**I know y'all are thinking "I already know this song and it's by Lady Gaga and it's weird that you chose that song for a fucking Aruani fanfic" but you need to listen to Halestorm's cover, okay? Lady Gaga's a blessing, I know, but Halestorm's lead singer, Lzzy Hale, is what I imagined Annie's voice would sound like when I first read the manga. Low, throaty, and dangerously sexy. So shut up, don't judge me, and listen to the cover. Thank you!

Also I live for Attack on Titan high school version, so you guys know where this is going. I was inspired to do this not only for the song, but a very dear friend of mine wrote a JeanMarco fanfic along similar circumstances and now I wanna copy her. Enjoy!**

"Armin, if I hear you whine about that damn chemistry exam one more time, I'm gonna punch you in the dick."

"Why are you always threatening to punch me in the dick?"

"Because you're a little bitch that won't stop whining!"

Eren went to throw his fist at Armin's crotch, but Mikasa quickly swiped it away. She lightly pushed his arm away and glared.

"Stop it, Eren." Her voice was light and mothering. Armin knew that tone wouldn't work on thick-skulled Eren—it was like watching a mother calmly tell her toddler to stop throwing a temper-tantrum at the grocery store while she merely turned to look at the prices of bread, the child screaming at the top of his lungs and whirling his arms around like a water sprinkler.

She then faced Armin. The corners of her black lips lifted a little as she murmured, "I'll study with you tomorrow morning if you want."

"I will, too," Marco jumped in. He threw his head back and adjusted his round glasses. "It's only over gases and the kinetic molecular theory. Shouldn't be too hard."

"Literally only you and Armin would think that's not hard," Connie muttered, glaring a little at Marco. "I don't even know half the thingies on the periodic table."

"That's because you're dumb, Connie," Sasha chirped like a bird. She was walking beside Armin with her hands behind her back and her long ponytail swished from side to side, occasionally brushing against Armin's shoulder. "It's in your nature not to know things."

Connie then aimed his glare back at Sasha. "Who fucking told you to speak?"

"Now, I'm annoying, remember? That means it's within my nature to talk all the time."

He shrugged and then stuffed his hands in his hoodie pocket. "True. Ya got me there."

"It's Professor Hanji, though," Armin said, going back to the previous topic. "She's bound to put some random questions on the test like atomic structure or chemical bonding and not even know she went off topic. She's unpredictable like that."

He chewed on his fingernails anxiously and peeked at his phone. 10:12 PM. It was already so dark out and he pressed his arms into his sides whenever the chilly October air blew too hard. The band was supposed to start playing at 10:30 but who knew if they actually stuck to a schedule or not? He didn't know when it would all end and, being in a bar, there was bound to be reckless drunks and sketchy folks who stood way too close to you and purred inappropriate desires into your ear. This definitely wasn't his scene and the nervousness built up in his chest the closer they got.

When he lumbered into the garage earlier that day and told his mother that Marco had invited the gang to a bar to see his boyfriend, Jean, play in a band he was in, his mother only asked two questions: is Eren and Mikasa going and where exactly was this bar at? Once he answered "Yes" and "Over on Marely Street; I think it's called Warriors", she smiled at him.

"Okay, have fun, sweetie!" she called as she ran her giant saw again, sparks leaping, metal teeth screeching.

He frowned at her and told her he had an exam tomorrow morning at 8 AM sharp. She responded in her usual breathy tone that she knew he was smart enough to avoid obvious no-no's and that his only responsibility was to bring Eren back home safe and sound or else she'd hear it from Carla (she added this part in a tiny pout as if the only conversations the two mothers had was over Eren's uncontrollable idiocy).

"You're always either stuffed up in your room or at the library," she declared, smiling again, "studying for something through a book or newspaper article. A lot of true knowledge comes from experience, you know—sorry to burst your bubble, but you can't learn everything from the pages of a book. Go out, have fun, and grab some cute boy or girl's phone number while you're at it."

"Mom!"

She ran the machine again when he started to complain. He saw her big clear blue eyes behind those giant goggles, and she pointed to her ears and shook her head. "I can't hear you" she mouthed to him and he knew then that it was hopeless.

