Armin clung to the bed that morning, allowing himself to replay the evening over in his mind a time or two before finally rolling out of the covers.
He took more time than usual getting ready, not sure how much was due to the burst of energy he was experiencing, or the nagging sensation that he should aim for better presentability as a whole. This was followed by the requisite pot of coffee and a strong urge to clean the rather haphazard environment around him. It was not dirty, so to speak, but there was a layer of dust that would make his mother cringe. Besides, much of that dust collected on out-of-place books, music sheets, and, as he discovered hiding beneath the couch, a pair of old strings which were long removed from the violin they had once belonged to.
Historia was impressed at least.
"Wow, Armin. It's so tidy!"
Her eyes scanned the apartment. He ignored the implication of her surprise and tried to focus on the positivity behind it. She circled back to him.
"And you look very—" Her pause stretched for a moment. "Awake."
"I slept well," he offered.
"Good. Let's go!"
"Wait!"
She halted, amused bewilderment written across her face. He dumped half the coffee pot into a thermos before turning back to her.
"My coffee."
Her brow pinched together into question, but she wore a grin as they shuffled down the stairs.
"You seem ready," she called down after him.
"I am," he said, hair bouncing on his forehead at the last step.
Historia stopped suddenly at the bottom of the steps.
"Can I hug you?"
She looked over him with worried eyes, hesitant now. But he slowly dropped his bag and lifted his arm. She threw her arms around him.
He gave her a little squeeze back before she pulled away.
"I'll get your bag!"
His words of protest came too late, as she was already bounding up to Eren's parked car with his duffle in hand. He followed dutifully to deposit himself into the back seat.
He had not been up the mountain in years, despite living at its feet. Perhaps he had been there last for hiking, but he could not properly recall. It might just as well have been a picnic, or maybe the time he played a wedding gig at the ski resort.
He had barely been away from his apartment or the symphony hall for so long that he had forgotten how much he enjoyed it up here. Although, cabin, Armin thought, implied something smaller than the structure that rose to meet them as the car climbed the last leg of the drive.
The car crunched to a stop. He let himself out of the car and stretched before stepping warily across the drive, no doubt full of ice patches below a thin layer of fresh snow. He clutched his thermos still, though most of the coffee was gone. Historia and Eren were already fiddling at the cabin door as he picked his way up a snow-covered walk to the porch steps. Which, thankfully, had been salted recently.
The sound of tires crunching up the drive caught his ear. His feet broke through half-frozen snow patches on the porch as he watched Jean and Marco climb out to confidently cross the slippery terrain. He waited, but no one else emerged.
"Hi, Armin," Marco said cheerfully as he shuffled by. Jean nodded.
"Hey."
Armin retreated into the warmth of the cabin after them.
"Wasn't Mikasa riding with you?" Jean said as he stripped off his top coat.
Armin bit back his surprise, and then his anticipation. Eren glanced over his shoulder, hands rifling through his bag for supplies.
"She got held up. She's coming with Ymir and Frieda later."
"Should we wait?"
"No, she said to go ahead."
Armin swallowed, confident that he was doing a good job pretending not to listen. Except to Historia, who smirked at him. Eren turned around this time.
"You sure you don't want to go, Armin?"
No, he still did not want to break an arm. Which was inevitable if they tried to hurl him down a slope on nothing but slats.
"No, thank you."
At that, they gave him watch over the cabin and bid him goodbye. He took a sweep of the living room, the dining room, the kitchen. It was tempting to put a fresh pot of coffee on, but ultimately he skipped it. The cabinets were mostly bare, but he did find a box of tea amongst two bags of coffee grounds. He retired to one of the chairs in the living room with a book he had stuffed into his bag at the last minute. It had been a while since he had read much besides music notes and he looked forward to the break from bars and measures.
