Made for SNKTober Day 6- Nostalgia
Now Falco understands what it's like to be an animal carcass roasting over a fire: it's blistering hot.
The young boy's sleeve wipes the sweat-droplets sliding down his temples. The dry heat isn't as bad as it was during the battle in the Mid-East but he's more than uncomfortable as sweat dampens the hair on his nape and dribbles into his eyes. His hands hurt from pulling weeds, his back has a prickling ache. He promised he'd help and he wants to follow through on it; it's just so hot .
A mini yelp escapes Falco as the back of his head is pushed forward. The fabric on his crown is patchy but his sunburned cheeks cool from the new protection of shade. He diverts his eyes up. The brown-straw lip from a gardening cap is hovering over his forehead. Falco glances side-ways.
"You can use that," Armin smiles above him, "Keep it, if you want. No need to add being too hot on top of a tedious task of pulling weeds. You and Gabi can stop anytime you want too, you know. I don't want you guys hurting yourselves…"
"We said we wanted to help, so we'll help," Falco wipes the sweat running down his nose. He inspects Armin whose bangs are damp and skin is red from exertion, "But I don't want to take something that's yours. What about you? You keep telling us to take breaks. Shouldn't you have this since you're doing more work than Gabi and me?"
The man shares with Falco a fond side-smile, "I'll manage. I'm more concerned about you two anyway. The hat suits you, by the way. I think my grandfather might agree."
Falco itches his wrist which is getting even more sweaty from the gloves he wears, "Why would your grandfather agree?"
A grin rounds Armin's cheeks. The tip of his finger presses on the scratchy cap and it bounces up when it leaves, "That hat was his. It helped me out a lot when I had to work on a farm in the hot sun before I joined the training corp. I'm trusting you with it now, okay?"
The sun is a stove and Falco's cheeks must be the burners—he was not this warm before . Falco bows his head. Colt would have scolded him for not expressing his appreciation sooner and he's regretting not doing so, "Thank you, Mr. Arlert."
Armin awkwardly rubs behind his neck, "Ha, I'm not that old now. But calling me that makes me feel like it! Just call me Armin, Falco. You don't need to keep up those pleasantries around Annie or me."
The young boy would much rather not embarrass himself further—he nods with his head down. Armin moves on to the other side of the garden where Annie chops at tree roots which are expanding too close to the square gardens. Falco's fingers draw circles on the prickly fabric kept over his head.
The last time a hat was shoved on his head, Colt had darted into no man's land to recover him from a shower of enemy bullets. Hammers felt to have pounded against his temple then and the fatigue is all too memorable. The glove's rubber on his fingertips tremble against the gardening cap's lip.
His brother visits him in dreams though Falco wishes he would stay for longer. He's glad he does not remember his first transformation or the aftermath—he's not so sure he could take it if he did. He was too dazed to admire Colt's determination to stand up to Magath back during the war, to ward against further digging into trenches where a machine gun loomed through a cement crease to gun them down. Some days, he wishes he could go back to the before just so he can see Colt smile again.
Behind him, Falco overhears Armin insist, "Annie, please give it to me? It's too warm out here. I don't want you to get heat-stroke!"
"I said I'm fine," is her typical argument.
Falco turns around. Annie listens to Armin with an axe resting over her shoulder, her bangs hanging in curled, limp strands from hard work in the sun.
"I understand, Annie, but the heat will only get worse and chopping tree roots is only going to worsen chances of fatigue. Want me to do it instead?"
"I'm not frail like glass," she spins around and there's a loud whack against one of the thicker tree roots, "I can handle myself. You should know that."
"I do and I'm not saying you are glass…but I don't want Falco or Gabi wearing anything more than shorts or a tank-top either because it's hot and the heat only gets worse as the day goes on. I'm not trying to single you out. I-I'll even clean it too! So please, may I have your jacket?"