So here he was, panicking on the inside as he followed the slowly gathering crowd of excited college students to a small bar further down the street.

"Aw, wah." Eren looked at him with a puppy dog look on his face, a hint of irritation in his eyes. "Do you need a wah-bulance?"

Armin rolled his eyes at the stupid comment he'd been making since they were twelve. "Marco," he called ahead, "if you really don't mind—"

"No, yeah, of course!" The freckled boy raised his thumb in the air and smiled warmly. "Wanna meet by the arts and sciences hall at, let's say, seven?"

He nodded, grateful for the friendship of Marco Bodt. "That's sounds great. Thank you."

"Not a problem," he answered as Sasha threw her arm around Armin's shoulders.

"Don't worry, I'll protect you from Eren," she whispered before purposely stepping on the back of Eren's shoe. He stumbled forward and knocked into Mikasa. Armin could only see the back of her silky black hair, tied into pigtails on either side of her head, but he knew she was blushing furiously at the slight touch of Eren.

"Fuck off, Sasha."

"Ooh, fuck off, Sasha."

"Look, there's Ymir and Historia!" Marco blurted out before the two could start a fight. He waved his hand in big arcs and Armin could make out a tiny blonde by the doors of the bar wave back in the same manner. She was leaning against a tall girl who had her arms crossed and a little smirk across her face as if she had some sarcastic comments already tucked up her sleeves.

The group waited for two cars to pass by before jogging across the street, slick from that day's earlier rain. Voices grew louder and Armin could hear a guitar shredding itself apart from inside the bar. Whiffs of cigarette smoke and alcohol drifted up his nostrils and he scrunched them in disgust.

"Hey, you guys!" Marco greeted. "What's up?"

"Nothing much," Historia answered, inspecting her red fingernails. "Saw Berthold and Marlowe walk in a few minutes ago. They said they'll grab some drinks for us."

"Don't worry, Conman," Ymir grinned, patting his head, "I made sure that they got you your apple juice."

He swatted her hand away with a frown. "That's right, you better because your weekly stash of marijuana may dramatically decrease if I don't get my fucking apple juice."

"Man, what monster-sized cockroach crawled up your ass this morning?"

"Always a pleasure, Ymir," Sasha interrupted, hopping in front of Connie before he did something stupid. "Aren't you the bartender here?"

Ymir groaned. "I'm on break now. If you got something to tell the manager, tell him it was Porco. I'm trying to get the motherfucker fired; guy's always got a stick up his ass."

"Note taken, but I was wondering if you'd be my guide for drinks tonight. I'm looking for fruity and delicious."

Armin grimaced. Having Ymir recommend you drinks was practically asking for alcohol poisoning. He would have to watch both Eren and Sasha carefully tonight.

She uncrossed her arms and slipped in another sly smirk, obviously pleased with this request. "Definitely a red wine kinda girl, aren't you? I'll see what I've got stored in the back."

"Ooh, the back!" Sasha smiled as she linked arms with Mikasa and Connie, bouncing after her.

Historia blew her hair out of her eyes and gave the others a dramatic eye roll. "I'll make sure she doesn't kill her," she muttered.

"That's very kind of you," Marco thanked her and Armin nodded along.

She then trailed after them and, one by one, they all entered Warriors.

It was heavily packed with people, mainly college students looking for an excuse to get drunk and miss morning classes tomorrow. Many were crowded around the stage in the far end of the room with drinks or phones in their hands as they gazed at the equipment set up. Armin saw the words "Talking Titans" painted in big black letters on the bass drum with a little creature chewing on the T in titans. The lights were dim and aimed solely at the stage. Clearly Jean's band was gaining some attention.

The actual bar was tucked to the left. A man with the same slicked-back hairdo as Jean and a square jaw was rapidly filling out orders as if his very life depended on it. Ymir had stepped behind him and they exchanged some bitter words to one another before Ymir flipped him off and grabbed a wine bottle from one of the many shelves behind them. Sasha scurried around the wooden counter and watched Ymir pour her a glass of the stuff, Historia taking one of the stools beside her.

