Armin adjusted his too-tight tie from where he sat beside Mikasa. They watched the exchanges between Eren and Historia: The vows, the rings. The kiss was much less chaste than it ought to be in front of a crowd, but they laughed when Historia broke away with a giggle.

They would file out in their rehearsed order, in pairs. Mikasa's hand was light in the crook of his elbow but her thumb brushed the tiniest strokes against his suit coat in a way that made his heart rate much too quick. Her intent might have been lost on a less observant person. But he could not even begin to answer the question: Why?

He stole a glance at her deceptively still expression, where, from the corner of her eye, she caught him looking.

Didn't she know that he wasn't worth the trouble?

"I'm looking forward to the reception," she murmured as they neared the last row of seats, nudging him ever so slightly with her elbow.

"Please don't remind me," he said grimly.

It had not been a surprising request from Historia, but that did not make him particularly more inclined to enjoy it. Mikasa released his arm with a warm smile and he retreated to a small room to retrieve his violin, cursing his choice of profession.

Not really.

But who liked a wedding gig? And a non-paying one, at that. Not that he would ever have said no to Historia, or have accepted her money for it.

He grit his teeth at the intimacy of playing for people he knew personally and forced his bow to the string.

Once the first note was over, at least the rest tended to come easier. The nerves would give way to reciting easily recognizable refrains as wedding guests filtered into the reception hall. He could practically feel Mikasa lingering from where she had walked in but, whether for his sake or the busy nature of the evening, she drifted off sooner than later.

Just as he felt properly warmed up, Historia came to stand in front of him. He allowed the final notes of the last song to drift on a bit before lowering the violin.

"Thank you so much," Historia said, hands clutched together. She beamed.

The joy radiated from her to such a degree that Armin was suddenly grateful to be able to contribute in this way.

"You're welcome. But you should know, I'm pretty expensive."

Her eyes rolled, but she laughed at his dumb joke.

"I offered to pay you," she retorted. He grew serious once more.

"No, really, it's a wedding present."

It was all he had to offer. What else could he give them that they did not already have?

Historia thanked him twice more before being abruptly collected by their mother and urged toward a large banquet table. Armin returned his instrument to the safety of its case in the small room before making his way to his table to take a seat. It was quite far from Mikasa's table, him having been placed nearer to Eren and Historia. On the other side of the room, where most of the people his age sat, a chorus of laughter erupted. He tried to pick out Mikasa's, but it was utterly buried by a familiar voice.

"Oh, Armin, it feels like I haven't seen you in forever," his mom said in her usual songful cadence. She squeezed his arm.

"You saw me yesterday," he reminded her but tried to offer a smile nonetheless.

"It's not as if we had much chance to talk."

His dad stroked his mustache before chiming in.

"Carla and Grisha certainly know how to put on a party."

Armin took a long drink of water and glanced furtively at Mikasa's table once more, where he could finally catch a glimpse of her reserved smile. The rest of the table laughed again. She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and Armin was left to imagine how soft it might be to the touch.

"What about you, anything going on, honey?"

He shook his head at his mom, pulled from his thoughts.

"Just the usual," he answered. His voice felt weak in the lie, but his mother had been bombarded by a distant cousin and their attempt at a conversation ended just like that.

The toasts had been made somewhat raucously sometime after the conga line the night before, Armin came to learn. And so the deejay was turned loose with the microphone sooner than later to announce the newlyweds and beckon them to the center of the dancefloor for the first dance.

Armin smiled at the sight, but his mind quickly turned to a new goal. And, despite the achy nerves that had taken hold and the logic that his brain tried to talk him down with, he stood from his chair and dove into the crowd.

Who found who first, he was not sure.

"You played great earlier," Mikasa said warmly, standing much closer than the loose population of the dance floor outskirts warranted.

"Thanks," he mumbled, and he was grateful when she did not dwell on it.

"Are you sad we missed the toasts?" She said, amusement subtle in her voice. But he could catch the sound of it now, and he relished that he could see something others might not.

"Not if they were half as drunk as my mom claims they were." He said, before reconsidering. "On the other hand, it was probably very entertaining."

"I didn't mind being outside, though," she said, glancing away.

"Me, either," he agreed.

She drew closer to him, near enough to have their shoulders brush as they looked out across the dance floor. Selfishly, and unable to resist, he drew his hand from his pocket.

Before his fingers could reach hers, though, the slow beat of a new song wound its way across the room and she glanced over. Her lips pursed nervously.

"Do you ever dance?"

