"Annie, this is unacceptable. These errors are trivial. What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I'm just not feeling well."

A deep sigh. Shirt fabric shifting as his hand lifted to his head, rubbing his temples.

"Go home, then. We'll resume tomorrow when you can function."

"No. I can do it. Give me just a moment."

He went quiet, and she gently pressed her fingertips to her knit brow, shutting her eyes and sighing.

Maybe this had all been a terrible idea. All day, the boy had plagued her like a fever. Her body swayed between nervous alarm and nauseous happiness. She could be in the middle of a flawless rendition of a piece she'd known for years, suddenly feel the touch of his hand against hers like she was right there again, and miss the next note a millisecond late.

Her wrist was a hot, swollen pink to prove it.

Maybe she shouldn't have told him to come back. But, when she considered that, a sad, sick feeling swelled up like bile in her throat, and she reminded herself reassuringly that there was nothing that could be done about it now, anyway.

So, maybe a little bit better, she began again. Counted out the metronome in her head, trapped in her ears, a steady beat with steady hands to match. It's going much better now.

A shadow catches the corner of her eye and her head snaps sharply, silently to the door, heart missing beats - Armin? Armin? - but it's just a mother and her two young sons. Father murmurs, "Continue." in a somewhat-warning tone, and wanders toward the family with a smooth, polite greeting, asking if they need any assistance.

Determinedly, she keeps her head down, keeps time, and keeps playing Nocturne softly.

The woman sounds stuffy and exhausted - no doubt from her two young boys - and began asking about a good beginner piano and if they offered lessons. Mom distracted, the boys began scurrying through the shop, slamming keys and giggling freely.

For a moment, Annie thinks she sees someone else appear at the door, but they were gone too quickly for her to tell. She wouldn't be surprised if they had seen the wild children and opted to keep walking. Normally, Father would have asked the parent to contain their offspring, but… From the sound of it, a purchase was a real possibility.

"What about her? She plays well. Does she do lessons?"

"My daughter is not yet qualified to do so, unfortunately. I can, however, recommend you to…"

To her scorching, roiling pleasure, she didn't miss a single note.

The ordeal lasted maybe half an hour. Annie mulled through the other Nocturnes she had memorized, trying hard not to be too distracted by the squealing of the adventurous pair. It was honestly difficult, but he knew that's why he was making her play. He was testing her. There was always a test to be accomplished. Failed.

She scarcely realized the transaction had finished when she heard the door open with a jingle, and half-zoned out, jolted to see if it was Armin, and then winced in surprise when a sharp snap came down on her hand.

"There were several mistakes," Father's low voice rumbled authoritatively. Annie stared straight ahead at the sheet music, unwilling to look at him.

"I know."

"You will not repeat these mistakes next time. Your attention should be only on the instrument, the music. What I am doing and what others are doing are of no concern to you."

"Yes, sir."

He sighed, a sound she was almost desensitized to (hadn't he heard the phrase, 'every time you sigh, a little bit of your happiness escapes?') and he began undoing his work apron. Guess it was lunch break. Her stomach turned a little at the thought of food, but her heart leapt into her throat at the thought of not being here if Armin came by, and…

"I'll stay here."

It wasn't a particularly odd request. But, naturally, he replied with a curt, "Yes. And you will get it right this time."

That was the end of the conversation.

When she was sure he was gone, door closed tight behind him, she allowed herself one brief moment to grab the Chopin booklet off the stand and hurl it violently at the wall with an animal noise.

That was the man, wasn't it? Tall, stern-browed, an unyielding blue-grey gaze; blonde with an almost militant haircut. His broad shoulders moved tightly as he crossed the brick roads, and his golden watch glinted in the afternoon sunlight… And, he had come out from Gendermery.

Armin hurriedly peeked inside the window again but couldn't see anything from the glare. He swallowed, tightened the paper bag in his grip, and slipped inside the shop with a tiny ring of the bell.

Nervous with anticipation, he put on what he hoped was a friendly-looking smile, and waited to see if Annie would kick him out.

He expected to see her playing. She had been for some time, but guessed maybe she got a break when her dad left. He expected to see her behind the counter then, maybe, checking the register. Or even cleaning.

However, Annie, looking much the same as she had yesterday, was bending over by the wall to pick up a damaged-looking sheetbook.

"Er… Annie?"

Nothing changed in her demeanor as she rose, in no hurry at all. In fact, when their eyes met and he felt warmth spread through him like vines, she looked positively bored.

"Oh. Hello, Armin."

He was certain then that his smile did not come across as amicably as he'd hoped. In fact, unfortunately, it felt like it had frozen into a petrified grin.

"I-is… this a good time?" he managed to get out. Annie strode across the room like a wraith, and placed the book back at her piano - well, the one she played at. Why was the book on the floor, though? And on the other side of the room in a heap?

"Yeah, you're safe. My father actually just went to lunch."

