A/N: Content warning - flashback to non-con kiss at the top of the chapter.
Her voice wavered and he grimaced.
"But, I love you."
He hated the way she held it over him; a threat more than a promise. He shook his head and put his hand over the doorknob. He could do this. He had to do it. The adrenaline raced through his veins at the thought. She would yell. She always did.
"You can't!"
His feet would not cooperate. He looked down at them and glared.
He sensed the shift and it occurred to him what this was, but he was still paralyzed in it. She was approaching him now, his back against a wall. He looked away but it was as useless as ever.
The dreams had not always been lucid, he thought. And he considered it strange that he could think about that at a time like this, in a place that was nowhere at all.
He could think about that, but he could not wake up.
Wake up.
She was there now, like every time before. Her hands gripped his face, hard and desperate. He was so frozen, even more than he had been in reality, door stretching further away with each passing moment.
"Wake up," he whispered to himself. She laughed. She always laughed.
His protest was lost when her mouth pushed to his. He had pushed her; walked out the door. But the dream held him in place still. He feared, again, that this would be the one that escalated. They never did, but that did not mean that they never would.
"Armin."
"No," he whimpered.
"Armin," she whispered, hands releasing him. "Armin."
He pulled a shock of air into his lungs and sat up rigidly. Sweat stuck his shirt to his back as he drew a ragged series of breaths, hands rubbing hard into his face. He dared not look up, but he could hear Mikasa breathing beside him. He tried copying the even timing of it.
"Sorry," he rasped out.
"No," she said before he had even finished saying it, her fingers grazing his shoulder.
He flinched on an instinct, regretting it instantly when he heard her voice falter.
"I'm sorry."
"No, I'm sorry," he said all over again.
The air stilled between them. He pushed hair from his sticky forehead and stood abruptly. When he finally risked a glance, he found her eyes wide and tracking him as he shifted restlessly from foot to foot.
"Sorry. I—I'm going to bed. Sorry."
He fled down the hall and into the bathroom to run the tap. The water was cold on his face, but he welcomed it. He wiped his nose, let out a shaky sigh, and splashed a new round of water across his cheeks before sputtering into the sink one last time. He pulled a rough towel down his face and then finally met his reflection in the mirror. His hair looked wild enough to nearly make him laugh.
He crawled back into his bed but managed only a few restless hours before the sounds of shuffling and zipping bags pulled him out of the nothingness.
Historia was silent when she passed him a plate of eggs at the breakfast table, but her worry was written so clearly across her face. He looked away from her with a short, "Thanks."
He was grateful when she returned to the living room with the rest of the group, who had long since finished breakfast. He chewed half-heartedly on a piece of bacon and stared at his plate.
The dull thunk drew his head up.
Mikasa pushed a steaming cup of coffee toward the edge of his plate. He blinked and pursed his lips before returning his gaze downward.
"Thank you," he murmured.
"Everyone's getting ready to head out. Do you want to go?"
He shook his head.
"No, thank you."
"Do you want company?"
He struggled to form the words, wishing his answer were different. After a permanent pause on his part, she stood up. She was gentle when she said it.
"I'll see you later."
It pained him to watch her leave. He cleared his dishes and retreated to the room to wait until all the footsteps were out the door. Historia stuck her head in to say goodbye.
Once he was sure the cars had pulled out of the drive, he slipped into his coat, placed the key under the mat, and headed out in the same direction as the day before.
The air was sharp, but it was fresh. He watched the puffs of his own breath rise as he wound up the trail they had taken the day before. It felt markedly emptier the second go around. The sun was harsh on the snow and the trees offered little respite on the way. Until he turned the last loop of the trail, he squinted so hard that his face felt stiff once he tried to relax it when his back was finally turned to the sun. The old footsteps were still faintly visible in the snow. He traced the marks and the sun crept further overhead.
His thoughts fell back into a semi-normal rhythm, no longer so cluttered and haphazard by the time he was trudging up the salted porch steps again. He had still managed to get back before anyone else had returned and used the time to clean up a bit, not quite trusting himself to sit still. He had even gotten started on pulling out dinner supplies when the latch clicked open. Historia's first mission was to float to his side.
"Are you ok?"
She stayed a healthy distance away but leaned into the counter to get a better look at his face.
"I'm ok. Don't worry about me."
Historia scoffed.
He took a breath.
"It was a nightmare."
Her brow knitted together. "You never told me you get nightmares."
He could have lied and told her it was just the one, but he stayed quiet, only shrugging. She frowned.
"I'm sorry," she said.
"It's not your fault."
He tried smiling at her but he knew it came out crooked. She accepted it anyway and sent her own version back at him before shooing him from the kitchen and insisting he go relax.
"Hey, Armin," Marco called out from the dining table, "Do you want to play?"
Marco held up a deck of cards and a roll of poker chips.
"Yeah, come play a few rounds," Eren agreed.
Armin drifted to one of the chairs.
"I don't really know how to."