Connie and Mikasa awkwardly stood to the side until the rest of the group came within view. Mikasa then strode back to Eren's side like Velcro, her long plum purple skirt kicking at her knees. Connie eventually gave up and ordered whatever Sasha was having. Marco, Eren, Mikasa, and Armin lumbered over to Marlowe and Berthold who lingered around a small table not far from the bar with half a dozen drinks littered on it.

They exchanged friendly hellos and Berthold gestured to the many glasses. "Sorry, I didn't really know what you guys like," Berthold apologized, "so I got a little bit of everything and you guys can decide which one you enjoy the most."

"Everyone owes five bucks, though," Marlowe said as he took a swig of his own drink. "Bill was like forty dollars."

"Gotcha," Marco said as he slapped Lincoln's face on the table and plucked a glass of orange liquid with a cherry sitting on top. "I've been here enough times to know that I'm a tequila guy."

"What is all this?" Armin asked, honestly shocked that Eren and Mikasa just randomly grabbed a drink without knowing what exactly they were about to digest.

Berthold went around and pointed to each drink, labeling the type of alcohol and other juices it came with. Whiskey, vodka, rum, gin, brandy. Some actually looked like straight alcohol, clear as ice or golden brown like wheat. Others were colorful and adorned with some fruit in the middle. Eren grabbed a bottle of golden wheat while Mikasa took a dark purple slushie that Berthold said had vodka in it.

Armin bit on his bottom lip as he settled on something that looked similar to Marco's drink. He took a ginger sip and a waterfall of flavor crashed onto his taste-buds. Maple, orange, lemon and the faint sting of brandy. He pulled his lips back, set the glass back down, and offered Marlowe his share of the bill as Eren coughed wildly beside him.

"Ah, fuck," he mumbled and Berthold chuckled.

"Yeah, rum's not my choice of drink either."

"No, it's fine. Just strong." Eren looked at the bottle before handing it to Armin. "Here, try it."

He glared. "No."

Eren shrugged before taking another swig and coughing all over again.

Mikasa looked at Eren with a worried look as she continued slurping her slushie, not any sort of reaction crossing her features at the vodka she was chugging down.

"So, is 'Talking Titans' doing good?" Armin asked Marco, ignoring the hopeless cause that was his friends. He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, growing warmer with the increasing number of bodies surrounding them. "It seems like they're a big deal around here. Looking into any record deals?"

Marco finished swallowing and nodded excitedly. "Yeah, they're absolutely fantastic; it's like they have a gig every other weekend. I'm trying to help them find record deals because this is Jean's dream and I wanna help him out. So, if you perchance know any big music guys in fancy suits, let me know. It's hard, but I know they'll make it."

He then pointed at Berthold and Marlowe. "Berthold's boyfriend, Reiner, is the drummer and there's a girl named Hitch who plays the keyboard, guitar, and does vocal sometimes. She and Marlowe are…you guys are good friends, right?"

Marlowe looked to the side and sipped his drink. "It's complicated."

Marco blushed but tried to wave away his own embarrassment with a laugh. "They-they know each other. There's also a girl named Annie who also plays the keyboard and bass guitar and, don't tell her I told you this, the violin. She doesn't like people knowing that for some reason. She's got an amazing set of vocal cords, though, but she doesn't sing too often. It's a shame—I honestly think Talking Titans would win that record label if she was at the mic more often."

"Annie doesn't like doing a lot of things," Marlowe inputted. "I wouldn't be surprised if she quit just because she was having a bad day."

Marco gasped. "Don't say that! You might jinx it."

"Before all you alcohol virgins drown your first drinks," came a familiar voice. They glanced over to see Historia with two little baskets in her hands, one filled with fries, the other with chips. She slid them onto the table and then plucked a cherry red drink near Berthold.

"Eat something," she finished. "Marlowe didn't do that last time and puked everywhere."

"Don't fucking puke on my shit, Marlowe!" Ymir shouted from across the room.

Marlowe ignored her snarky remark and stuck his middle finger in the air, gulping down his dark drink.

They chatted amongst themselves a bit longer, sipping at their drinks and nibbling at their snacks, and when the crowd randomly started screaming, they turned around to find four bodies strolling across the stage and grabbing the instruments. Armin peeked down at his phone. 10:48 PM.

