Disclaimer: Attack on Titan/Shingeki no Kyojin belongs to its rightful owners. I own nothing.
Author's Note: 1 / "I Don't Know How Many" of the training!drabbles. Please enjoy!


"Armin Arlert."

She silently agrees with the drill instructor: it is a stupid name. She waits for the inevitable: when the boy realizes his grand delusions of humanity and brave soldiers were just that—compromised, erroneous beliefs. His weak body will never survive and his weak mind will never cope. She hopes he gives up soon.

It is better for him to die exhausted and old in the wasteland than young and ignorant in the mouth of a titan. She doesn't want to be present when either happens.

.

His brunet friend fails at maintaining his balance in the maneuver gear. Annie has even less hope for him. She watches with narrowed eyes as the blond trembles and wobbles, panic and uncertainty searing his vulnerable face like a vindictive flame.

And then, as if almost by a miracle, the world comes to a jarring halt and the boy is steady in his harness. Annie is rooted to the dusty ground against her will and their eyes cross briefly before the boy's eyes find their intended target.

Then the spell is broken and the world resumes turning. The blond boy's awestruck expression morphs into a triumphant grin. She hears the brunet's sullen groan to her left. She isn't the only one intruding on the young soldier's moment of personal triumph.

He will not go home today. Annie doesn't know whether to be disappointed or proud.

.

When she slips out of the cabin for a breath of fresh air, she sees him on the opposite porch reading by the flickering glow of his stolen lantern. She could have stood next to him, and he would not have noticed her presence.

She watches the blond read for a long time. Even across the distance in the dim light, she observes the ghosts of joy and fascination crossing his easily readable features. For some strange, perverse reason, the sight is comforting to her.

The sound of the latrine door slamming shatters the mood. The boy jumps, gently closes his book, and blows out the trembling flame. In the darkness, Annie hears the faint creak of the door as he disappears back into his cabin.

Annie returns to her cold bed and closes her eyes.

.

For all of her skill in hand-to-hand combat and agility, Annie realizes after their first lecture session that her education is sorely lacking. She had learned how to read and write as a child, but never did she have the chance to nurture the art beyond the rudimentary skills.

Annie briefly considers asking the eager blond sitting at the head of class for help, but thinks better of it. However, after receiving only adequate marks on their first assignment, Annie fears the possibility of not making the top ten. She convinces herself that if she ever needs something from the boy, she would gain it through skillful manipulation. Not friendship.

.

She always knew the boy was sensible, but as she watches his bright, intelligent eyes roam across the faded paper and his soft lips utter every word with a tender reverence, she realizes that his is brilliant.

Fortunately for Annie, the others latch onto the boy's secret talent and the last twenty minutes of dinner become an impromptu study session every night. At first she sits far enough away where she can only hear every other word. Gradually, she finds herself gravitating closer and closer to the boy's table, until one night she sits down in the seat directly across from the boy. If he notices her sudden presence, he doesn't interrupt his recitation of the basic titan classes to mention it.

When Annie's marks begin to rise, she feels slightly guilty for taking all of the credit herself, but she reminds herself that there are no friends in the Top Ten. It's every man for himself.

.

Annie notices during one of their study sessions that the boy has hardly touched his plate. The dark-haired girl to his right softly insists that he finishes his meal to preserve his already feeble strength. He smiles apologetically, but still refuses the food. He has a hunger for something else entirely. Annie can see it in his eyes as he turns to the next page.

For the first time in years, Annie has found something that the two have in common.

.

"What are you doing?"

He freezes and blinks at her in the dim light. He is the epitome of guilt, holding something behind his back with a sheepish expression. His rigid posture softens when he realizes he's speaking to Annie.

"Oh, Annie. I'm, um…" Selecting honesty as the safest option, he reveals the smuggled food in his grubby, upturned palm. A bruised apple and a crusty loaf of bread. She regards the food with a confused scowl. "It's Sasha's birthday today," he explains quickly.

Sasha? Potato-girl? The blonde vaguely remembers the girl from the first day of training. She never knew that the two were acquaintances, much less friends. Annie immediately squashes the slight tinge of jealousy creeping across the back of her neck and into her cheeks.

She does not tear her gaze from the motley excuse for a birthday feast for fear of allowing her own expressions to slip. He mistakes her stony silence for scorn and apologizes with a stutter before vanishing.

It is her own birthday is in a few weeks, though she expects nothing nearly as generous as a small, dented apple.

.

When she sulks away from hand-to-hand combat to her usual sanctuary, she halts at the sight of a forlorn book corrupting her location of solitude. More curious than angry at the disturbance, she stoops down and gently lifts up the heavy volume and lightly brushes the cover's faded binding. Annie opens the book slowly and her eyes catch onto a slightly smudged message in the top corner.

To Annie. Happy Birthday!

Even without the message, she could have easily guessed the culprit. For a second, she contemplates leaving the book and walking away, but as she traces the boy's loopy handwriting with a hesitant index finger, she decides to give it a chance. Her fingers curl around the worn spine, causing the delicate, stained pages to crinkle. She brings the book close to her chest, hating how fast her heart is fluttering in her rib cage.

She is unable to devalue the gift completely. This is her first and only birthday present.

.

"I didn't ask for your charity."

The girl's low growl sounds from behind the boy, causing him to jump at the unexpected company. He takes a physical step back to avoid her stern glare, unsure of how to respond.

He blinks again, "I'm sorry. I thought you would have enjoyed it."

Annie doesn't admit that she has already read the book twice since she found it resting on the upturned bucket.


Thank you for reading, reviewing, favoriting, following, etc! I'm really excited for the next set. They were actually the first set of drabbles that I wrote for this story. Similar to how this one followed an arc (books, maybe?), the next one will follow the "dancing" arc first hinted at in the summary/title :D
Let me know if there is anything you guys want to see!