Annie herself. Perhaps this person was a friend or family member of one of the bloodless victims, and they were here to enact revenge. Either way, Annie's immortal life was in danger and he had to do something.

He gathered what little courage he had and flew for his backpack. With careful yet quivering fingers, he quietly unzipped one of its side pockets and pulled out his switchblade. He flicked it open and stared at its shiny blade, a gleam of hope in the swelling darkness.

This was it. This was the chance he'd been craving for a long time. Sure, it wasn't Porco, the kid he yearned to rain his own vengeance upon, but it was here and he wouldn't let it fly out the window. He didn't go to all those weight-lifting classes for nothing, nor did he imagine draining the life out of his enemies by sacrificing the bodies of trees. He had to do this, he was going to do this.

He crawled to the edge of the open threshold and waited there for the moment to strike. The footsteps were inconsistent, pausing and moving at random times. He's looking for something specific. He doesn't know this place. He really is here to kill her.

Armin considered calling for help for a moment but debunked the idea. Based on all those criminology and serial murderer books he read, calling for help almost never worked. Either no one came at all or they arrived too late. And he was just a kid, a little twelve-year-old boy who happened to have a knife. He couldn't get far unless he really caught him off guard. Besides, if people came to his aid, they would discover Annie and then everything would truly be over.

His eyes strayed on the bathroom door only three steps away from him. Was she still in there, sleeping as soundly as a baby, completely unaware of what was happening right outside her door? He recalled the warning in her note. What would happen if it was tested?

The footsteps came closer to Armin and Annie, and Armin crouched into himself, hoodie still up, knife cradled in his grasp. He waited another year for the man to slowly enter his field of vision at last.

He was unfamiliar to Armin. He had an odd haircut, sandy layers on top and a dark undercut beneath. His facial features were pointed and long, but nothing to the extent of Annie's Romanesque structure. He had small eyes and a faint beard etching away at his chin and jawline. He wore dark clothing and had on those heavy lumberjack boots that sent shivers down Armin's spine. In between his fingers, he spotted a knife, but it was longer and curved. A hunting knife, made to cut and dice flesh with effortless grace.

This man believed himself to be a fox, hunting down a reckless cat, but little did he know that the cat was a black panther, a mountain lion with teeth and claws sharper than his knife.

Armin, fear tightening his muscles and organs, watched the man eye the closed bathroom door and hesitate a moment or two before slowly wrapping his hand around the doorknob. The door made little noise as it slowly fell back and the man let himself in. Armin stood on his jelly-like legs and raised his knife, but his curious dead cat self got the best of him.

It was even darker in the bathroom, black and silent as midnight. Armin saw the man fiddle with the light beside the wall, but nothing came of it. A tiny window, covered with sheets of parchment paper, was positioned near the ceiling and Armin could make out the glossy whiteness of a small tub. It was filled with something, he realized, something dark and loose.

The back of the tall man concealed most of his view, but with each step he took, Armin got to see more. Curiosity played with his brain as well, for he squatted down and lowered his hunting knife. His hand reached for the dark things overflowing the tub and when he plucked one of them off, Armin recognized it to be a simple T-shirt. Clothes. Black clothes filled up the tub.

The man continued digging through the clothes, setting them on the ground beside him. He eventually stopped, staring at something else in the tub. Armin's heart began racing again when he reached down and pulled up a strand of greasy blonde hair.

Annie.

Armin took two quiet steps forward as the man muttered to himself "You little bitch" in a spiteful tone. Armin was right: he was here for retaliation and now he found it.

The man's head tilted up toward the concealed window. He groaned "I can't see shit" under his breath and just as his hand extended forward to peel back the thin layers of parchment from the window, Armin's rising dread finally spoke.

"No!"

The man's head whipped back toward him, startled by his sudden loud shout. Somewhere in the tub, a low snarl rippled through the air, but the intruder was too distracted by Armin's appearance to pay attention to it. A deep frown creased the man's thin lips as he shoved his knife in Armin's direction, who was shakingly holding his switchblade in the air, uncertainty somehow holding him back from driving it down.

"Hey!" the man barked. "Who are—"

A ruthless screech, like that of a cat attacking its prey, cut off any potential conversation and Armin saw something that looked like Annie emerge from her makeshift coffin and pounce on the man's back. She had her bright blonde hair and bright blue eyes, but the color of those orbs were too bright. They were reflective and translucent, a cold shade of winter ice. He watched those eyes lock onto the stranger above her as her teeth—oh God, what big teeth she had—sunk into the side of his neck.