This was going to be a long night.

He recognized Jean fiddling with a navy blue guitar, silver rings decorating his fingers and sporting a ripped denim jacket with little pins scattered around it. He let his fingers strike a chord and a wave of feminine voices squealed in anticipation. Jean glanced up and smirked at the response. His eyes scanned the crowd and, when they fell on Marco, he winked. Marco winked back theatrically, squeezing one eye shut and opening his mouth as if he were going to take a huge bite out of his cheese invested chip. Jean rolled his eyes.

A brawny guy with short blond hair and a scruffy jaw shuffled his way back to the drums. That must be Reiner, Armin thought as he gawked at how huge the guy was. His muscles bulged through his white T-shirt and two thick black stripes encircled his left bicep, curving around the rocks under his skin. The drum set looked so tiny compared to him; Armin wondered if he was taller than Berthold.

As he settled into his seat, a girl with short wavy hair and very little clothes on twiddled with the small keyboard on the right side of the stage. She moved slyly, glancing up at the crowd with a little smirk like a Cheshire cat. She then wiggled her fingers at them, the many bracelets on her wrists jangling like Christmas bells. A few men whistled and a deep shout sounded from somewhere in the back, "Yeah! What's up, girl?" She giggled at the attention.

He almost didn't notice another girl standing in front of Reiner's drum set, her back to the audience. Reiner was saying something to her as she tuned a black bass guitar in her hands. She was dressed similarly to Jean, meaning they both sported black skinny jeans with several rips and had earrings dangling from every available space on their ears. This girl had on a short red plaid skirt over her jeans, however, and had the sleeves of her white shirt rolled up to the elbows. Her sunny blonde hair was tied up in a bun and, even though Armin couldn't see her entire face, her jaw and nose were sharp like a double-edged sword, reminding him of those statues of Athena he saw in Greece whilst on a study aboard trip.

Armin flinched a little when Eren's arm slid into his line of sight. He pointed at the bass drum behind Athena's legs. "Where do you think they got the name from?" he asked Armin. "'Talking Titans'? Is that little thing supposed to be a titan?"

He could already smell the rum rolling off his tongue like honey.

Armin shrugged. "I guess."

"They literally pulled names out of a hat until they could all settle on something," Marco answered for Eren. "Jean says he doesn't like it but he painted the logo on Reiner's drum set, so I think he's just salty that his suggestion wasn't taken."

Eren snorted. "What was his? 'Horse Face and the Ponies'? Perhaps the more subtle 'Kiss my Ass Cheeks'?"

Marco pointed at him and laughed. "You're actually not too far off from the second one."

"Kiss whose ass cheeks?" Sasha popped in. She had squeezed her way in between Armin and Marco with a cup of a very sweet-smelling concoction. Armin spotted Connie sneak in behind Historia and grab a fry from over her shoulder.

"Jean's," Eren responded.

"Ugh." She scrunched her face in thought, but then shrugged. "Well, I mean, if I had to."

"You're fucking gross," Connie muttered through his fry.

"Look, Jean's a close second to that Porco guy. Did you see the buns on him? Too bad there's a stick up there, though. Ymir's right—he's kind of a Debby Downer."

"Jean's a close second? What about—" Connie's comment was drowned out by the sudden blast of a guitar from up front.

They all whipped their heads back to the stage and saw Jean rocking away at his instrument, fingers inching up and down the neck, plucking at the strings. The girl with the bun had turned around and stood center stage, facing the gathering of anticipating fans (whoever hadn't paid attention to them walking onto the stage now had their eyes locked on them). Her electric blue eyes were outlined in black eyeliner and her thick lips were colored in blood. She struck one chord the same time Reiner slammed down on a cymbal. Jean played on a little more and then the two blonds hit the same note. The girl then leaned into the microphone and hollered into it, "Want your bad romance!"

Suddenly all of them became one with their instrument, jerking their heads up and down, their bodies moving to the short but fast-paced melody. The crowd screamed in delight at the grand opening they'd all been waiting for. Everything was loud, reverberating in Armin's chest and scratching against his eardrums. The guitars, the shrieks, the clanking of glass. It wasn't a bad kind of loud, but the kind that made your heart pick up to match the beat of the song.

