I am not completely and totally dead!

Guest (June 17): Thank you for reviewing! (Ch 1) Well, it was actually Tumblr user Lainadraws' idea, and she was nice enough to let me play with it, but I forwarded your review to her so she could see it. =) (Ch 5) I'm going to guess that you're the same person, so sorry for not breaking this into its own response if not! Yeah, five rather lengthy chapters and no kiss yet. And I'm going to spoil a little and say that there's not going to be one until probably the end of the story. XD While stories where people fall in love at first sight/pretty quickly and kiss and whatnot are fine, I'm one of those (weird?) people who aren't really into that kind of tale. While in real life, there are some people who are quickly attracted to each other and build friendship along the way as they date, I like stories where people are brought together by common interest, get to know each other at least somewhat without romantic feelings affecting their judgment of the character and personality of the other person, and then as time goes on, become attracted to each other. It seems more realistic to me and an arguably better way of falling in love because a) you're building off a genuine common interest in something external to yourselves and b) you're starting from a place where you are falling for someone that you truly do know things about as opposed to an idea that the person will or will not align with as you get to know them. Not that the notions you have as friends/acquaintances are always complete, but you have a much greater chance of knowing things like if they're kind, thoughtful, and caring than someone you've never seen before in your life. However, because there's not a whole lot of physical expression, I have to build kind of slowly, which is probably hard to read and not very interesting, so I apologize. I'm probably old fashioned, but since kind of want to end the story with them starting to date, no kissing. Sorry this is so long-winded. I hope you'll stick with the story, but if it's moving too slowly for you, I understand it's not everyone's thing. Again, thank you for reviewing!

Thank you to all the other people who left anonymous reviews and signed reviews as well. Usually I'd try to respond to all of you, but I've got two kids under 3 years old now, so…I'm way too exhausted right now. Sorry! orz (I actually had written out the response to the above review before I had my second kid, so you can guess how long ago that was!)

I'm so sorry this took so long. And I'm also sorry that this is probably the filler-iest filler chapter that ever became a filler. I just wanted to write them being silly. I had all these ideas and it took a while to figure out how to mesh them together or toss them out.

Annie frowned as she shifted the crock of soup to her other arm and waited for Armin and Eren's intercom to come to life. This really wasn't the way she'd planned to spend her birthday, but considering this cold had knocked Armin on his back for the last four days, she figured she owed him a visit. That she'd brought a pot of her homemade chicken soup was inconsequential. After all, making chicken noodle soup from scratch and delivering it is a normal thing any decent person would do for friends and co-workers whom you want to get better as soon as possible. Mina seemed to think otherwise, but no one was asking for her opinion on whether that's the sort of thing one does for a significant other.

"'lo?" Even through the static, she could tell Armin was basically asleep.

"I'm downstairs. I brought soup."

"'kay."

It didn't occur to her until her partner blearily opened the door to his seventh-floor apartment that this maybe wasn't such a great idea. He was mid-yawn, barefoot, hair at odd angles, oversized sleep shirt hanging off his frame, and wearing ratty sweats pocked with holes. He looked adorable, and he only got cuter when he realized with a furious blush that overtook his entire body whom exactly was standing at his door. Ugh.

"A-A-Annie! Wh-what are you d-doing here?" Armin squeaked. He wanted to die. Why couldn't he have worn his nicer pajamas? Or combed his hair? He hadn't showered or even brushed his teeth in more than forty-eight hours and here she was looking clean and fresh as spring in front of him. He'd been trying so hard to dress a little better whenever they'd met up lately too. Now she must think he was a disgusting slob. Ugh.

She held up the pot coolly. "Soup, remember? How asleep were you when you buzzed me in?"

"Umm…." He really didn't have much of an answer for that.

"Am I gonna I hold this here all day?"

His face somehow flared up even more. "Sorry. Please, come in."