Falco gulps. Annie inclines from her forward slouch, spinning the axe as her stare-off with Armin drags out. The darker side of the boy's imagination has him think it's a veiled threat to contemplate if she'll put it to Armin or not. She wouldn't though—she can be tough but she isn't cruel—...he believes.
Eventually, Annie heaves a sigh. She sets down the polished wood-handle and after grabbing the ends of her hoodie, yanks up her jacket over her head. Annie wears a white undershirt and given the heat, there are damp patches scattered around her underarms and shirt collar. Once the hoodie he's seen Annie wear for ages is shed, Armin extends a hand. Annie smirks. She wipes the grey fabric around her face, slides it against any damp part of her shoulders and underarms. She tosses the sweat-soaked jacket to Armin.
" Fine, take it . But you better make sure my hoodie smells like daisies when you give that back to me, Armin."
Falco grimaces whereas Armin laughs; it's not a forced laugh either—it's from the bottom of his gut and vocally jovial. He's still puzzled by them but drawn to the two ex-soldiers nonetheless—they're more than just interesting people. It's even stranger when paired with his appreciative smile, Armin tucks a strand of hair behind her ear—Falco has noticed Annie does that when her hair obstructs her vision. It's odd for him to see this relenting behavior from a Warrior who was preached to be so remorseless and fearless by Magath— a withdrawn and fearless fighting machine was what he remembered Magath telling him about her.
Then he wonders if it's truly the sun or just him.
Armin cups the back of her head and kisses Annie's strawberry-red forehead. Falco has tried to hug Annie a few times and she's noticeably skittish; sometimes the hug is simply stiff and awkward. She has reasons for being apprehensive to touch, or so he's been told. Though with Armin, Falco concludes Annie is different—her posture is as slack as her arms dangling at her sides and her lashes vibrate like she's inching closer to a deep sleep. His hand slips over her cheek and to Falco's surprise, Annie anchors him on the side of her face with her own hand, intertwines their fingers together. Heat sizzles his cheeks when Annie tilts her chin up and Armin's forehead taps against hers.
Then those things move.
Ice-consumed spheres dart to him and in time with Annie's eyes widening, Falco jerks in his spot on the grass. She rips away from Armin, waves the taller man off while she grabs the axe and resumes her previous task at hacking away at tree roots. When Armin alternates his attention to Falco, the young boy peers down—he didn't mean to ruin a moment...he was just surprised. Annie doesn't let her feelings show too often but Armin seems to be able to decipher them well. Falco wonders if he'll have an ability like that. When he's finally learned what he can do—what his trade will be—if there's some slim chance in the future...
The sound of a clearing throat grabs Falco's attention. Armin across the garden has that smile—one which is small yet knowing. His eyes which house a livelier blue than Annie's dart in her direction then his finger taps on his wristwatch. Falco thinks he understands the implication. He shares a meek side-smile before resuming tugging the weeds from his last flower patch.
He needs more time just like Gabi does, more time for the nightmares to ebb and rigid chips on shoulders to be smoothed like borders to lively seas. He is very young and patience is always the toughest villain to beat but Falco accepts it. His hand falls on his crown, where his brother once shoved a helmet over his head for protection.
"Colt," Falco thinks, "You always looked after me, put yourself in danger to make sure I was safe and sound. I'm…I'm not strong like you…and I don't know how, but I'll do what I can to be a man who you could be proud of. Mom and Dad too."
The pre-teen shifts to Gabi who offers a fresh green apple to Annie, smiling as grass-stained hands hold it up. It's a gesture which summons a side-smile from Ms. Leonha— Annie. Annie then rests her hand on top of Gabi's head; that's her tired way of saying thanks. The sound of rubber straining rings out from Falco's fist clench,
"And no matter what's decided later, even if Gabi and I drift apart in the future…I'll make sure I'll be strong enough to protect her so she doesn't have to fight anymore." Falco releases his determined hold. He examines his fingers which are still small, far too baby-like to be tough like a man's.
Falco exhales. He lifts up the cap on his head, stares into the threads, then places it back on him, "Eventually, I guess…"