And here begins my part. Thank you again a million times to Lainadraws! (^_^)
My main disclaimer is below, but I'd like to say that I do not know very much about professional dancing. I took some dance lessons as a child, but never had to do anything like this. If you do dance and see inaccuracies, then please keep my inexperience in mind, but by all means, I'd love to have your input so I can make things more realistic. =)
Disclaimer: I do not own Shingeki no Kyojin/Attack on Titan or any affiliates. Nor did I come up with the original premise of this story.
Armin had been Annie's dance partner for a month, and he was already feeling more than a little charred. There'd be nothing left to him but a little lump of ash that would join his parents' and grandparents' in the family grave by the time this was over…if he even made it that far. If he'd been able to keep up his system of avoiding her whenever possible, he might have had a shot at making it out of this alive, but of course nothing could ever actually work out for him for once. Today they'd get their individual dance assignments, and from here on out, he'd be expected to spend at least two days every week holed up in a studio alone with her. He should start planning the funeral now.
Since Armin and Annie were two of the shortest performers and neither of them were particularly enamored with the thought of having to choreograph two dances together, they patiently waited on opposite sides of the room as the rest of their peers thronged around the assignment board. After the crowd had thinned out a bit, they somehow ended up next to each other staring at the plain printed sheet in bewilderment.
Annie excelled at harsh, powerful dances with rigid structure and great complexity: Tango, Paso Doble, Viennese Waltz, and Quickstep were her favorites. Dances that were done for competition more than pleasure, dances with lines that were graceful and beautiful in their austerity and raw power. It wasn't that she wasn't creative or passionate; she just appreciated control.
Armin tended toward more social dances himself: Jive, Swing, Cha-Cha, Hustle, and Salsa to name a few. Although he also relished the challenge of complicated dances like Slow Foxtrot and Viennese Waltz where the endless complexities of the steps and how they'd evolve into a myriad of patterns and variations fascinated him. While there were Jive and Swing dancers who had more stamina and strength than he did, no one could match his enthusiasm and creativity. When he danced, others found their moods rising and their feet itching to move.
So it was with much shock and displeasure that they saw they were assigned to do a Rumba and a Waltz. Neither of these were dances they particularly enjoyed or felt were strengths. Rumba was softer than Annie liked and more emotionally sensual than Armin felt consistently comfortable with: the Cha-Cha and Samba were casual and flirty, the Tango and Paso Doble a war of wills, and Salsa and Mambo were high energy and fun, but Rumba…there was a reason it was likened to making love on the dance floor. It was a vertical expression of a horizontal desire, and the mere thought of even attempting to make love to his icy pyre of a partner made Armin's stomach knot in dread. And the Waltz…well, neither of them particularly hated the Waltz, but they weren't particularly crazy about it either, and no dancer appreciated how the non-dance world automatically assumed all ballroom dances were Waltz. Why in the world Hange thought it a good idea for them to do these when they were sure to have been able to pull off a breathtaking Viennese Waltz, a heart-pounding Quickstep, or a lively Jive that would have people emptying out their wallets at the benefit was beyond them.
"This is unbelievable," Annie muttered under her breath. There was no doubt about it: the crazy bat had finally lost her last screw.
Armin scanned the rest of the list with a furrowed brow. He admittedly hadn't been here long, but as far as he could see, the rest of the dances assigned to the couples made sense. If they were long-time partners with the company, they were assigned to the dances he considered their strongest. If they were a pair like Annie and him, where one came in on audition and the other was a vet, at least one of the two was strong in their assignments. It was highly odd that they were the only people who were given dances that neither of them felt were strengths.
"You don't think there's a chance she mistyped, do you?" Armin muttered back.
Annie ignored him, not deigning to respond.