She blinked. She'd originally been planning to just drop it off, but it probably wasn't a terrible idea to transfer the soup to one of his pots, so she just shrugged and stepped in. The place looked pretty similar to how it had the last time she'd been here when she'd helped Eren with some physical therapy for his fractured ankle; the main difference was the addition of a tall, crammed bookshelf. Three guesses whom that belonged to. Thankfully, the kitchen was organized in the same disorder it had been three years ago, so it didn't take long to find a pot. Unfortunately, the one she wanted had the remnants of rice porridge stuck to the bottom and all the others were too small. Even if the pot had been available, though, from the state of the sink, it didn't look like there was a single clean bowl or mug in the house.

Armin cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Usually Eren and I clean on the weekends, but between me being sick and a new class he picked up, we didn't really get around to it. I, umm, was planning to do the dishes later this afternoon."

She frowned. "You're supposed to be resting. We already have to make up what you missed Monday."

"A few dishes aren't going to knock me out."

She rolled her eyes and set her pot on the counter, discarding her coat and shoes by the door. "Rest," she ordered, pointing to the bedroom she assumed they shared.

"What?"

"Go rest. Thanks to you, I have a lot of free time today, so I'll take care of the kitchen. The only thing worse than being sick is having to take care of yourself, and we've got barely a month before the benefit, so go rest."

"B-but you're a guest," he sputtered. "I can't let you do that."

"And you could wash my dishes a couple weeks ago because?"

"Because I helped make them," he answered, trying unsuccessfully to get her away from the sink where she was stacking dishes on the counter. "These dishes are germy and some of them are over a week old. It's completely different."

"It's not a big deal," she shrugged, balancing the bowls on the narrow counter so that they resembled the Leaning Tower of Pisa. "Like I said, I have time."

"But they're really gross."

She sighed. "Armin, will you please just let me help? I'll be out of your hair as soon as I have a pot I can transfer my soup to and some clean bowls and spoons for you to eat it with, okay? Geez."

He paused for a long moment. "If I let you do the dishes in peace, will you stay?"

"What?"

"If I let you do the dishes in peace, will you stay?" he repeated, his eyes steady on hers.

"…I don't want to disturb your sleep."

"I've done virtually nothing but sleep for the last three days. If I nap too much more, my sleep will be wrecked for the rest of the week. I have the video footage from our last couple of practices. We could watch it together and discuss it. If I'm lying on the couch, it'll still count as resting, but we'll also be getting some work done, so it won't be a complete waste of a day."

She appraised him for a minute before nodding; it was a good idea. "Deal. But if you pull that 'but you're a guest' line on me again, I'm gone."

He grimaced. "You're a hard woman."

"Go set up the video, nerd," she dismissed, a shadow of a smile on her lips.

Delight lit his eyes. Almost. He'd almost gotten a smile out of her. He lifted a hand to brush his bangs out of his face. He hoped he'd get to see it at least once before she left. As his fingers caught on a greasy knot, he eyed her carefully. "Do you mind if I hop in the shower as well?" Considering they were the only ones here, it was kind of an awkward situation, but if she was going to stay, he'd prefer not to stink.

She smoothly plugged up the sink and ran some warm water, swiftly clamping down on the embarrassment she knew would turn her ears bright red. She took a calming breath. C'mon, Annie, think of a response. On the one hand, thinking about being alone with a naked Armin—even if they were chastely separated by a securely locked door—was not conducive to her getting over/ignoring this dumb crush. On the other hand, showing that it made her uncomfortable would indicate that she'd noticed he was male and would possibly give him an opening to wonder just how much she'd noticed and tease her about it. Her choice was obvious. "It's your apartment," she answered in a measured tone.

His shoulders relaxed; he hadn't even realized they'd tensed. "Thanks. I shouldn't be long."

She hummed noncommittally in acknowledgement before losing herself in the mundane chore and the sound of Armin moving around. It reminded her of being in her own apartment: homey and comfortable. She frowned and dunked a mug a little too hard into the water. It shouldn't feel nice.