He had hauled through a quarter of the book by the time they arrived, having just contemplated whether he had brought enough reading material when the door creaked open. The familiar chatter of Ymir and Frieda drifted through the cabin. They had been Historia's friends since college and were nearly inseparable. His stomach rolled as he waited, frozen to the chair. She rounded the corner.
"Hi," Mikasa said.
She was never nervous, of course, he thought. Not like him.
"Hey."
"Were you waiting?" she said.
"Avoiding skiing."
She grinned a little.
"What about hiking?"
He marked his page.
"I like hiking."
And so he found himself at her side, feet breaking through a crisp top layer that had melted and frozen on itself too many times. It was a small trail that did not grant much space between them as they walked.
"How did you sleep?" she said as they drifted past a cluster of trees.
"Surprisingly well."
"So, not a very good insomniac, then?"
He laughed; a sudden temptation to nudge her gripped him. He shoved it away.
"Maybe I'll break the curse after all."
She hummed with the faintest smile creeping onto her lips.
The trees cast long shadows across the snow. His foot slipped on a hidden rock, but he recovered his balance before Mikasa's outstretched arm could stabilize him. He smiled at her sheepishly. She smiled back and resumed her determined path forward. He walked a few steps closer.
"Are we going somewhere?"
"Not that I know of," she said, calm stealing over her voice. "Just walking."
They spent long lengths of time 'just walking,' as their conversation was gradually replaced by the fall of their footsteps. It was quiet and peaceful, tracing the thin trail as it looped up and around a long cluster of trees, and he assumed it would eventually wind back toward the cabin. She spared a glance at him here and there. He stole many, watching her take in their surroundings as they poked along. At some point, it occurred to him that it had been a while since either of them had spoken. He held out his fingers to graze a low-hanging branch, knocking a puff of powdery snow loose. The sun was beginning to drop a yellowish glow over the white landscape.
"We've been out a while," he said, surprising himself by speaking first. The sound was heavy on his ears now. She waited until he caught up to keep walking, matching his pace once more. Her cheeks were pink from spending the afternoon outside.
"It's been nice."
He savored her words as the shape of the cabin formed in the distance.
"Armin?"
Her expression changed to exasperation. He paused in his tracks. She urged him a few inches to the right before a snowball thudded into the ground beside them.
"They're such children," she breathed, sliding behind a broad tree.
He followed, even though she had dropped her fingers from his elbow. Even though her nudge had been more exciting than nerve-wracking, and that in itself could be its own bright spot in the afternoon. He leaned into the tree and refocused himself before peering carefully around it. The laughter that rang across the clearing was Historia's. His foot slipped off a tall root and he stumbled, steadying himself on Mikasa.
"Sorry," he gasped, hand flying off her shoulder.
Her eyes caught him and held him there until another snowball thudded against the tree. She sighed and began compacting a handful of snow.
"What are you doing?" he said, knowing full well.
She straightened her back, already working on a second piece of ammunition. He scooped up some of his own, lest he appear cowardly over a bit of snow.
"I'm going to talk to them," Mikasa said pointedly before shooting out from their shelter to pelt Eren square in the shoulder.
Armin flung himself after her, air burning his lungs in a delightful way. He may have laughed even, but it was hard to tell when he was already taking fire.
"Hey," he cried as Historia's second snowball crashed on his side. But soon Historia let out a yelp.
He looked up as Mikasa positioned herself between him and them. Eren held one palm up, playfully pulling Historia with him with a laugh.
"Watch out, Armin," Eren called.
Mikasa outstretched her hand. Armin took it, examining the feeling of her fingers closing around his. Back upright, he let out the rest of his laughter and began dusting the snow from his coat, and then his pants. She reached for him, one step closer.
"Here."
His airways quit as her fingers met his mussed hair and shook a small flurry of snowflakes out.
"Thanks," he choked out, a shiver running down his spine.
She turned toward the cabin and began trudging until she merged with the path that Eren and Historia had already carved into the snow. He gulped down air and hurried after her. The warmth of the indoors almost burned as he stripped his coat off.