A random thought flickered through his brain and he almost chuckled. When they'd shared that first tango a month ago, he'd been sure she'd burn him alive. Annie was fire: arresting, powerful, and dangerous. But now that they'd been assigned these softer dances, he thought he might have less of a chance of being burned. "At least, not by fire anyway," he amended when he noted the frosty indignation radiating off of his dance partner as she continued to glower at the assignment sheet. One thing remained the same though: it was going to be a long eight months.
Once the assignments came out, practices became staggered. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday were for group dances with Tuesday and Thursday dedicated for practicing their assignments. Hange gave everyone the weekend to spend however they saw fit.
Over the next month, Armin and Annie barely acknowledged each other. They practiced twice a week and spent their free days practicing alone and often, in Armin's case, with some of the other dancers. If they passed each other in the halls on these free days, Armin would usually tentatively smile and wave, but Annie's frosty demeanor quelled any enthusiasm he'd built into the gesture at first. Despite their lack of chemistry, the group dances progressed well enough. They were both excellent dancers, so doing the routine wasn't a problem, even if the execution was a tad stiffer than would be ideal. When alone together, however, almost nothing got done no matter how long they practiced. Every practice was the same: they re-familiarized themselves with the steps, the flow of the dances, the types of music that lent themselves to these styles, and tried to get a feel for their partner dynamic. And because that last one in particular needed a lot of work, nothing they ever choreographed stuck from practice to practice.
The instant the music ended, Annie ripped herself from her dance partner's arms and stormed over to her music player. She ruthlessly shut the device down, channeling her desire to punch Armin in the face into each motion, and once again viciously cursed the Rumba. He was supposed to be dominating her. Good grief! She knew she wasn't coy and shy, but at least she was trying to act the part, for Pete's sake. Though it galled her to no end with such a submissive partner.
Armin felt somewhat similarly irritated as well, though his expression of it was simply sighing and running a hand through his golden chin-length hair. Annie had yet to actually become physically violent, but who knew what she'd do if he allowed a spark of his own temper to detonate the thin control she was holding on hers. He knew he wasn't the most domineering personality around, but could she try and be a little less disdaining? They were supposed to be pretending to be in love, and all he was getting out of her body language was cool contempt. He may not be the best dancer in the world, but he really was trying. This was a huge opportunity for his career, and he really, really couldn't afford to mess this up.
He worried his lip as he ran his hands over his sweats. If they didn't do something about their partner dynamic, no matter how aesthetically pleasing their routines may be, they'd fail to make any real impact. What more could he do to get her to warm up to him? He'd been friendly, let her take lead on choreography (not that it had helped), and given her as much space as he could without shirking practice. There had to be something—anything—that could make things better. "Maybe…. No…. But it might…? But then again…. Oh, screw it. I doubt I can do anything to make her loathe me more."
As his dance partner went over to get her water bottle, he suddenly asked, "Want to go out?"
Annie paused mid-swig. "Excuse me?"
"Go out, like, for food?" Armin clarified tiredly. If he'd been with anyone else, he'd have stumbled over himself in embarrassment, but he was too exhausted to care; it was just Annie. "It's late, we're probably both starving, and considering that our partner dynamic is the main problem here, maybe we should try hashing some things out in someplace that's not a dance studio for once."
The slight girl mulled the offer over for a minute before giving a terse nod and grabbing her bag. "Fine. We're getting Chinese. Front door in half an hour."
"O—" the door slammed closed, "kay…" his voice trailed off. "Glad to know my opinion counts," he mumbled as he grabbed his own dance bag to go hit the showers.
Once Armin had showered and changed clothes, he felt more prepared to face the rest of the likely extremely unpleasant evening.
"Hey," a strong voice greeted him from behind.
Armin turned with a smile. "Hi, Reiner." Reiner Braun was one of the veterans at the company and a kind of older brother figure to everyone; Armin couldn't even begin to count the number of useful tips he'd gotten from the muscular giant already. "How was practice?"
"Good. Krista's been amazing to work with, and she's small, so we've been having lots of fun messing around with different lifts and tricks. How're things with Annie?"