Her lips were gone, pulled back into her sickly pale skin, and was replaced with rows of sharp, yellowed teeth. It reminded Armin of a shark's mouth, large and razor-sharp. It took up nearly the bottom half of her face—he couldn't tell where her jawline started or where her strong chin was—and he figured she could stuff his whole head in that abyss-like mouth if she wanted to. Her nose seemed like a snout and her fingernails stretched out into claws. He thought even the tips of her ears pointed outward like an elf or goblin. Her face resembled that of a bat—all she was missing was the fuzzy fur and large, leathery wings.

Blood spurted from the man's neck as he unleashed a painful scream. He dropped his knife in his terror and wrapped his hands around Annie's thin arms which were tightly sealed around his collarbone. He tried removing her nails that were burrowed deep into his chest, but they would not budge. He twisted around, knocking her against the bathroom walls, attempting at anything to get her off him. But she merely held on tighter, her legs curling around his sides, her long toenails sinking into his flesh. She ripped her mouth away and a chunk of red meat tore out of the man's neck, landing with a wet slapping sound on the tilted flooring. He screamed and she went to the other side of his throat.

Absolutely petrified, Armin lowered his weapon and took two steps back. There was so much blood; it was filling up the room quickly. With each bite Annie took, more fluid came bursting out of the seams like she knew where each artery was located on his body. The man, weakened greatly and undeniably terrified for his life, was soon showered in his own blood as if he just stepped in from a rainy day. There was a little over a gallon of blood in a full-grown adult's body, Armin knew, but it seemed like there was so much more. The textbooks had it all wrong—there were oceans of red dwelling within them all.

Not wanting to see what came next, Armin's trembling fingers brushed against the bathroom door and gently closed it, letting the man's screams, the thumping around, and Annie's chopping mouth muffle behind it.

His vision swam and his breathing became heavy. He squeezed his eyes shut and focused on his breathing, moving away from the bathroom door and into the open living room. There he stood, trying to drown out the screams and awful noises radiating from down the hall. His mind wandered to what was happening in there, but he steered away from the ideas that made his stomach churn.

"Calm down," he told himself in panted breaths. "Don't think about it."

He peeked down at the switchblade still clutched in his hands. He noticed a tiny drop of blood near the tip and the sight of it made him recoil. It was so strange that after all those times imagining of watching Porco's blood spill from his guts that when he came to the real thing, he realized he never wanted to see it at all.

He tossed the knife away, watching it bounce across the carpet and hit against the wall. He wasn't a killer, and he never would be.

He was so wrapped up in his inner understanding that he failed to realize that the sounds had quieted down, and that the bathroom door had opened again. It was another few seconds before he felt a pair of arms fold over him, hanging loosely on his torso.

His head turned swiftly to the side. He saw Annie's chin resting on his shoulder, her triangular nose poking out between the matted strands. Residues of the avenger coated her lips, chin, and cheeks (which was no longer the tiny yet vicious resemblance of a vampire bat), and he could feel the blood on her fingers soak through his T-shirt. Her body was cold, as always, but the feel of it was enough to comfort him.

"Thank you," she mumbled into his shoulder.

He looked at her crimson lips, so red that they were almost black. Her teeth, her deadly fangs were so close to his flesh. Just a slight head tilt down and she could sink them right in; he was the perfect prey, for he was so small, so weak compared to her. But despite this subtle hazard, he didn't feel threatened at all. He knew she wouldn't hurt him; even if it killed her, she wouldn't touch a single hair on his head.

He slipped out of her embrace and faced her in all her bloody glory. She stared back at him with a sad, exhausted look in her eyes. "Who was that?" he whispered as though he were afraid of the answer.

She shrugged, glancing at his fallen knife in the corner of the room. "I don't know his name, but I remember seeing his face a few nights ago. It was the night when we were in the basement."

Her eyes flicked up at him and then turned away quickly. His stomach churned in regret and he tried not to dwell on what he tried doing that night.

"After you cut yourself, I ran toward town. I was really hungry, so much that my stomach hurt and I felt really weak. I didn't want to hurt you, so I ran as far as I could and waited in the trees for someone else to come. Eventually two boys came. One of them had short dark hair and freckles and I jumped on him. I was pushed away by him"—here Annie motioned toward the bathroom with a limp arm—"before I could drain the other boy. So, he's either a vampire or dead at this point." She paused in thought. "If that guy came for me, then he's probably dead now."