Armin hugged his sides and watched the Talking Titans lift up the spirits of nearly everyone in the bar. He could feel Sasha and Eren sway from side to side beside him and smell the alcohol floating through the air. Marco whooped and Connie let out a loud, "Aw, fuck yeah!" into the growing chaos.

Athena hovered over the microphone, her long bangs falling into her face. She sang and the sound was low, threatening, yet strangely seducing. "I want your ugly, I want your disease. I want your everything as long as it's free. I want your love…" She took a breath and continued, "Love, love, love, I want your love."

The girl at keyboard sang the last lyric at the same time as the war goddess and Armin choked out a laugh when he saw Jean shoot an annoyed glare her way. Apparently she wasn't supposed to steal Athena's spotlight. Armin glanced back at his friends and found them all immediately enchanted by the performance. Even Mikasa, who usually listened to organ music or something you'd expect in a horror movie during some seance scene, was rocking from side to side (her purple slushie was halfway gone at this point).

Armin didn't really know much about music, but he knew that the spell had been casted and it was worming its way into everyone's brains, demanding them to lose themselves.

He turned back and watched the girl at the keyboard try again to cry out another lyric while Jean huffed at his bandmate, but his talent never wavered nor missed a chord. He was keeping up and the grin on his face told him that his veins were on fire.

He smiled at the passion Jean was throwing into the song, but his attention was diverted back to Athena and her magical voice. "I want your love and all your lover's revenge," she insisted. "You and me could write a bad romance."

She then unleashed a powerful scream into the microphone and the crowd went silent for a split second. Armin suddenly felt like Odysseus at sea, tied to a ship while this siren beckoned him forward. Her voice promised him dreams beyond his control and wishes that he didn't even realized he had. It was too tempting to turn away. But this scream, this emotional outburst, made him recognize what exactly he was getting into. She was no Athena, no goddess that anyone would bow down to. She was a beautiful monster. She was here to drag him down and devour him whole, and he wouldn't stop her.

"Who is that?" Sasha yelled into the noise, snapping him back to reality.

He was about to ask the same thing.

Marco pointed at the siren with a wide grin on his thin lips. "That's Annie. The one with the voice."

"Oh my gosh, I think I'm a lesbian now," Sasha laughed, throwing her head back and swinging her ponytail around.

He heard Historia laugh along with her. "Welcome to the dark side!"

Armin looked back up with a smile tugging at his lips. He watched Annie, spirit of songs and lunacy, continue slam at her bass guitar while moving her body to the music inside her soul. He listened to her beg for love, a love that was wrong in every kind of way. He saw the crazed look in her eyes as she grinned down into the crowd of reaching hands. They wanted it too; they begged for the toxic rhythm to never cease. Such a creature was she, this magnificent titan with the ability to call forth all the monsters within them and cause a little anarchy.

He, of course, was no exception as he sensed his own monster slither up inside him as he turned to the table and took a giant gulp of that orange brandy.

The song was over way too soon and the applause that came after lasted much longer. Annie's intense stare relaxed back into a monotone frown as she switched places with the girl at the keyboard (Hitch, if Armin was remembering correctly) who pushed the instrument back a little. Reiner, from behind his drum set, raised his wooden wands high in the air.

"Alright, give it up for our little Annie," he hollered out and directed one of his wands her way.

The crowd, her victims, screamed with excitement and pleasure. Annie's face hardly shifted, however—she merely glanced up before inspecting her black fingernails. Was she even aware of what she's done, of what she was capable of? Marco was right—a record deal wasn't far behind if she kept doing what she did best.

"That was 'Bad Romance,'" Reiner went on. "It's one of our favorites and we're glad to see you guys enjoyed it as well. Now Hitch is gonna lead us in one of our other favorites."

"It's called 'Dance in the Dark,'" she clarified with a wink to no one in particular.