Armin's mood slumped. "Not…not great. Did you see our assignments?"
"Yeah, everyone was kind of surprised. Annie's never liked the Rumba, and the Waltz isn't her strongest dance."
"I'm not really all that crazy about either dance myself. I actually asked Hange if there'd been some sort of mistake after everyone left, but she just smiled and said there was no mistake." Armin heaved a deep sigh. "I still don't see how it can't be a mistake though. Personality-wise, we seem to be the worst possible couple for this. We're actually going to grab some Chinese in a few to try and hash some things out."
"Chinese? Man, you must've really ticked her off," Reiner chuckled. "Chinese is her DEFCON 3 comfort food."
Armin raised an eyebrow and filed the information away for reference. "What's DEFCON 1?"
"Mac & cheese, smothered mashed potatoes, and loaded nachos. If you ever hear her ask for these three things, run for the hills because you're about to die. Painfully and horribly."
It was difficult to shove the foreboding thought out of his head, but he managed to somehow. "I didn't realize you two were friends."
"Annie, Bertolt, and I go way back. We went to the same dance studio when we were kids. Out of all the kids there, only the three of us went pro. We've both danced with her over the years, but we never meshed well enough to become permanent partners."
"I see. Was she always this intense?"
Reiner barked in laughter. "Oh yeah. Annie's a spitfire. She's got a kind of relaxed definition of 'on time' sometimes, but outside of that, you'll never find someone more disciplined."
"I've noticed that," Armin agreed. "She's strong, focused, and quietly passionate. I admire how precisely she moves and the attention she pays to her lines, but I wish she'd, I don't know, loosen up a bit or something. It's not that she isn't graceful or that she's not able to get into the music, but…even as she gets into the music, she never really…loses herself in it. Like…she doesn't become the part she's supposed to play in the dance; she just pretends she does. And maybe a spectator, even a judge, can't tell, but as her partner, I can, and it's like there's a thin, invisible layer of rigidity in her dancing that makes it difficult for us to really respond to one another the way we need to in these dances. Do…do you know what I mean?"
The larger boy leaned against the lockers thoughtfully. "Yeah, I think so. I think a lot of that stems from her personality, though. Annie's always been sort of a lone wolf. She works well enough with other people if she absolutely has to, but she prefers to dance and practice by herself." He smirked. "She's probably spent more time practicing with you in these two months than she has with any other partner for the same amount of time."
Armin rubbed his temple like he was getting a migraine. "It's probably because we haven't been able to really get anything done."
"Probably." Reiner held up his hands in defense at the pout the shorter boy sent him. "I'm not saying it's your fault or anything. I mean, there's a reason a dancer as phenomenal as Annie hasn't ever had a steady dance partner, but keep trying. Who knows? Maybe you two will figure out something over your noodles tonight and will become Rumba and Waltz masters."
"Har-har," Armin grumbled. He was about to ask another question when he paled and looked at his watch. "Uh oh."
"What?"
"I was supposed to meet Annie at the front door over twenty minutes ago," he groaned. "She's really going to let me have it when I see her tomorrow."
"She's probably still waiting. Better run before she tans your hide though. If there's one thing that girl hates, it's the cold."
"If she hates the cold, then why would she—?"
"Just go! You don't want her to switch restaurants on you!"
"Switch our restaurant? Err, forget it. I'll see you!" He waved and dashed out of the room, racing for the front entrance. He immediately felt bad when he caught sight of her through the window as he paused to wrestle open the door that led to the main room. She was shivering slightly despite being bundled up in a pea coat, scarf, and gloves.
The instant she heard his heavy breathing, she nailed him to the wall with her eyes. "Get lost in the locker room for half an hour?"
"I'm sorry, really, I am," he apologized. "Reiner and I were talking and I lost track of time." He fidgeted nervously as she continued to glower at him. "S-so…a-are we s-s-still on for Ch-Chinese?"
She leveled him with a hard stare that made him squirm.