Relief. She wasn't making eye contact with him anymore - just staring at the reflective surface of the grand piano - but she didn't seem angry at least.

"Well, uh, speaking of lunch… I happened to get some, and if you're hungry, you can have this?" He held up the crinkled bag, unnatural smile still in place, and prayed he wasn't being overly-friendly in his offer. "It's just a panini. It's okay if you don't, it was just an extra, I-"

"Sure," she said.

Wait, what?

"Okay, great! Where can we…?"

"The floor."

Her voice was totally blank. Honestly, if she weren't so intimidating, he would find it funny. He'd met stoic people before, of course - Mikasa was at the top of the list - but even Mikasa didn't seem to try so hard to… well… seem it.

In silence, Annie went back behind the counter and procured some paper towels, a thermos, and two styrofoam cups. Armin awkwardly sat cross-legged on the carpet, and she handed him a cup and napkin before following suit, folding her knees underneath her and tucking back a loose strand of hair.

Truthfully, Armin was on cloud nine with total relief. Leaving the house, he was so eager he had completely forgotten about eating, and by the time he made it downtown on his bike, he was starving. He stopped by his favorite deli to remedy his hunger, and had an epiphany. There had been an uncomfortable moment where he stood in silence, and the cashier looked at him like maybe he'd fallen off his bike on the way there, but Armin quickly asked for two of his usual press before he could change his mind.

He was thankful Annie hadn't asked about his perfect timing. He wasn't sure he was a good enough liar to convince her that he hadn't been waiting nearby for nearly twenty minutes for her father to leave (and his courage to reappear).

"So, um, how has your day been so far?" He asked between bites. Annie seemed off. Not that he knew her well enough to rationally know, but his intuition seemed to think so.

Chewing slowly, thoughtfully, Annie still didn't seem to want to make eye contact with him. After she swallowed, she answered, "Fine." ...And that was it.

Doubts began creeping into Armin's thoughts with more veracity than he'd like. In an effort to not let their visit fall apart before it even began, he went on, "I was surprised that you weren't playing when I came in. I didn't see any customers, and you seem like the type to practice all day long. Ah! So, why was that booklet on the floor?"

Annie stopped eating. She looked up, right into his eyes, and he sort of felt like he'd been nailed to the wall several feet behind him. The sheer intensity was unbelievable, and apologies rose and died in his throat in its wake.

And then, just like that, she glanced away. Her expression visibly softened, and she rolled her neck, stretching her tense shoulders, before saying, "This is really good."

The… panini? Armin felt his eyes go wide, and finally, his smile cracked out of its frozen shell and felt real.

"Yeah, isn't it? It's one of my favourites. There's a little soup and sandwich place down the road my grandfather takes me to sometimes."

"Cool. Where is it?"

"Oh, it's uh… Between the wine cellar and that cafe with the book cart outside. Do you know what I'm talking about?"

"Yeah. I've never been. Maybe I'll go sometime."

Armin beamed. "I'm glad to hear it."

And he was.

They finished their food in a much more companionable silence. Annie took a moment to pour a steamy liquid into their cups, which she explained was just a black tea she made if she had time to in the morning, and Armin was quite taken with it.

When he thanked her, a very strange look came across her face, and he would've thought he'd offended her if it weren't for the rosy flush that he thought he saw color her cheeks.

He helped her clean up, and in time she was back at the piano.

"What have you played today?" he asked pleasantly, fingering the pliant cup in his hands. He rolled up his sweater sleeves, feeling too warm.

"The usual. Chopin. Some Ravel earlier this morning."

"Ah, Ravel is difficult, isn't he? Hmm… Annie, can you play anything happy?" It was only half-joking, but to his surprise, her lip twitched up in the corner and she rolled her eyes.

Annie, too, pressed up the sleeves of her hoodie to her elbows, stretched her hands out, and began pouring across the notes.

Again, he was swept away by a strong familiarity, and a burning appreciation of her technical prowess. She played so easily, every chord progression felt like second-nature. And this piece, he knew it, he swore he did - it was actually uplifting. In fact...

-it was lovely, light, lilting.
It sounds like a French summer, the sort where the sky is a perfect blue, and each bird is full of quiet, soaring song.
And you are wandering in a garden, towards the center of it, which is filled by a beautiful pond - a marsh - full of cattails
and lilypads, where the water is surely warm.
Because the sunshine is warm, and the breeze is sweet.
And every idle passerby is content, too,
to cross the wooden bridge by you.
You're certain this is all a Monet painting, down to the clouds reflecting in the water.
And you don't want to leave.
You want to stay here; there's someone coming, isn't there?
You're waiting for someone. Someone important.
You mustn't go yet.
It is too beautiful a day.

When the last notes are fading out, Armin feels like he's been woken from a dream. There's a few seconds where his tired consciousness thinks about going back to sleep, to finish it, because he needs to know who it was, but he slips back to reality with a sheepish look.

"Wow," he whispered.

And to his delight, Annie almost looks pleased.