And it started all over again. Jean, Reiner, and Annie jammed on their guitars and smashed on the drums while Hitch told everyone in a sultry voice to forget their fears and let go. Phones lit up in the mass gathering of kids, trying to capture the magic of it all. Eren, Marco, Historia, Sasha, and the rest of them joined in the dancing, drinking, and drowning of insanity. Ymir managed to slip away from her position at the bar and brought with her replacements for their empty glasses. Historia instantly lunged at her and, soon enough, the two of them were swallowed up in the crowd, not to be seen for the rest of the night.

Marco's freckled face was always smiling and as red as his drink. Connie and Sasha shoved chip after chip down their throats. Berthold laughed at nothing and at everything. Marlowe swayed from side to side before covering his mouth and running someplace else. Eren snapped pictures and sung along in a slurry voice. Mikasa hopped in place and swung her pigtails around, smiling and laughing and leaning on Eren whenever she had the chance.

Armin tried some of Eren's rum and he Armin's brandy. He danced with Mikasa, twirling her around and laughing when she didn't know how to stop. He hid behind Berthold when Sasha and Connie began throwing fries at him. He sang a little with Marco and they both laughed their heads off at how ridiculous they sounded. He knew he was drunk and he knew he better stop now because someone had to take Eren home, but he just couldn't. He didn't want the feeling to end, much less this night.

Eventually an intermission was declared, and the Talking Titans walked backstage. Jean and Reiner showed up at their table with giant grins on their faces and bottles already in their hands. Marco and Berthold kissed their superstars a job well done. They chatted, Armin knew, but he didn't remember what exactly. He was aware of how close everyone was and the sticky heat of sweaty bodies and the mixed drinks he had was starting to get to him (and not in a particularly good way).

He announced that he was going to step out for a moment and catch his breath. Even in her drunkenness, Mikasa wobbly reached out and stroked his arm, asking if he wanted her to come. She really was the mom friend of the group. He shook his head and smiled back (at least he thought he did) and said he'd be right back.

The cold October breeze slapped him in the face and it felt really nice. Some other party-goers had stumbled outside as well, continuing their drunk singing or shoving each other's tongue down their throat. It was still a little too crowded for Armin's liking, so he tottered further down the sidewalk until all the shouting and laughing faded in the distance and the sound of cars zooming by replaced them.

He fished out his phone from his back pocket and squinted at the bright light. 12:02 AM. He let out a little whine as he slid down the brick building behind him. That chemistry exam was in less than seven hours and he had to meet up with Marco at the arts and sciences hall in six. Was there still time to study beforehand? Well, obviously he wouldn't be able to concentrate when his head was like a hot air balloon. Was there some secret way to quickly get rid of the growing headache pounding at the space between his eyes, or would he have to suffer through a hangover like everyone else?

He groaned into his hands and stared at the concrete underneath him. Was coming here a mistake? Maybe he should've just ignored his mother's philosophical parenting and stayed at home where he would've gotten a full eight hours of sleep and avoided this stupid headache altogether.

"You alright?"

The unexpected voice made him jump and a little squeak escaped him. His eyes flew to the shadow looming over him. There she was. The siren that did this to him and what he let happen. She looked even more glorious up close—her hair was plastered to her sweaty face despite the chilly atmosphere. The black rims around her eyes had melted a little, tiny black streaks curving down to her strong cheekbones. She now had on a black cardigan and she had a cigarette pinched between her pointer and middle finger, a little trail of smoke quickly evaporating into the dark night.

"Uh, no, yeah, I'm fine," he stumbled, feeling embarrassed for the first time that night. "Just getting away from the crowd for a bit."

She nodded like she understood. She lingered there for a bit before stuffing a hand down her cardigan and pulling out a box of cigarettes and offering it to him.

No, no more new things tonight, Armin, his mind told himself.

He smiled sadly. "Um, no, thank you."

He prayed to God that he didn't offend her in anyway, but she simply stuffed the box back in her pocket and did the marvelous thing of sitting down next to him.

His eyes gazed at her through his bangs and he couldn't get enough of the sight. She peered out into the street in front of them, blinking slowly as she took a drag of her cigarette. The smell usually bothered Armin, but it somehow suited her. Amazing how she wasn't doing anything right now, and she had him bewitched. How many tricks did she have up sleeve? He needed to know.