"Please say, 'Yes.' Please say, 'Yes.' Please say, 'Yes.'"
"…You're paying," she spat before turning heel and striding out the door.
He cringed but grudgingly admitted to himself that he probably deserved as much for making her wait out in the drafty front entrance for almost half an hour while he and Reiner talked about her behind her back. He just hoped she didn't eat a lot; short, thin people could be deceiving.
The tiny restaurant she led him to wasn't very far away, and from the way she handed him a menu without taking one herself, he assumed she was a regular.
"So…what do you recommend?"
"…10, 41, or 58, but I've never had problems with anything else I've ordered." No sooner had the words come out of her mouth when someone stopped by to take their order. Nodding at the waiter, Annie stated, "I'll have a 58."
"Umm, the 10 for me, please," Armin decided randomly from the remaining two recommendations.
Awkward silence reigned after the waiter collected their orders. Annie's eyes roamed the shop vacantly while Armin worried his lip trying to find a way to start a conversation. Eventually, he huffed and took to watching his dinner partner instead as he sipped his tea.
Pale blonde hair like the first streaks of dawn was tied into a strict bun on the back of her head, any stray hair pinned back with black bobby pins. Her skin was pale and clear, and her face, especially her nose and chin, composed of sharp angles. And her eyes, two ice blue ovals set deeply into her face; from what he'd gathered over the last couple of months, she showed most of her emotion through her eyes. Not that she had any trouble showing negative emotions like irritation or anger on the rest of it, but usually her scowls began with blazing blue. Right now, they were flat and emotionless, as if she'd closed herself off into a different plane of existence. Considering that he wasn't trying to get her attention at the moment, he didn't really care, so he let his observations wander down to her long, graceful neck and proud shoulders. She'd apparently been wearing a hoodie underneath her pea coat earlier. How sensitive was she to the cold for it to seep through all her fall gear? Sure, the front entrance was drafty, but it wasn't like she'd been outside.
Before he could continue his observations any further, two plates plunked down in front of them and Annie dove straight in with a wave of her hand and a muttered thanks to shoo off the waiter. After thinking silently to himself that he should've ordered what Annie had, Armin quietly picked up his chopsticks and took a bite.
"Oh…." The syllable was low and breathy.
Annie looked up at him with a raised eyebrow. "What?"
"Oh, wow." Armin's eyes shone at her. "This is amazing!" He began scarfing down his food as if he'd never eaten before. "What is this?"
"You didn't read the menu?"
"No time before we had to order."
Annie shook her head slightly. Weird kid. "It's their specialty noodle dish."
"Oh my gosh, it's so good."
Annie couldn't help but be mildly amused. The kid was eating like he'd never had Chinese before, and from the way he was muttering about it, maybe he hadn't, at least, not good Chinese. She was just about to return to her own meal when he caught her off-guard.
"Can I try some of yours?"
Her eyebrows shot up. "What?" Her harsh tone didn't seem to deter him in the least.
"I'd be willing to trade. You like this dish too, right?"
She never, ever shared food. But at the same time, she found it strangely difficult to flatly refuse him as she would anyone else. His eyes were shining so brightly and with such child-like wonder and excitement, the thought of disappointing him felt akin to kicking a crying puppy. While she may not be the friendliest of people, Annie was not a puppy kicker, so with a martyred sigh, she pulled his plate over and put some of her fish, rice, and vegetables on it and picked up some of the noodles for herself.
"Thank you!" he all but sang, her grunt of acknowledgement lost in his joyful cries of ecstasy while munching on the food she'd given him.
What the heck? How old was he? He was plowing through his plate with the delight of a toddler playing with his favorite toy. She leaned her chin on her hand and watched him with a studious air. What a weirdo.
Armin leaned back and put his hand on his stomach happily. He hadn't had food this good in ages. Noticing that Annie had neglected to make any progress on her own meal, he asked hopefully, "Are you going to finish that?"