Armin simply stared at her in bewilderment. She spoke of all this like it's happened before, that she regularly got strangers coming after her for dooming their loved ones for a fate worse than death.

Her shoulder slumped as she muttered the words he knew were coming but didn't want to hear: "People are starting to notice me. I can't stay here anymore."

As if to confirm this, a neighbor from above started banging their foot and yelling at them to stop making so much noise. Their eyes glanced upwards and then slowly drifted down to the floor like autumn leaves. Armin tried containing the bubbling sorrow rapidly filling his chest; he blinked away the burning sensation in his eyes before looking back up at her.

"When are you leaving?" he mumbled through a clogged throat.

"Probably tonight. If I stay, I'll die, and if you're with me, then you will too." She studied his face and a mournful expression overcame her features. "I'm sorry. I have to go."

"I-I know."

He swallowed a sob, and she placed her hands on his stiff shoulders. They relaxed naturally at her touch and his eyes lifted to meet hers. She hesitated before repeating "Thank you" and leaned in to kiss him.

She kept her eyes open, but he closed his, a single tear rolling down his cheek as he did so. The blood tasted like rust or iron, but her lips were soft and sweet. Their mouths and bodies didn't move like how they did in the movies. Instead, they stayed locked, just enjoying one another's closeness rather than the sensual aspect of it. He could feel Annie's breath pushing against his nose and it reminded him of the snow, gentle and cold. It was clear that this was a first from both of them, but nevertheless, it was pleasant and felt right.

A soft smacking sound left their lips when Annie withdrew. Armin's eyes stayed closed for a moment or two afterwards, letting the feeling on her lips on him burrow deep. His eyelids fluttered open when her hands slipped from his shoulders. She looked at him with an apologetic yet expected expression. His heart dropped again. Oh, right.

She followed him as he trailed back to retrieve his backpack, purposefully leaving his switchblade behind (Annie didn't mention it, so she must've known why he made that decision). He kept his gaze on his feet when he passed the bathroom and tried to ignore the strong smell of metallic wafting from that room. Was she just going to leave the body there? He didn't want to dwindle on the thought for long but he didn't want to think about Annie leaving either. There was no escape from the heartbreak and stinging anxiety this time.

Once he stepped outside her apartment, he turned to stare at her until she quietly shut the door, leaving him alone in the hallway. He continued to stand there as he listened to her rummage around and pack things up. He considered knocking and asking if he could at least help her get situated, but knowing her, she'd refuse the help. So, he kept standing there, silent and still as a statue, until his consciousness told him to go back home.

He shuffled his feet into his apartment and wandered to his bedroom, dropping his backpack and locking the door along the way. This time, he didn't hold back the overwhelming loneliness from taking control of his heart and brain. He stood at his window, looking out into the falling snow through his blurred vision. He saw his own reflection and the faint bloodstains that caked his thin lips and white T-shirt. He wouldn't wipe it away until morning, he told himself, for he felt closer to her this way.

There he stood for nearly two hours, waiting for something to happen. For her to knock on the door, for her to tap on the wall, for her messy head to poke into his view and ask him if she could be let in. Rationality told him none of those things were going to happen, but he still had that sliver of hope. That hope shattered when he saw a taxi drive up to the entrance of the apartment complex and Annie's blonde head peek into his line of sight.

With a deflating heart, he watched her go the same way she came into his life. He watched her shove her one suitcase into the backseat before hopping in and closing the door. He watched her face, shielded by shadow, turn up towards his window, stare for a second or two, and then move back down. He watched the car wheel away, leaving fresh tire tracks in the packed snow.

As the salt of his tears curved into his ajar mouth, he pressed his palm against the cool windowpane and feel the numbness enter his heart again.

Only two nights had passed since she left but the lasting affect seemed longer. He felt like she had been gone for years, yet he could still recall the way her hair fell around her shoulders or the way her eyes drifted about the floor when she didn't know what to say. It was like she was lost in a war or in a terrible accident; it didn't feel like she deliberately left him behind.

His mother hadn't noticed a difference in him, nor did Miss Ral or anyone else for that matter. Not like he wanted anyone to ask him what was wrong in the first place, he just wanted to feel noticed like how Annie made him feel. But it was immature to think such thoughts, so he tried his best to go about his schoolwork and chores without thinking of what could've been. It wasn't like he hadn't felt like this before; he could deal with it.

