"First a closet, now a concert."

Sasha fiddled with the concert program and cast a suggestive grin toward Mikasa, who only supplied exasperation in return. That is, before she returned to where she had left off on the page. Her finger skimmed the names and drifted to a stop over Armin's. The asterisk after his name noted his position as section leader and a sort of pride swelled in her chest at the sight. Musicians were making their way onto the stage, the sounds of their warm-ups beginning to waft through the hall. Her pulse betrayed her when she spotted him.

The bright stage lights bleached his blonde hair two tones lighter. He slid carefully into his seat, sparing a nervous glance toward the audience.

She would be lying if she said she had come for the music. She was sure she would enjoy it, however her attention was held a little tighter than it had been at any symphony concert before.

Levi was the last to walk across the stage, solemn as ever and somehow even more stern beneath the bright lights. She wondered if he might ever lighten up again. What a softie, she thought. He hardly fooled her, but she had known him since they were kids and it was hardly surprising that she might see through his facade.

She wished she could pick out Armin's playing, despite knowing that was impossible. And she somehow doubted if he would play for her, or that she would ever pluck up the courage to ask him to play for her, because why would she even ask such a thing? The thought of it made her stomach turn nervously, so she settled for watching his hands and the occasional tapping of his foot. The seats he had given her tickets for were quite good and she doubted that they had been complimentary, even for a symphony member.

Her head turned suddenly toward Levi's side of the stage at the unmistakable sound of a string snapping.

Mikasa bit back her amusement as Levi's lips moved and she was sure his mouth formed the word 'fuck' as he immediately traded violins with his stand partner, who was already dutifully fishing a string packet from his pocket as Levi resumed playing on the borrowed instrument. Armin only spared a reflexive glance toward the commotion but played on as if nothing had happened.

Professionals, through and through.

Her focus was drawn back to Armin, though. A rebellious lock of hair bounced on his forehead through a series of fast sections of music. His fingers were nimble and his posture controlled and it began to wash over her just how much they perhaps had in common.

And when the crowd stood to clap, she was one of the first to her feet.

Armin stood alongside the rest of the orchestra, beckoned up by their conductor to receive their due congratulations. Mikasa clapped extra and soaked up the rare smile that lit up his face. Though perhaps it seemed more frequent these days, she thought.

Out of the symphony hall, she saw Levi first.

"You play too hard," she said, amused at the frown it drew from him.

"Fucking shit strings," he muttered. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

"I came to see the symphony."

Sasha laughed from her side and expanded on the topic without invitation. "She came to see someone who is in the symphony."

"Not me, I hope." Levi commented in a particularly flat tone.

"Would it be so terrible?" Mikasa said.

"She didn't," Sasha verified. Levi lifted a brow.

Mikasa caught sight of Armin, who seemed to be standing with relative ease for once, chatting to another player. Levi followed her gaze and scoffed.

"Fucking deja vu," he muttered before simply turning and walking away.

Sasha was already watching in the same direction.

"He's cute."

"Who, Armin?"

"No—Well, yes, I know you're into him, but, no. The guy he's talking to. Do you know him?"

Mikasa frowned at the bloom of heat across her cheeks.

"No."

"Let's go over there."

Mikasa hesitated.

"I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"He looks busy."

"He literally invited you. Didn't he call you beautiful?"

Her blush bordered on full red, she was sure. She could not go over now.

"Not quite."

He had, in fact, said she had danced beautifully. A knot formed in her stomach and Sasha watched closely as she toed the ground. She had always been too shy in this regard.

"Please?" Sasha said finally.

But it was not necessary. Armin met Mikasa's gaze suddenly, a cautious smile beginning to bloom on his features. She could not help but return it as Sasha lightly elbowed her.

"See."

Mikasa allowed her feet to carry her there, trying not to think about it too much. She watched Armin's hands fidget on the strap of his violin case, but his counterpart wore a much more relaxed grin.

"You came," Armin said as she neared.

"Yes, thank you for the tickets. It was really good."

"What, no introductions, Armin?"

They turned to the other man.

"Sorry." Armin cleared his throat. "This is Mikasa. And—Sasha, right?"

Sasha nodded. He continued. "This is Connie."

Connie held his hand out to Sasha first.

"Connie Springer, at your service."

"Great concert," Sasha said, practically bubbling.

"And a great audience. Thanks for coming."

"What do you play?"

Sasha angled toward Connie. Armin glanced at Mikasa. She raised her brow in mutual response, although he looked away quickly. Her nerves teased her, but she would resist showing them if she could.

"Viola," Connie answered.

Sasha pointed to the case he carried.

"Oh, I thought it was a violin! My sister plays."

Connie pressed a palm to his heart.

"Please, don't lump me in with those people."