"Happy enough for you?" she quipped. Her tone naturally came across as harsh, but Armin knew it was her take on a joke.

"Perfect. Wow. I love that when you play it, it feels like I'm being taken somewhere. It's easy to get lost in your music. You're such a wonderful pianist-!"

"It's not my music, Armin, and I'm not a pianist."

His enthusiasm dies down at her stinging words, but it doesn't stop him from giving her a long, tender look and a much softer smile.

"It's perfect," he repeats, and this time, she doesn't fight him. Her eyes widen infinitesimally and her lips almost part, but she quickly looks away and glosses over, "It, um, reminds me of the lake I played at as a child. It was my grandfather's farm, and out back there was a huge lake we'd swim in during the summer."

Armin felt his heart swell up, and tentatively moved closed to the piano bench, wondering if she'd let him sit down.

"Do you still visit? It sounds really fun."

"No."

It was a single, hard word. She was sitting, a little hunched, with her arms hanging loosely between her outstretched legs, and gazing distantly at the piano keys. It seemed like she was covered in barbed wire.

Armin said, "Ah." It felt weak, empty, but didn't know what else to say. So he went on. "I live with my grandfather, actually. I've lived with him since I was quite little. I barely remember my parents."

Annie looked up, curious and perhaps a touch concerned. "Why?"

"They died when I was young. Only three or four. It was an accident, nothing special."

"I'm sorry," Annie said, and Armin smiled softly.

"Don't worry about it. I love my grandfather very much, and I'm happy with him. It was a little worrying when Nanna passed away… I didn't know how grandfather would handle it… but we've both been all right. I don't think I could ask for more."

The conversation ebbed after that. It wasn't that the topic was completely depressing - Armin meant it, he truly was happy, and felt terribly blessed to have the family and friends and life that he had - but the longer he looked at Annie, the more it appeared that his words were settling somewhere deep. Her expression was muddled, both sympathetic and contemplative and faraway.

Unsure of how to approach things now, and desperately looking for a way to patch it up, Armin scanned the room for anything to talk about. But, again, unexpectedly, Annie spoke up.

"Would you like to sit?"

Armin blinked.

"Sure."

She scooted over enough to give him space, and Armin gingerly made his way to the seat. When he sat, he felt the warmth of her body heat, and as he placed his hands down to adjust, her fingers brushed his for the second time.

Again, unprepared, he involuntarily started at the immediate current that went through him and back again. His heart fumbled and quickened to catch up, his throat caught, and he forgot to breathe.

"S-sorry," he croaked out.

Annie made no attempt to reply.

"...I, could, um… Teach you to play, if you'd like," she said somewhat nervously. "If you want to learn a little. From me. That is."

He must have looked very stupid. In fact, he knew he did. Because Annie was looking into his eyes, a little pink, a little flustered - and in their reflection, he could see his dumbfounded expression. She was so close to him, he realized passingly. Only a few inches from his face. He could feel her breath against his lips, and for one long, agonizing moment, he understood that he could lean down and kiss her.

"I would like that," Armin mumbled. His gaze flickered to her mouth and back. "Very much."

For some reason, she wasn't drawing away from him.

"Okay," she whispered in reply. "I can do that."

And Armin wondered if they were even talking about piano anymore.

A faint noise came from outside, immediately followed by the ring of the bell and the slight whisk of the shop door opening.

All color drained from Armin's face, and in nothing less than a microsecond, Annie balked to attention and the room felt like it dropped ten degrees. She had moved miles away from him on the bench somehow, and was giving the keys a detached stare.

"And that is why this model has been used extensively, with little changes made to the model that weren't aesthetic."

Her eyes flickered up to his, speaking clearly: play along. Armin fumbled for words until her glare intensified, urging him to reply, and he finally sputtered, "O-oh. Interesting! Very interesting. That is, uh, good to know. Well, thank you for your time, m-my professor will be glad to hear it." He bowed his head too many times, fake smile plastered on his paled face. "Thank you again. This will really help out my research paper. S-sorry for troubling you!"

"It was no trouble at all," Annie replied, and though her voice was impassive, her sky-coloured eyes shone with restrained emotion.

Her father seemed to accept the conversational topic, and strode by them to return to the counter. Annie glanced behind her, and visibly untensed as she saw him slip into the back room.

"Sorry, I-I wasn't paying attention to the time. Um, if you still want, can you come back in two days?" Her voice was rushed, on-edge, and she kept glancing back to see if he was coming out.

It wasn't even a question.

"Of course," Armin answered sharply. "Of course. I'm really sorry, Annie. I had a wonderful time. You're really amazing. I-..." His sentence trailed off as he stared at her.

She smiled. A real, genuine smile - chaste and minute.

"Thank you for coming. I have to go."

And Armin, head-over-heels, tongue-tied and with a newfound loss for words, numbly walked out of the shop with a dazed wave and a stammer of, "B… Bye, Annie."

At first he biked slowly.

Then, he made it home in record time.