"Um, you were amazing back there." His voice sounded so small, so he cleared his throat and jutted a thumb behind them. "You have an incredible voice."

"Thanks." She didn't even look at him, and he wanted her to. Sing him into another oblivion, play him like her secret violin, smash his heart with a single look only to pick up the pieces again by looking away. Do whatever to make certain this feeling stayed.

"Annie, is it? I'm Armin—"

"I know who you are."

He widened his eyes as a different kind of anxiety gripped his chest. "Y-You do?"

"We are in the same English class." She then aimed her gaze at him and a shudder ripped through his spine. "Ethnics in literature with Professor Ral?"

He blinked and tried envisioning that classroom through his drunk mind. He knew the tiny strawberry haired professor who liked to pace around the room as she talked and his spot near the door. He searched through the faces of his classmates until they rested on a hunched figure near the back, blond hair in her face, dressed solely in black.

"You answer almost every question the professor asks," Annie added, taking another gulp of her tobacco stick. "You always give long and complicated answers too."

"I'm so sorry for not recognizing you." He gnawed at his fingernails, the red-hot knot of embarrassment tightening in his stomach. "And sorry for being complicated in class."

She snickered at his withered self, which somewhat lifted him up a little. He made her laugh, even if it was at him.

"It's an English class—you're supposed to give complicated answers." She tugged on her cardigan as a gust swept by. "You're really smart, is what I'm trying to say."

"T-Thank you."

They sat in awkward silence for a while (it was awkward to Armin—Annie probably didn't notice) and he really wanted to break it before his head exploded in a fiery burst of pitifulness and fear. Here was his chance of properly thanking the lovely witch that gave him a night to remember and he was blowing it. All he could think about was her voice and her hair and her clothes and her way of moving him. Just what exactly was she? A siren? A witch? An old spirit that was conjured up to attract and lure youths to some pleasant daze before eating them alive?

He didn't realize the words came out of his mouth until she looked back at him: "God, you're gorgeous."

His face caught on fire and he felt his heart stop. He thought about taking the words back, but that would honestly be worse. He really believed she was gorgeous, inhumanely beautiful, just like the sharp-chin Athena. There was a possibility she'd slap him across the face or completely disregard his opinion, but that didn't matter. He said it, the damage was done, and he thought she should know it.

She didn't look angry, however, and he was a little grateful for that. Instead, she appeared sad. Her smoke-rimmed eyes drifted back to the street as she puffed at her cigarette again. She then looked at her beaten-up combat boots.

"No, I'm not," she whispered.

His heart sped back up again but not before stinging in bewilderment. What? How could she think such a thing? Did she not see the way everyone looked at her in that bar? Armin was pretty sure even her bandmates snuck glances at her blood red lips and snow-white collarbone.

He shifted himself around, so that his body was completely facing her. His fingers lightly touched her forearm, even though he didn't mean to. "Yes, you are. Why would you think that? I think you're really, really pretty."

Her eyes aimed at his hand and he shyly pulled it back. "I mean it, though," he added, more quietly this time. "And I just wanted you know, I guess."

"I can smell the brandy on your breath," she replied a little coldly. "You don't know what you're talking about."

He leaned the side of his head against the brick building behind them and chuckled. "I thought the same thing before I started drinking. And besides, don't people usually tell the truth or what's on their minds when they're drunk? At least that's what I heard."

She didn't say anything. She smashed her cigarette butt into the pavement beside her and then pushed her hair out of her eyes. The sadness in those eyes was painful to witness. What made her think like that? The strong need to pull out the sorrow inside her made his fingers twitch and his body shake. He thought of the song she sung almost two hours ago and wondered if it really was a call for help, a call for someone to comfort her, even if the romance was cheap or not right.

Could he be right, though?

"I'd like to come back here again," he slurred into the wall. "I kinda came here for Jean, though, but you kinda captured my attention pretty quickly." His thoughts lingered on him for a moment—maybe I should go back—but then he disappeared into the mushy memories in his brain. He was probably off somewhere making out with Marco, so he was sure he didn't care what Armin was doing right now.