He focused on that swimming lesson he would have that night with Mr. Shadis. He wanted to get stronger (for his own sake or Annie's, it was hard to tell) and things had been going well with his gym teacher. After Mr. Shadis had gotten over the fact that the wimpiest, scrawniest kid in the eighth grade wanted to attend his weight-lifting classes, he encouraged Armin to do more. Sure, his arms were still as small as the rest of him and he still struggled with lifting his own jammed backpack, but Armin had felt a difference in his strength and thought he saw his biceps getting bigger. It boosted whatever little self-esteem he had, and he agreed to meet up with his teacher at the school's swimming pool around 6:30 PM.

The school was pretty busy that night (at least the gym was). Kids littered by the bleachers or swam in the pool, practicing their backstrokes or just splashing around. Armin was a little uncomfortable with so many kids around to watch him flail around the water like a freaked-out cat. He would just have to concentrate on himself and Mr. Shadis's booming voice.

Several boys walked in and out of the boys' locker room as Armin changed into his swimming trunks. He couldn't recall their faces and was a little comforted by that, but when he began to file out of the locker room, he couldn't help but to notice a familiar voice call out his name and to feel a spark of fright ignite in his chest.

"Hi, Armin."

He turned his head and found Floch standing by a corner locker, wearing a light jacket and swimming trunks. He was shoving a bag in his locker and peeking over his shoulder at him. His expression was tight, uncomfortable, but there was effort in his voice as if he were genuinely trying to make conversation with him. He shut the tiny door and waved a meek hand at him.

Armin's eyes scanned the rest of the locker room. He couldn't spot Marlowe or Porco's face among the many little boys roaming around the small room. He looked back at Floch whose skinny lips were formed into a tight, white line. This was just as uneasy for him as it was for Armin. Was he really just saying hi? His other friends weren't around. Maybe, just maybe, he really was just saying hi.

He nodded his head once in greeting. "H-Hi."

The corner of Floch's lips tilted in the slightest at his response.

The door of the locker room open and Armin heard Mr. Shadis's voice: "Armin, you coming? Your lesson is about to start."

He faced his teacher, back as straight as a flag pole. "Yes, sir." He threw one more glance at Floch and waved back before exiting out of the locker room.

Armin had never been a huge fan of swimming (mainly because he didn't know how). The smell of chlorine slammed him like a brick wall and he repeatedly told himself that he wouldn't drown. He'd gotten stronger, he could do this. And, if worse came to worse, then Mr. Shadis would save him.

They started at one end of the pool, the end where he could stand up in and the water lapped around his mid-torso. Mr. Shadis stood above him in his usual green T-shirt and black basketball shorts, a whistle around his neck. He instructed him on how to stay afloat in deep water, how to perform a butterfly, and did some breathing exercises with him so he could hold his breath longer while underwater. When both Mr. Shadis and Armin felt comfortable enough, they moved to the other end of the pool, a six foot drop that Armin had to constantly kick around to stay above the water.

Mr. Shadis reminded him of what he was just taught and moved with him as he slowly swam from one corner to the other. When he finished his first lap, Mr. Shadis applauded him a job well done and was about to gesture for him to do it again when Floch came running up to his side.

Armin rubbed his eyes and peered up at him. Floch's brown eyes were wide as he mumbled into Mr. Shadis's ear. His gym teacher's sullen gaze widened as well and then he abruptly turned away, marching toward the pool's exit.

"The hell you mean the dumpster's on fire?" he barked to no one in particular. He grabbed a lone jacket that was sitting on the bleachers, shrugged into it, and then he was gone, storming down the hallway before turning to the school's back door.

Armin's eyebrows crinkled in confusion. There was a dumpster on fire? How did that happen? Did Mr. Shadis need help?

His eyes peered up at Floch, who now had replaced his teacher's spot. He looked down at him and shrugged comically. He then smoothed back his red hair and made an angry face at him, mimicking their gym teacher.

"The hell you mean the dumpster's on fire?" he mocked in a gruff voice as if he'd been smoking a pack a day.

Armin giggled at his impersonation and lapped over to him, gripping the edge of the pool to keep himself afloat. Floch kept his hair back as he waltzed around, telling random kids to drop down and give him twenty. Armin couldn't help but laugh. It helped soften the numbness in his heart, but it was quickly betrayed once the door whipped back open and three boys came striding in.