"Hey," Armin said, a smile back on his lips, "We're not all bad."

"Tell that to your stand partner. Anyway—"

Connie and Sasha seemed to quickly forget that they were standing there. Mikasa waited quietly, unsure of what to say. As usual. She resisted a sigh at this thought, trying instead to think of something conversational. She leaned in.

"Is he a nice guy?"

Nothing more conversational than turning into a mother hen, right? She pursed her lips at herself, but Armin now bore a little grin.

"Who, Connie?"

There was a pause as he shuffled closer to her. As close as they had ever been, maybe, not including the closet. She tried to disavow the memory, all while holding it close.

"You don't have to worry about him. He's a good guy."

Mikasa watched Sasha and considered Armin's words. It was almost like having her old friend back as she watched Sasha's hands move as she talked and Connie, who leaned in closer.

"You two are close?"

Armin's eyes were searching. Open, curious. She had not seen this particular expression settle across his features before, but it suited him. Her hands gripped tight around the paper program that had rolled into a compact cone shape through the course of the evening.

"Yes."

"And your friend, Annie?"

"Yes. We've been dancing together for years."

"Do you do much outside of ballet?"

It might have come off offensively if his tone were not so sincere. And certainly, he must understand the commitment required after all. She blushed under his soft gaze.

"Not really."

"Yeah, me neither. With this, I mean. I spend most of my time at rehearsal or practicing. It's like I'm just going between my apartment and here. Or, I'm—"

He stopped abruptly, the guarded haze returning to his features. She bit back her disappointment but dared to press a tiny bit.

"Or, you're what?"

"Oh, I—I write some, I guess."

"Music?"

"Yeah."

"That's—"

"Mikasa, do you want to get something to eat? Connie says there's a place a few blocks down."

Sasha's voice cut through the bubble that had formed around her and Armin. It popped just like that, all the chatter and motion of the hall returning to her eardrums.

"Thai," Connie added.

Mikasa turned to Sasha, her disbelief not even hidden.

"You want to go?"

Sasha gave her a 'don't worry about me' sort of smile.

"Yeah. But I know you already ate," Sasha added.

"Yeah," she said, not sure what to do next.

"Why don't I call you after?" Sasha offered.

Mikasa nodded quickly, knowing she could not babysit Sasha's eating habits, no matter how tempting it was to try.

"Ok. Call me."

And so they stood there as Connie and Sasha walked away, not even having questioned Armin remaining in place, who cleared his throat.

"Are you tired?"

"Not really."

There was a long pause, followed by a hesitant,

"Do you want to get some coffee?"

"Not really." She folded the concert program and slipped it into her purse. "But I like tea."

"Ok. Tea?"

"Ok."

He was quiet initially, and she was even more so. She pulled her jacket tight against the wind that met them outside the doors. It reminded her of the upcoming trip, and so she spoke first.

"Are you ready for the weekend?"

"Not quite."

But he seemed more amused than anything as he said this. She fell in step beside him.

"No?"

"To be honest, I don't know what to expect. And I don't ski."

"Never?"

"Never."

"There's more than skiing," she said, trying to alleviate the tension that crept across his jawline. "There's supposed to be hiking. Having a fire with marshmallows?"

He snuck a sideways glance.

"It doesn't sound so bad."

"It might be fun."

"It might," he conceded, a tease sneaking into his voice now.

She ignored the tightening in her stomach and passed through the old steel and glass door that he held open. The smell of coffee hit her strongly, but she drew it in and enjoyed imagining him as a regular patron.

"Do you come here often?"

"Not really. But, I used to. I doubt they'll remember me, though. Here—These are their teas."

He directed her gaze to a chalkboard on the wall, a surprisingly long selection list winding down it. He gathered her order and stepped to the cashier.

"Hey, Armin," they said brightly. He perked up, and Mikasa felt the corners of her lips turn up.

"Hey. It's good to see you."

"Been busy?"

"Yeah, I have. How're you?"

Mikasa wandered to a nearby bookshelf, but it was not stuffed with books. Sheet music of all sorts stuck out from each shelf. There appeared to be an attempt to organize the array by alphabetical order, but she could not say for sure. Her fingers grazed the spines. Some were thick, some thin, and some not spines at all, but loose sheets trying their best to stay upright amidst the chaos.

"It's cool, right?"

She debated on the word 'cool,' but certainly would not deny the wonder of it.

"I like it here," she said. He held out a wide ceramic mug, steaming.

"Thank you," she added.

The easier side of him had returned. When not so fidgety, he made for soothing company. He flashed her another smile.

"Here, come see this."

She followed eagerly at what had seemingly come to life inside of him. He climbed a steep, winding staircase, moving at a cautious pace. She followed close behind until a room erupted in front of her suddenly.

