Armin stared at the keyboard.
He had enough there, if he wanted to say something to Erwin.
But it was still so unorganized. So out of sorts; much too much to be handing any part of it over to a man like Erwin. Or any person, for that matter. Armin flicked the switch off and committed himself to leaving the apartment once more.
His schedule had nearly returned to normal. Nearly. Because there were two very distinct changes that had dragged him into new territory. Or, was it old? As composing was concerned, it reminded him of a time passed when he had devoted much of his time to the craft of it. Though this time was more tenuous than before, he clung to it.
The wedding, of course, was an entirely different scheduling demand. Eren and Historia were reasonably relaxed on the whole affair, but any event of such a size was bound to have a ripple effect.
Such as engagement parties.
Such as this engagement party, at which he would soon be arriving. At which Mikasa would no doubt be present. He walked up the steps, swallowed the lump in his throat, and pushed his way through the front door, thankful in knowing there were not a great many invitees to this particular gathering.
However, as he came to mildly regret, he went straight to the circle of people that huddled in the living room.
"He should have been taken to court."
Eren's eyes were steely and his usual candor was replaced by a hard undertone. Marco bore a frown and Jean's scowl deepened to a new level.
"I'm just glad they fired him," Marco said, trying to smooth things over. "I mean, don't get me wrong, Rico is a little terrifying. But she's nice."
The way he emphasized the last word made Jean's fist clench. But being the more observant among them, Marco glanced nervously at Armin's arrival.
"Thank god for Annie," Eren said, "She was the only one who made anything happen."
"You mean thank her rich dad," Jean scoffed. Eren shrugged.
"I don't care who it was, I'm just glad Zackly's out."
Marco gave up on his plate of food and abandoned it on a nearby table. Jean took his hand and glanced at Armin.
"Sorry, Armin, you didn't come here just to hear about all this," Jean said, flashing a smile toward him. He somehow did not think it was meant for him, though, as he watched Jean give Marco's hand a squeeze.
"Just ballet drama," Jean added.
Armin cleared his throat.
"Oh. I didn't mean to interrupt."
"No, don't worry. Eren's supposed to be telling us about the bachelor party anyway."
"We'll talk about it with everyone," Eren said. "Where are they?"
The sound of her laugh rang out from the kitchen.
"I'm going to get a drink," Armin said abruptly, excusing himself to follow the sound.
Historia was the center of a huddle in the kitchen, ringed by Mikasa, Ymir, and Frieda. Mikasa held her fingers over her mouth, laughter dying on her lips. She spared a glance toward him, her smile renewing even if obscured. But Historia spoke first.
"What are they talking about in there? Eren sounded riled up."
Armin stilled his expression and accepted a glass that she offered to him.
"I don't know. Someone from the dance company? Zackly?"
Mikasa stiffened.
Historia's face was passive, but she could not fool her own brother. She shifted, though, and turned back to the group.
"I bet they're ready for this then," she said, picking up a bottle from the counter and departing from the kitchen. Ymir and Frieda stayed close on her tail.
Mikasa sidled up to where Armin leaned against the counter, having intended to take a moment to himself. He bit his lip, but found it difficult to be anything but silently pleased that she had suddenly chosen his company.
"Who's Zackly?" he said, his attempt at nonchalance sounding false on his tongue.
Mikasa's arms crossed tightly across her chest. "The old company director. He was fired at the end of last season."
When she said no more, he did not press. Her arms loosened slightly.
"I was surprised to see you at the show the other night. I didn't know you liked going to the ballet?"
"I've never been before," he admitted.
"What did you think?"
"I really enjoyed it."
"Oh, good. I'm glad you liked it."
"It was great to see it after playing it so much."
"I could see why. I like to watch, too."
"You go to the shows?"
"Not always, but I went to the performance the night before closing. Annie and Marcel were very good."
"You were great, though."
His own eyes widened as he heard it roll off his tongue. He snapped his face away, heart picking up speed.
"I mean. You danced beautifully."
His thoughts yelled at him incoherently.
"It was a great show, I mean."
His arms were the ones crossed now, squeezed tight to his body like armor. He silently begged for the ground to swallow him.
The blood rushing in his ears nearly drowned out her soft, "I'm glad you liked it."
She kicked off from the counter, back toward the living room. Armin remained, too stunned to move. Historia's face poked into the door frame a few moments after, her expression changing to one of concern.
"You ok?"
He nodded slowly, forcing his arms to drop and his feet to shuffle after her, back to the front room. His energy was channeled as quickly as possible to the effort of avoiding eye contact with Mikasa as Eren began to describe a rather intimidating weekend up the mountain.