He immediately recognized Porco's hard face, his left ear wrapped in white bandages. Marlowe, as usual, trailed behind with his head down in shame. But instead of Floch between them, there was a taller, broader boy who had the same hard face as Porco. His hair and eyes were darker and, although he never met him in person, Armin knew exactly who he was.

"Everyone, get out!" this taller boy demanded, sweeping his hand across.

The room, which was only filled with kids at this point, seemed to know who this boy was too, for they scurried away like frightened mice at the claws of a nasty feline. Armin, filled with his own dread, went to push himself out of the water, but one look at Floch above him sent him back, his heart dropping to the bottom of the pool.

Floch's face, which was ridiculing Mr. Shadis's just a moment ago, was now set into an indifferent look, his monotone frown and unblinking eyes telling Armin that this was all for him. There was no escape; this is where he would surely die.

"I said get out!" the boy's voice echoed again, sending violent shivers down Armin's spine.

More children scampered out of the pool and practically ran for the exit. Some didn't even bother to grab their backpacks or towels before darting away. Just as the three boys planted themselves in front of Armin, they were the only ones in the room. Armin was so scared that he could barely keep his grip on the edge of the pool steady—he tried holding himself away from the edge as far as possible, but the further he got away, the more his limbs shook. There was no escape.

The tall boy studied Armin's terrified expression for a while before crouching down. Armin flinched, bracing himself for a punch in the face, but he merely smirked at him, which was somehow scarier.

"Hey," the boy said. "Do you know who I am?"

Very slowly, Armin nodded. "Y-Yes."

His name was Marcel Galliard, and he was Porco's older brother. He heard the rumors of him bashing kids' noses in, carving his initials into their bellies. He once heard that he knocked three teeth out of a guy's mouth, leaving his jaw a bloody mess. How he wasn't arrested at this point, Armin didn't know, but he was aware that he was sixteen-years-old, strong as an ox, and that he was coming after him for cutting Porco's ear off.

Marcel grinned. "Good. So, we can skip the introductions. I'm assuming you already know why I'm here?"

Armin exchanged quick glances with the irritated Porco, who was glaring at him like he was the very scum of the earth. Armin settled back on Marcel's levelled gaze. "Yes."

"Great. Now, we're gonna make things interesting here; I'm gonna let you decide your fate." He reached into his back pocket and brought out a nice, sharp switchblade, similar to the one Armin used to carry. Its blade gleamed under the fluorescent lights and Armin audibly gulped.

"Either I slice and dice you right here, right now or you stay underwater for, let's say, three minutes, and I'll let you go with only one eye." He gestured to Porco behind him. "An eye for an ear, you know."

Floch diverted his gaze to the side, avoiding the horror-stricken expression Armin possessed while Marlowe sighed heavily and went to go sit on the bleachers, his head in his hands. The fear was so heavy in Armin's frail, little body that he felt as if he were standing naked amongst the winter trees, snow quickly burying him alive. He couldn't move, couldn't speak. There was nothing to do but let nature take its course and take control of his body. But still he tried to defy what was meant to be.

"But-But that's impossible," he whimpered.

"I don't care. You do it or I cut you up into ribbons, got it?" Marcel reached forward and grabbed a fistful of Armin's hair, yanking him toward him. Armin let out a choked squeak, his throat ramming into the edge of the pool, his scalp already burning by Marcel's strong grip.

"Better take a deep breath, kid," Marcel warned as he started backwards from five, each passing digit as loud and daunting as a gong.

Armin's eyes whirled around, trying to catch anything that just might help him, but all he saw were the Galliard brothers' unmerciful faces, the avoided stares of Floch and Marlowe, and the empty room behind them. This was it. This was how he would die, in a place he always dreaded and at the hands of his long-lasting enemy.

Marcel uttered "two" and then shoved Armin under the water, preventing him from taking that last breath of life.

Chlorine and his own heartbeat echoed against his eardrums as he squinted into the darkened water, Marcel's grasp on his hair still tight. As a way of taming his inner turmoil, he attempted counting the seconds until his three minutes were up (or until he blacked out, whichever came first). But he kept on losing count, his fear clouding his mind like a thick fog. He didn't want to die, not like this. Please God, there had to be another way.