Her face immediately snapped back to its usual stone blankness. "Yes, and I'm not sharing."
He gave a forlorn sigh, but reflected that he really shouldn't make a pig of himself. Dancers had to watch their weight and keep track of the kinds of food they ate, after all. Looking at his dance partner with more interest, he inquired, "How did you find this place?"
"Don't remember anymore," she answered between mouthfuls. "It's been my go-to for Chinese ever since I started at the company a few years ago. Probably was in a bad mood and just stumbled upon it and kept coming back."
"Mmm, that's right, Reiner said Chinese was one of your comfort foods."
"Oh?" She turned her eyes up to her dance partner's coolly. "Were you two gossiping like old women about me while I was freezing my butt off waiting for you?"
He flushed guiltily. "Umm, well, I wouldn't call it gossiping." He coughed uncomfortably. "He told me the two of you and Bertolt grew up together, and I told him a little bit about how practice has been going. When I mentioned we were getting Chinese, he commented on it being your 'DEFCON 3 comfort food'" he air-quoted.
"He's got that right," Annie nodded as she focused on her fish.
"Why did you wait?"
She looked up. "What?"
"Why did you wait for me earlier?" he clarified, his eyebrows furrowed. "You were obviously cold. You were shivering despite wearing a hoodie underneath a pea coat with a scarf and gloves. And I was half an hour late. Most people would've left."
"Then those people are rude." She returned to her food, no longer interested in the conversation. "We made plans, so until I was told otherwise, I had no reason to think they'd been cancelled."
He blinked a few times before smiling warmly. "You're actually pretty nice, aren't you, Annie?"
She raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"You generally act cold, but it's really just that you're focused on your goals. It's not because you don't care about other people." He chuckled a little. "You're just kind of awkward at showing you care." His eyes softened. "I am sorry for keeping you waiting, though. I'll try not to get distracted in the future."
She simply slid her eyes back down to hide the faint creeping pink on her cheeks. "Whatever." She shoveled another bite.
Once they got outside, Armin took a really good look at the address. Considering how inexpensive the place was, it was definitely going on his list of restaurants to frequent often.
"Bye." Annie made to leave.
"Wait!"
She turned her head, dance bag cocked on her hip.
"I…" he cleared his throat, "I'll walk you home."
"I can take care of myself."
"I'm aware of that, but since it was my idea to go out to eat, I'd feel better if I knew you made it home safely." He shifted his weight. "Between being late and talking to you while you ate, I've probably kept you out later than usual."
"Thanks for the offer, but I'm covered." She took out twin cans of pepper spray and mace.
"I'd still like to walk you home."
Her patience was running thin. It was nippy and the loony had another long day for them tomorrow. "I'd prefer to walk myself."
"We'll both get home more quickly if you'd stop arguing with me," he reasoned.
"Then stop arguing."
"Not until you agree."
Her eyes flashed as she held up one of the cans. "You want me to use this on you?"
He quickly backed away in alarm. For a long moment, they waged a silent war of wills, her cold glare against his shaken but stubborn gaze. Eventually, he lowered his eyes in defeat and scuffed his toe. "Are you taking the subway?"
"What do you think?" As if she could afford to live in Manhattan.
He flushed a little in embarrassment and pressed, "What line?"
"N."
"Uptown or down?"
"Down."
"I'm heading in the same direction." His eyes were entreating. "Would it be okay if I walked with you to the subway?"
She looked at him suspiciously as he smiled uneasily at her before turning to continue walking. "Whatever."
Annie shook her head in not-quite irritation when she finally closed the door to her apartment. That little sneak had managed to get within two blocks of her place before she'd finally gotten him to go home (by shoving her can of mace in his face with her finger on the trigger, but whatever gets the job done). "What a dweeb," she muttered as she sloughed off her shoes.
A chivalrous and kind of charming dweeb, but still undoubtedly a dweeb.
And that's chapter 2! (^_^)