"I think it was your voice that stood out the most, though. Marco said you were an amazing singer and he wasn't lying. It was like magic in there. I forgot about everything, who I was and what I was doing there. You…you are enchanting and magnetizing and magnificent. You're like a witch and maybe this is wrong, but…I just…can't…"

Help myself, his lips finished for him as he practically fell forward into her arms, completely missing her mouth and kissing her chin sloppily.

He didn't know if it was the collection of those thoughts, surging through his veins faster than adrenaline, or if it was purely the brandy bubbling in his brain that caused him to be so bold. But, like he said, he couldn't help himself.

Annie withdrew almost immediately and he lost his balance once she did so. He saw the concrete and Annie's torn jeans growing closer, but before he could land face-first and bust his nose, he felt Annie's cool, small hands cup around his cheeks and bring him back up and kiss him fully where he meant to kiss her.

He could taste the cigarette smoke in her lungs and something metal in the middle of her tongue—a piercing of some sort. Despite October's frigid air, he felt extremely warm, both from the amazingly passionate kisses Annie was giving him and the giant blush blooming across his entire face. This was his first time kissing anyone and he was drunk. If he was sober, he'd probably be mortified, but the multiple shots of poison he took and this lonely yet desperate girl told him it was okay.

He tried to return the favor. He tangled his fingers in her soft hair and moved his mouth around, hoping he was doing some good. She was rough yet she wanted it to last. Fill me back up, her lips seemed to say. Feed me compliments and make me feel alive again. It was a sad wish, but he wanted to do whatever he could to please her. He owed her his soul after all.

It probably lasted longer than he thought, but she drew away too soon. Their breaths were heavy with anguish; Armin opened his eyes. The eyeliner was smudged even more, and the lipstick was smeared across those dangerous lips of hers like fading red clouds. The bun had sagged at the back of her head, more long blonde strands shielding her face. She still looked so sad, dragging her black fingernail down his chin as if he were a toy she couldn't have.

"You won't remember me in the morning," she mumbled, "but thanks for the moment, anyway."

"How could I forget you?" he asked in a hoarse voice.

She then stared at him for a long time, emotionless, silent. And then something happened in her eyes. He recognized the look from when she was on stage—she had peered down into the crowd with a flash of madness in her eyes and amusement tugging at her lips. Some might mistake it for insane passion for her work, but there was a hint of desperation there, a hunger that couldn't be quenched. She wanted something—no, needed it like how an alcoholic needed a drink to forget they were ever born.

Those crazy eyes darted over his shoulder and then down the street. Her hand then clutched his own and she pulled them up to their feet (the surprising amount of strength in her arm practically yanked Armin from his puddled form on the ground). "My apartment's right around the corner," she muttered as she started running, dragging him along with her.

He struggled to keep up, but he never let go of her hand and she his. Despite how damp his palm was with sweat and how his fingers reeked of all sorts of alcohol, she never let him go. He was in for it now; there was no turning back from here.

I probably won't make it to class tomorrow, he thought stupidly.

As he snickered at nothing in particular, Annie's phone rang. Her fast legs slowed to a jog as she fished out her phone from her cardigan pocket. Armin caught Jean's name pulse at the screen. Her finger dragged across the ANSWER option and loud screaming, laughing, and chatter boomed from the speaker. Then came Jean's voice, pissed and frantic.

"Annie, where the hell are you? We're starting in two minutes. Who the fuck do you think you—"

His ranting was cut off once Annie ended the call and dropped the phone back into her pocket.

Armin covered his mouth to stifle the giggles bubbling in his throat. "Jean's really mad at you," he slurred again. "He probably won't let it go."

"Do you want to go back?"

She stopped running and was now looking at him. There wasn't any biased tone in her voice or any indication that it was a rhetorical question. She suddenly seemed okay with turning around and going back to the bar, and he didn't know how to feel about it.

He wrapped his other hand around her wrist. "No," he almost whimpered.

She faced the street and began moving again. "Then fuck whatever Jean says."

With a crooked smile, he let her guide him deeper into the dark. This could end badly, but I still want it. I want the horror, the shock, the ruin.

He looked at her blonde hair flying behind her. I might regret meeting you later on, but for now, I'm all yours.