Once his lungs began to catch on fire, he struggled, wriggling around helplessly in Marcel's grasp, but his eventual killer had no mercy. In fact, his fingernails dug in deeper and Armin felt himself being pushed down further. A round of bubbles escaped his mouth as he let out a silent scream. His instincts told him to reach up and grab at Marcel's hand, but he was afraid that he'd drive that shiny switchblade into his head if he did that. So, he tried his best to stay in place and wait for unconsciousness to take over, but his body would betray him, and he'd jerk around every once in a while, like dog caught in a bad dream.

He then heard something from above, a high-pitched scream, a prolonged cry. It was muffled and echoey there under the water, so he couldn't tell who it came from. He tried looking up, but Marcel's grip prohibited him from doing so. More screams filled the space above, things being dragged around. Through his strained lungs, Armin found a flash of hope. Maybe he wouldn't die here after all.

As if to confirm that there indeed was another presence besides those four boys, Armin noticed a pair of legs splash into the water on the other side of the pool, kicking wildly as they moved rapidly across the wide body of water. They moved so fast that Armin knew someone was dragging them across the water, but at an inhuman speed (Armin didn't even think Mr. Shadis could pull someone that swiftly through water). The legs were then snatched out of the water and, two seconds later, Floch's head sank to the bottom of the pool, a long misty trail of blood following it.

Armin's eyes burned as they widened in shock.

The hushed screams went on, a chorus of fear and anger. Out of the corner of his eye, a splash of red clouded the blue water next to him, but no body part fell in with it. Armin was tempted to extend his fingers toward the surface to wave for help, but before he could finish the thought, Marcel's grip suddenly loosened, and he watched his severed arm drift away from him.

His eyes were glued to Marcel's arm, peering at the red chunks and round bone that stuck out from his pale limb. Like with Floch's head, hazy blood wafted from the stump and clouded Armin's vision. He was so frozen in astonishment that he failed to realize that the screams had stopped and that he was free of Marcel's clutches. He didn't realize what was happening until he was physically pulled out of the pool and laid across the slippery tilted flooring.

He squeezed his eyes shut and coughed violently, spitting up blobs of chlorine water. His lungs burned some more as he finally swallowed down some much-needed oxygen, but it was a good kind of burning. It meant he was alive; he wouldn't be drowning today.

The small, cold hands that hauled him out of the pool now assisted him into a sitting position. Those hands were so pleasantly familiar. He once felt them gently stroke his skin and wove into his own hands; these same hands were the ones who ripped off Marcel's arm and tore Floch's head off from his shoulders. He should be afraid, yet he couldn't help but to feel whole and loved.

"Armin?"

He coughed again and then slowly opened his eyes. The first thing and the only thing he needed to see was Annie's ice blue eyes, locked on him, driven by mad fear. She looked more scared than he felt just moments ago. Spatters of blood were spewed across her snow-white face and he could see the tips of her sharp fangs peek between her ajar lips.

A warm smile spread across his cheeks, as warm as his heart felt. "You came back," he breathed.

The worry in her eyes melted and was replaced by the unbreakable love they shared for one another. She rested her forehead against his, closed her eyes, and breathed a sigh of relief. They sat there like that for a moment or two before Annie murmured to his lips, "We should go."

Armin couldn't agree more. He let her guide them back through the boys' locker room, holding her tiny hand tightly. He didn't see the bodies of Floch, Porco, and Marcel lying in their separate pools of blood, body parts tossed around the room like pieces of food that were left behind. He didn't see Marlowe, untouched, sitting by the bleachers, gawking at his dead friends. All he saw was Annie and he wouldn't let her out of his sight ever again.

Armin peered out the train's window, watching the snow gently fall. The trees were bare but all the more beautiful. Everything was silent, calm, peaceful. Things hadn't felt like this in a while and he relished in the feeling.

His attention was pulled away when the light sound of someone tapping on wood distracted him. His eyes fell on the large wooden box beside him. He listened to the knocking some more, hearing the morse code taps and drags.

"K-I-S-S" is what she said.

Armin smiled at the box, leaned forward, and replied back, "S-M-A-L-L K-I-S-S."

He let his fingers linger on the box and he could faintly feel a small press from the inside. The love seeped through the wood and travelled up his arm and then settled into his heart. It had the impact of a tidal wave and he breathed out a contented sigh.

How powerful a small kiss could be from such a strange little girl.