It was dim and carpeted to the point of concern. A few lamps were strewn about and a handful of people loitered on plush sofas and chairs. That was hardly the notable part, though. She stared out the large window that angled into a courtyard by the symphony hall. A bit of night sky could be seen past the tops of the buildings.

"Wow."

"Yeah."

She pulled the mug to her lips and sipped. He lowered his violin case beside a table before slowly descending into one of the overstuffed chairs beside it. She followed into the chair across from him, sinking unceremoniously into the cushions all at once. She made a noise as she was sucked into the chair.

He stifled a laugh.

"Sorry," he said when she shot him a look, but his amusement still rang clear.

She tried to harden her look, but her face only softened.

"So," she began, a new attempt at conversation. The most attempts she had made at it that she could recently remember. "Isn't it late for coffee?"

"It's a bad habit," he said, studying her. "You don't drink coffee at night, or you don't drink it at all?"

"Not at night."

"I'm trying to imagine that."

"It's easy. I only drink it in the morning."

His laugh was still so new that it sparked something in her every time. It gave her a petty sort of pleasure to think that seeing him this way might be earned and not easily given.

"You drink a lot of coffee?" she added.

"It's actually absurd."

"How much?"

"An unreasonable amount."

"Two cups a day?"

Armin scoffed and closed his eyes for a moment, shaking his head. "Definitely more."

"It's amazing you sleep at all."

"I barely sleep anyway."

"Why not?"

"Oh, it's—Sort of like insomnia."

"Have you had it checked out?"

"It's complicated," he said, voice low. "But don't worry about it."

"Sorry." She took a long drink of her tea, trying her best to be friendlier. "I didn't mean to pry."

"No, sorry, I shouldn't have mentioned it, it's not really light conversation."

"I don't mind."

If anything, the desire to know more tugged at her. A quietness stretched between them, but it was unusually comfortable for her. He seemed lost in thought, head turned to the window.

"Sorry," he said, glancing her way, "I'm bad company."

"If you're bad, I'm terrible," she admitted, surprised at how easy she was beginning to feel with him.

He shook his head.

"Impossible."

She hummed, unsure of what to say. Further proof in her mind that she was indeed the worse, conversationally.

"How did you get into ballet?" he said.

It was not a new question, but for the first time in a long time, she looked forward to sharing the answer with someone.

"My mother was a dancer. I grew up in the studio, practically. I guess you could say she still is, but she doesn't dance much anymore. She teaches at a ballet school not far from here."

"And your dad?"

"A dancer, too."

Armin sat back, eyebrows raised.

"Is that common?"

"I think so. You get really close, you know? With everyone, I guess, but especially the ones you dance a lot with."

He contemplated this, then said,

"I hope you won't take this the wrong way, but it surprises me sometimes that Historia never gets jealous with Eren."

Mikasa laughed a little, to Armin's amusement.

"Well, for one, Eren doesn't have eyes for anyone but her."

He smiled at this. She continued.

"And, it really is just work. I mean, some dancers get feelings. Look at Jean and Marco. Or my parents. But, I've been dancing with Eren since we were young. Stage chemistry happens when you know someone so well. But when you grow up with someone, they're more like family."

She glanced away, suddenly conscious of how long she had been talking. Her tea was nearing room temperature.

"What about you?" she said quickly.

He glanced at the violin case.

"My mother is a musician. I guess you could say it runs in the family for me, too."

At his pause, Mikasa leaned forward (as best as possible, considering the chair continued to try to eat her alive).

"What does she play?"

"Piano."

"You do, too."

It was not a question.

"She taught me," he said.

"And your dad?"

He leaned forward, his chair having consumed less of him somehow. His expression shifted to something playful, to which she blinked and drew a quick breath.

"A mechanic."

She laughed. He glanced shyly away but grinned boyishly. Then a yawn escaped him.

"Tired?"

He looked up at her, surprised.

"I—Yeah. I guess it makes me sound ridiculous, considering what I said earlier. But, yeah."

She picked up her purse and the now empty mug.

"You should go get some rest, then."

"I think that's probably a good idea," he agreed, gathering his things up. "It's late. Do you want a ride home?"

"You don't mind?"

"No, I don't mind. Come on, let's go."

They both had to cling to the rail as they descended the stairs, steeper than any she had been on before. The wind hit them twofold when they stepped outside. Armin made a faint noise of alarm at it that made her want to reach out her hand, though she did no such thing. They made a rush to the parking garage, car doors slamming shut behind them before any new attempts to talk could be made. He cranked up the heat, both of them groaning at the blast of cold air to their faces.

"Sorry," he apologized.

"No," she laughed, "Thanks for the ride."