Armin sighed as he locked the door and began to strip. "Not even a split second of hesitation." He really shouldn't have expected anything less; Annie was the ultimate professional. It was one of the things he'd always admired about her. He chuckled softly as he dropped his sweats. Now it made him want to despair.

He turned on the water and stepped under the stream. What could he do to make her notice him? If he did something outrageous, she'd probably think he'd gone crazy or just be annoyed and inconvenienced. He was too shy and poor to give her something nice, especially obvious things like flowers or chocolates. It also wasn't polite to just kiss a girl or hold her hand without taking the time to properly romance her and get her permission. Not that she would ever give her permission. She saw him as another Reiner, Bertolt, or Mina, not as a potential romantic prospect. He sighed and lathered his hair dejectedly. He couldn't blame her. After all, until about a month ago, the friend zone was the pinnacle of his aspirations as far as Annie was concerned. He'd just done too good a job at lodging himself in there. "Now that I think about it, how did Mikasa get out of the friend zone?" To this day, he still couldn't believe sometimes that she'd actually managed to get someone as single-minded as Eren to notice her. He thought hard about it before realizing that she'd just waited for Eren to stop being dense. He groaned. He didn't have that kind of patience.

Annie stared pensively at the mug she was drying and sighed. She shouldn't have agreed to stay. She'd been planning on surprising her dad at the dojo before heading back for her birthday dinner with Bertolt, Ymir, Krista, Reiner, and Mina. Not to mention that being alone in Armin's apartment with him was probably just a bad idea all around. Sure, his arguments were perfectly innocent and reasonable, and they needed to go over those videos at some point anyway, but…she still couldn't help but feel like this was a disastrous turn for her plan to avoid falling even more for her brilliant, absent-minded, blond, blue-eyed, stubborn, small-town dance partner from Arkansas whose kindness and sweetness belied the constant bullying he'd suffered through his school years. Ugh, even her stupid thoughts were waxing poetic. She really needed to get a grip.

"If I put away the dishes, will that count as grounds to walk out?"

She bashed the cup into Armin's nose reflexively, making him fall back into the counter with a yelp. "Are you okay?" She immediately moved to examine his face.

"I think so." He cracked a weak smile. "Should I take that as a yes?"

She blinked then curved the corners of her lips in amusement. "Maybe I should just leave now before I injure you more."

"Nuh-uh. We made a deal."

"I don't know. We have agreed that I'm violent."

His eyes crinkled in a smile as he settled at the counter. "I'm willing to take my chances."

She shrugged and turned back to the mountain of damp dishes. "Your funeral." Warmth filled her as he laughed.

"Hey, Annie."

"Hmm?"

"What did one cow say to the other cow?"

She almost banged her head against the bowl she was holding. "Not again," she groaned internally.

"Do you want to see a moooooovie?" he answered without waiting for her to answer.

She rolled her eyes and continued drying. "Ignore him."

"Why did the farmer kick the baseball players off the field? Because they kept hitting fowls."

Annie sighed. Armin loved bad corny jokes, the kind that made people turn away in disgust.

"Why is 6 scared of 7?"

She groaned unappreciatively; this was one of his favorites. Shoot. Now he knew she was listening.

"Because 7 ate 9 and 10," he beamed, looking as if he'd just shared the most profound piece of mathematical knowledge known to man.

She needed to head him off. "Armin, stop. These jokes aren't funny." What in the world had she done for him to somehow get it into his head that she actually liked hearing these?

"Of course they are. What did the rug say to the vacuum cleaner? 'Eat my dust!'"

"Oh yeah, that was hilarious," she deadpanned. Admittedly, these jokes maybe somehow managed to be a little less bad and corny when he told them.

"What do you call a seagull that flies over a bay?"

"A horrible pun."

"Nope, a bagel," he quipped unfazed.

But he'd discovered last week that if he fired his jokes off one after another, he could wear her down. It was just a question of who would last longer.