She quickly looked away as he bit his lip.

"Oh, no, I'll step on your toes," he fretted. Then, he worried that he might have wrongfully assumed that she was even asking him to dance. And that was not even to mention the idea of dancing with her. As if being a professional ballerina was not enough, she also had this way of making his heart rate tick up.

"You can't do worse to them than I have."

She suddenly grasped his waiting hand and he followed all too willingly to a more secluded corner of the floor. When he stopped abruptly, she did too, almost awkwardly so, considering her capacity for grace.

Almost.

She still turned toward him in a slow quarter spin that reminded him of why it was probably a bad idea to show her exactly how uncoordinated he could be at times. He swallowed the lump in his throat as she lowered her other hand carefully to his shoulder. He tested the weight of his hand on her waist, a near-foreign feeling coursing through him.

At least he could follow a rhythm if nothing else.

They took a slow step on the beat. He tentatively slid his hand an inch further around her waist. She leaned closer immediately, her hip brushing his. He stole an occasional glance, too enamored not to take her in. She caught his gaze here and there, but let it drop quickly each time. He was cautious, taking more than a few beats before he slipped his hand to the small of her back and leaned closer, body pressing ever so slightly to hers. The hitch in her breath alone made his stomach knot. Her face, so close to his that he could lay his forehead to her cheek if he wanted. And he considered it.

But before that thought could take root, she had laid her cheek to his and slid her hand onto the blade of his shoulder.

Doing all he could not to short out entirely, he tried to lead them in one circle. One simple, tiny circle. Although, he was fairly certain she was the one leading.

And when the rush of blood through his ears finally let up, he took a long breath and closed his eyes. It shot his nerves almost, but it was so pleasant; heady, even. He had not realized at all how much he had craved to be close to someone like this again.

Or maybe he had refused to admit it to himself.

The tune of the song that had played faded, but a second one, equally slow, followed. He chose not to question this good fortune, instead letting his cheek rest heavier against hers while weighing his options. Maybe he could ask her back to the cafe? She seemed to have liked it there.

It was difficult to keep his breathing steady as she relaxed into him. It was—

It was nice.

The knot tightened in his chest as the song was drawing too quickly to an end, forcing them to come to a reluctant standstill. His mouth ran dry at the thoughts that raced through his mind. Her mouth curved slowly into a gentle smile and his breath stuttered at how close her face drew to his.

"Mikasa!"

They sprung apart. Historia charged after Jean, who had practically skidded to a stop in front of them.

"Jean! Jean, you—You!" Historia shouted over the music. "You dolt!"

Armin turned slowly to his sister, unable to stop the laugh from springing up.

"Dolt?" he said as she crossed her arms.

"Yes, dolt!" she seethed.

Jean shrugged, unaffected. "Mikasa, Eren wants a picture."

It did nothing to settle Historia.

"For a picture!" she demanded

"Ok," Mikasa said, looking flatly at Jean. "So?"

"Annie and Marcel are about to leave. He wants a photo of all of us before they take off."

"Alright," Mikasa agreed, following him away with little urgency. Armin bit back another laugh, but grinned at Historia.

"Dolt?"

She huffed. "I don't see how you find this funny."

"Did you step out of a Shakespeare play this morning?"

"You—But you!"

"Is the baby getting to you already?" he teased.

"You!"

She stopped herself short of smacking his arm. He only laughed more, until she did, although it was light as a feather.

"You're acting like a kid!" she said, starting to laugh with him.

"It's better than before, isn't it?"

Her smile vanished then. He regretted bringing it up.

"Anyway, shouldn't you be having fun?" he said, already starting toward anywhere but where they stood.

"I am having fun," she protested. "But I'm hungry."

"Didn't you eat?"

"Barely."

"Can I get you something?"

"Not likely. I already tried. And if the bride can't get it to turn up, no offense, but I don't think you can either. Thanks, though."

They mulled a while near the bar. He glanced at her.

"I guess you're not drinking?"

"Nope. I haven't had more than a few sips of anything for the last few months. You can get something, though."

"That's ok, thanks. I'm driving back."

"Did you have a good time?"

"Yeah," he said, honestly. "I did. And congrats, again."

They shared a brief smile.

He would not see Historia again until they were saying goodbye to their parents at the end of the night, a hug-filled affair with the family that thoroughly tested his newfound tolerance for the close contact.

Long after he had gotten home, he carried the feeling of Mikasa's cheek against his, and stayed up far too late trying to work out the feeling of it all over his keyboard.