Marco and Jean looked calm and long-cozied on the sofa.
"There's hot chocolate," Marco announced.
"And a fire pit," Ymir added loudly as she hurried in behind them with Frieda, whose perpetually gentle voice still managed to carry across an entire room.
"We brought firewood."
Armin changed quickly into something dry before zeroing in on the teapot and a hot chocolate packet. Mikasa drifted in soon after. He considered the budding possibility that this was intentional before swallowing the nervous rise in his throat.
"There's tea, too," he offered.
"That's ok. I came for the hot chocolate."
"Here."
He set the mug he had just finished mixing on the counter in front of her. She regarded him with a faint smile, but her eyes lingered as he mixed a second cup.
"I like that sweater," she said.
He glanced down and back at her, a new sort of rise lifting him from the inside.
"Oh. It's—Thanks." He cleared his throat. "I like yours, too."
So stupid, he chided himself silently. Until her smile broke her lips and she mumbled a shy 'thanks' back.
Okay.
Maybe he could.
"Are you going outside?" she said, looking up at him.
"Yes."
He let his shoulder brush hers when they first sat on the cold stone bench. Ymir had stoked the fire to an impressive size with haste, heat rolling off it until Armin felt the urge to flip himself and warm his back. But he stayed exactly where he was. Where Mikasa had barely moved, except maybe to lean closer to him. His heart thudded and he tried not to be upset with how sensitive he had become to something so simple. His fingers fidgeted on the mug in his hands and he rubbed his thumb along the rim. Back and forth. Mikasa roasted a marshmallow, offering it to him as soon as she reeled it in. He smiled.
"No, that's ok. Thanks."
She obliged, and then he wished that he had taken it for himself. Molten marshmallow stuck to her bottom lip, to which she laughed and tried to hide behind her fingers. He swallowed thickly as she whisked it away and stuck the last bit of sugar into her mouth. He could not stop staring at her parted lips. She stared back, her lashes low.
His back straightened instantly as he suddenly caught Historia gawking at him from the corner of his vision. He had nearly forgotten the people that surrounded them.
"Do you want one," she asked, suddenly breathless.
"Okay," he said, no longer able to put together anything more complex than one and two syllables.
Realization dawned as he scanned the circle. Marco huddled against Jean's long frame. Ymir and Frieda, though they were more like sisters, strayed little from each other. They passed chocolate and graham crackers between themselves. Eren kept his arm around Historia, the latter of which Armin narrowed his eyes at. His suspicious staring was short-lived, however, when his attention was pulled back to Mikasa. She held a freshly roasted marshmallow aloft and grinned.
As far as Armin was concerned, the prolonged physical proximity to Mikasa was a high victory. By the time the fire began to tame, she leaned into his side until the cold bit through the last of the radiant heat. He was almost grateful for the separation.
For as much as he did not want it to end, it threatened to overwhelm him and it showed by the way that he tossed that night. Turned. He drew the covers overhead and underarm. One leg out, then in, but ultimately he gave up a little past midnight.
He ripped the comforter off and plodded out to the living room with his book, nearly cursing aloud.
"Can't sleep?" she said in the same soft tone with which she had wished him goodnight before her feather-light touch had landed on his arm, only about an hour before.
"No," he said.
He slowly approached the sofa and lowered himself on the other end. She turned her attention back to her hands, lifting her work back up.
"You knit?" he said, the book still flat in his lap.
"A little."
"What are you making?"
"A scarf."
He nodded and raised his book. She continued quietly, either sensing his nervousness or preferring not to speak anymore. Or, both, perhaps. He forced himself to try to relax as he picked the words on the page back up. By the time his head rolled back, he was already passing the halfway point. He lurched forward with a huff, fingers rubbing into his eyes before marking his page.
"You should go to sleep," she instructed.
He hummed in agreement, but could not resist lolling his head back against the cushion one last time.