"We can teach you," Eren offered.
Jean laughed, then Ymir. She snorted.
"Eren barely knows what he's doing, so don't listen too much to him."
"Ok," he agreed slowly, scooting his chair into the table. "What are you playing for?"
"Cash, of course." Jean said with a lift of his eyebrows.
A hand of cards was dealt to him and a stack of chips passed his way.
"I don't have any cash on me," Armin admitted.
"We take card here, too," Ymir said with a smirk.
They barely knew each other, but he already suspected that she was the most likely of them to make good on the threat of taking his money. Marco dealt.
Armin glanced at his cards and played his turn, falling quickly into the rhythm of it after a few explanations were thrown across the table. It was a satisfying feeling to disappear into the focus of it. He kept a subtle eye on Ymir. Eren and Jean were both clearly bluffing, although Jean was more so. Eren was obvious, he thought. Jean was better at it, but Marco's sidelong glances at his partner were telling.
Ymir looked Armin over and narrowed her sharp eyes. He did the same. Anyone who had not already been sitting at the table now hovered around it.
"I raise the bet to one hundred," she announced.
Eren swore under his breath.
"I fold."
"Fold," chimed Jean, cards slapping face down.
Armin pushed a new stack of chips in.
"I raise to one fifty."
Ymir's expression shifted for a moment. He should not be betting this amount of money. That was enough to buy a new set of strings.
"I'm calling it," she said dryly.
Marco was the first to laugh when their card hands went face up. Her hand was good, but Armin's was better.
"Her reign has ended," Jean said happily, joining Marco's fit of laughter.
Eren patted Armin's shoulder. He was startled, but for once he did not jump.
"Thank god. She's been killing us all year. You've got to start coming to poker night, Armin."
Armin grinned, all pent up from keeping a straight face. Ymir's groan was guttural.
"You don't have to pay me," he conceded, " I was just doing it for—"
Eren and Jean both cried out.
"Yes, she does!"
"She's made at least as much off us in the last month!"
"You should take the money, Armin," Marco agreed heartily, if less rambunctiously.
"Hey, I'm starving," Eren complained.
Historia rolled her eyes.
"Because you played through dinner."
"Are there leftovers?"
"Kitchen," Historia sighed.
Armin got up nearly as fast as Eren, his stomach growling angrily at him for skipping lunch and dinner. Jean and Marco were already stuffing sandwiches into their faces. Jean garbled his words around a mouthful of food.
"I know we did'n win, bu'—" He swallowed finally. "It feels like victory."
Marco nodded enthusiastically. Eren pointed a potato chip at Armin.
"You should start playing with us."
"Ymir is that bad, huh?"
"No. I mean, she is. But it was fun."
Jean and Marco agreed through full mouths. Armin looked away from the half-chewed food but agreed to join them sometime soon before he excused himself. He found Mikasa stationed in the living room, not unlike the night before, her scarf slightly longer from where it hung off the knitting needles. She glanced at his weight on the cushion beside her.
"Good game," she remarked.
"It was beginner's luck."
She made a small sound in the back of her throat, not looking up from her work. He continued.
"About last night."
Her hands stilled. He had practiced this on his walk. He could do this.
"I didn't—I never said thank you," he said choppily.
It pained him to acknowledge it, but he could not change that she had been there. And for that, he owed her this much. She turned toward him, concerned but curious.
"For what?"
"For waking me up."
"Oh."
"And for not teasing."
The last part came out pitifully soft. He lifted his head to find Mikasa shaking hers.
"I wouldn't tease anyone about that."
She studied him. Someone bustled about in the kitchen and she waited for their footsteps to track out the front door. She lowered her voice anyway.
"That's why you don't sleep?"
He kept his gaze averted. He had told someone once about it, the only other person besides Historia. She had been the first (and last) person he had tried to date after the fact. She had laughed at him for being 'so sensitive.'
"It's part of it."
"I'm sorry."
"No, I'm sorry you were there for that." He swallowed, words growing heavy on his tongue as he said it.
"I'm not," she said.
He lifted his head to find her staring rather resolutely.
"What?"
"You thanked me for waking you up."
"I did," he said slowly.
"You don't always wake up from them?"
He looked away again, a bit taken aback by her perceptiveness.
"Not so quickly, no." he admitted.
It threatened to catch in his throat and he tried to parse out in his mind why he was telling her. She watched him a beat longer, gaze still direct and surprisingly stubborn. He might have felt chastised if he did not know any better.
"Then, I'm not sorry for being there," she said. Her voice was oddly soft compared to the determination that hardened her eyes.
His voice was alien to him when he replied.
"Then, I—I'm not sorry you were there, either."
It took so long for him to lift his head that he missed the way the rest of her softened at his quiet admission.
"I think everyone's outside, now," she said, rising quickly from the couch.
She placed her half-a-scarf on a side table before walking away, sparing a look at him when she reached the doorway. He pushed himself from the cushions.
"I'm coming."