This is definitely a "post now edit later" situation, lol. I was tired of working on this, and I wanted to get something posted sooner rather than later.
I'm sorry to say the kiss in this chapter is not between Armin and Annie. It'll happen soon, I promise!
Armin's parents don't have canon names, as far as I know, so I chose to name them Ingrid and Arnold. Also, I have no idea if they died before or after Armin met Eren. I went with the former, but it's not a big deal.
Armin sat down on a bench not far from the barracks, trying to find some comfort in the first stars emerging in the twilight sky, the gentle evening breeze, and the rustling of the pale green leaves in the grove where he and his fellow cadets practiced fighting titans. The beautiful scene lifted his spirits and lightened the heaviness in his chest, but only a little. The bitterness and sweetness of the moment chafed against each other, and he felt a rawness that he was compelled to hide, especially since everyone else—well, almost everyone—was so happy, and as for those who weren't, he didn't want to bother them.
Today, Wednesday, was the day with the most mail deliveries. This, Armin had deduced, was because many families preferred to save their letter writing for the weekends, and it took a few days for the piles of correspondence to be gathered, sorted, and finally delivered. Upon arrival, these batches of mail made the barracks come alive. Cadets would steal each other's letters and read them aloud, causing their comrades to burst out laughing and egging the reader on as the original recipient tried desperately to reclaim their mail. The rowdiest incident so far had been Connie's dramatic reading of a letter from Jean's mother. It had been almost a year, and Jean still hadn't lived it down. (He had, however, gotten much better at hiding his mail.) Another time, when Marco received a box of cookies from his sister, Sasha had stared at him with shimmering puppy-dog eyes until he broke down and shared with everyone. The memory of the chocolate chips melting in his hand and the cookie crumbling in his mouth still made Armin smile.
At the same time, it was hard not to feel sad, even a little jealous, when his comrades received regular tokens of love from their families. And though he knew his reaction was normal, even common, he still felt deeply lonely. When they missed Grisha and Carla, Eren and Mikasa could take comfort in each other and their shared memories of life in the Yeager household. But only Armin was left to remember his parents, who had died before he met his best friends. No one had been kissed goodnight by Ingrid Arlert. No other living person had been carried on Arnold Arlert's shoulders, or fallen asleep to the sound of his humming, or watched him putter around his workshop in the basement of their house.
It hurt so much.
Bowing his head and closing his eyes, Armin let his memories carry him off. He was trying to recall what his mother's handwriting looked like when the sound of footsteps roused him from his reverie. He looked up to find Annie walking toward him. The sight of her made him both happy and sad, though he didn't fully understand why. He greeted her with a wave and a small smile.
"You're out later than usual," he said.
"So are you."
Armin hummed in agreement. Normally, he spent his evenings studying, resting, or hanging out in the barracks with his friends—not sitting outside alone, trying to lose himself in the past.
"So what, then?" Annie asked, shoving her hands into her pockets.
"Huh?"
"What's got you sitting out here by yourself?"
"Oh." Armin paused, nonplussed. It was rare for Annie to respond when spoken to, and almost unheard of for her to continue a conversation of her own accord. He didn't want his silly problems to ruin this precious moment. But he couldn't leave Annie's unusual gesture unanswered, either. "Um. It's… It's nothing, really."
Armin took Annie's soft "hmph" to mean she saw right through him, so he continued, "I just get kinda sad sometimes when the mail comes."
"Because your family's gone."
"Yeah."
After a moment, Annie took a few steps closer until she was leaning against the back of the bench. She tilted her head back to look at the sky and then asked, "Did they die when the wall fell?"
Armin shook his head. "My grandfather escaped with me, but he died in the operation to retake Wall Maria. My parents died a few years before that. No one really knows what happened. Sometimes I heard them talking about going outside the walls. I wonder if they made it, in the end."
I wonder if they thought what they saw out there was worth it.
I hope so.
"You seem like the kind of person who had doting parents."
In spite of himself, Armin chuckled. "Yeah. I did." Then, carefully, he asked, "What about you?"
He worried his question would scare Annie off, but—as she often did—she surprised him: she answered, with subtle warmth in her voice, "My father taught me how to fight. He made me strong."
"He must love you a lot."
"Yes," Annie said, so quietly Armin could barely hear her.
The thought came to him then that he had never seen any mail for Annie; but not wanting to pry, and knowing how complicated even loving family relationships could be, he filed the observation away. For now, he simply said, "Thanks for listening, Annie. I'm glad we could talk."
Again, she replied with a quiet "hmph," but he could have sworn he saw a tiny smile cross her face. Then, almost as an afterthought, she said, "You're not so bad to listen to," and for a fleeting moment, Armin didn't feel quite as alone.