There was a lot of hand motioning and words such as 'skiing' being thrown around. Armin cautiously lifted his eyes. Jean and Ymir had chimed in as soon as a firepit was mentioned. He scanned the circle, his shoulders almost having relaxed when he caught Mikasa's eyes. They both looked away
More nerve wracking—and less exciting—was the prospect of skiing being thrust upon him. Armin said nothing, but had long decided to avoid the activity altogether. He was enough of a risk to his hands and wrists as it was. Still, he had to admit that a weekend in a cabin up the mountain was a pleasant prospect all in all.
Until he heard her speak and was reminded all at once how nervous he ought to be.
"As long as Eren doesn't cook."
A swell of laughter rose, the loudest being from Historia who stood beside him. He stole a glance across the circle against his better judgment. Mikasa did not quite smirk, but her eyes bore a playfulness. Eren feigned protest.
"Hey, I haven't burned the house down."
Mikasa raised an eyebrow at Eren. "Yet."
Armin could not resist a quiet laugh. Mikasa seemed to single it out as she turned her focus to him. He did not look away this time. Not right away, at least. Historia nudged him from one side.
"Have you eaten?"
He reluctantly drew his attention to Historia's worried expression.
"No."
She motioned back to the kitchen.
"C'mon. You should eat something. And thank god you got a haircut," she piled on next.
Armin touched his hair without thinking.
"It was just a few weeks," he mumbled.
"And a few before that."
He trailed after Historia, who was meandering to the dining table. Had he really been looking so bad?
"So," she started, a teasing tone setting in. Armin looked at her suspiciously as she lowered herself into the chair across from him. He arranged finger foods on a small plate.
"So, what?"
"So, why were you looking like a tomato earlier?"
He coughed on a bit of carrot, back straightening.
"Like a tomato?"
"Pretty much."
He groaned and slumped back toward the table.
"So," she teased again, "Is something going on?"
He wiped the corner of his mouth with a napkin and took a burning swig from his champagne flute. Historia sipped at hers, stealing a grape from his plate.
"Nothing's—There isn't anything going on."
Historia hummed noncommittally.
"She was just asking if I liked the ballet."
"And?"
He groaned and dropped his chin into his hand with a frown.
" I said she was great and that she danced beautifully. Who says that?"
"So you," Historia paused, "complimented her?"
"No, I—I just sounded stupid."
Historia rolled her eyes. "I doubt that."
"I just—And she—" He motioned uselessly toward the living room, voice dropping but he could not help to say it for once. "I'm all screwed up. You know that."
Historia huffed. "I would so hit you right now, you know that?"
He side-eyed her at this. Her face scrunched into something close to anger. He was silent.
"Stop thinking badly about yourself," she commanded. "I know you're thinking about it. You know I know."
He tried to quiet his mind. Historia still looked sharply at him.
"And anyone should be so lucky."
He stared quietly into the table at her fierceness, but a swell rose secretly in his chest.
Historia's name was called from beyond. She rolled her eyes.
"That's my cue. Just. Take care of yourself, ok?"
At that, Historia excused herself. Armin took his now empty plate to the sink, biding his time. But he was not alone long, as it became apparent that Historia intended to take certain matters into her own hands.
"Historia asked me to help you with the cake," Mikasa explained as soon as he spied her slipping into the kitchen.
"Oh. Thank you."
Yes, thank you for helping with this randomly appointed task, he thought, although he could not exactly be upset with Historia.
He cleared space on the counter as Mikasa opened the fridge and drew out the cake. He almost made a sound when their arms brushed and they nearly collided in their mutual attempts not to look at one another. She lowered the cake to the counter before they could risk knocking it over entirely. He busied himself with cleaning the immediate area, cheeks growing far too warm.
"The symphony has a concert tomorrow?"
He stopped to look at her, stomach knotting at the notion.
"Yes," he answered, anxiety and hope dancing in his throat.
"I haven't been to one since the night Eren and Historia met."
"No?"
He cursed his wavering voice, hands clutching the dish towel that he still held. She continued.
"No, Levi hasn't invited me back since."
He swallowed, his thoughts already reeling as he began.
"Do you want to come tomorrow? I have an extra ticket."
Her smile only made his chest tighten more.
"Really?"
"Actually." He dropped the crumpled towel to the counter and fumbled in his pocket, pulling out his wallet. "I have two. In case you want to bring a friend? Not that—I mean, if you don't want to go by yourself."
The tickets had originally been for Historia and Eren, which he had intended to give to them. Until they had canceled at the last minute.
Thank goodness.
Mikasa stifled a grin. "You carry symphony tickets around?"
"It's a long story."
She took the two tickets and tucked a stray hair behind her ear. "Thank you. I'd love to go."
"Great," he breathed.
"Should—" He motioned toward the cake. "Should we?"
She nodded. "I'll go get them."