"What does a dog say when you ask him what covers his house?"

"Armin Arlert, if you don't stop right now—"

"'ROOF! ROOF! ROOF!'"

She fought back a smile. He sounded far too doggish doing that. "That's not funny."

"Which is why you almost smiled," he returned smoothly. "Did you hear about the race between the lettuce and the tomato?"

"No." She mentally slapped herself. "Idiot, that could be interpreted as part of the joke."

"The lettuce was a head and the tomato was trying to ketchup," he sang with glee.

"If you tell one more joke, I'm going to flip you so hard you won't know which way is up for a month," she threatened.

"What dinosaur loves pancakes?"

"Un-believable." What happened to the good old days when he was actually afraid of her?

"Tri-syrup-tops."

She pressed her lips together hard and turned to glare at him. "Armin."

It was a mistake. "What do you get when you cross a snowman and a vampire?" He winked cheekily and answered in a terrible Dracula imitation, "Frostbite. Ah ha ha."

Annie buried her face in her hands with a frustrated sound. That was not funny, and Armin was not cute. He was insufferable and annoying and a terrible human being. Her lips twitched. Okay, maybe calling him a terrible human being was a bit much.

"Why wouldn't the shrimp share his treasure? Because he was a little shellfish." A small giggle escaped her fingers and his eyes lit up, diving into the next joke with gusto. "What do you call cheese that isn't yours?"

"Armin," her voice sounded slightly strangled.

"Nacho cheese," he answered, punctuating each syllable, his grin widening even more when he was rewarded with louder giggles. "What did the girl melon say to the boy melon when he proposed? We're too young…we cantaloupe!" he squealed in a high falsetto. On and on the bad jokes came until he had her laughing so hard she was leaning against the sink for support. He was 95% sure she was laughing more at him and his awful acting than at the jokes, but he couldn't care less. As long as she kept looking at him with that small smile flirting around her lips and those sky eyes that sparkled in happiness and embarrassment, his dignity was a price he'd gladly pay.

"I hate you," she gasped when he finally decided to let her catch her breath. "You suck. You know how much I hate my laugh." She put on the disgruntled frown and slightly puffed cheeks that he'd come to recognize as her pouting face.

"I think your laugh is cute," he breathed, completely enchanted. She considered pouting childish, and thus, it was a rare expression.

She wrinkled her nose. "Snorts aren't cute."

"I think they are."

"You were obviously dropped on your head as a baby."

He couldn't stop smiling. "Mmm, I don't know about that, but it is nice to hear someone laugh at my jokes for a change."

"Only out of pity."

"30% pity tops," he agreed. She rolled her eyes and put away the stack of bowls. "Hey, Annie…."

"If you start another string of jokes, I am walking out that door."

"Wouldn't want that, now," he chuckled and leaned on his elbow before becoming serious. "Actually, I was wondering how you found me. I don't recall ever telling you my address."

"Oh, that." She started rinsing the utensils. "Eren slipped that you were roommates."

"I see…are you mad?"

She looked over her shoulder at him. "About what?"

"That I lied about where I lived when walking you back," he answered in complete seriousness.

"I didn't expect your commute to be the complete opposite of mine, but I'm not an idiot."

Armin bit his lip and studied the back of her head for a long moment. "Then…may I continue to walk you home?"

She paused almost imperceptibly while drying a spoon. She should say, "No." He was adding an unnecessary hour to his evening commute, and it was the perfect opportunity to help build distance between them. She smoothly slid the utensil into the dish organizer. Of course the answer was no. "Do whatever you want." She mentally kicked herself. "What am I saying?! If he hears that, he'll—"

"Thanks, Annie." His voice was like Christmas, and it made her want to bury her face in the towel she was holding. It wasn't fair. "So, what did you bring?" he asked curiously.

"Chicken noodle," she answered briskly as she grabbed her pot.

"Campbell's?"

"Family recipe." She ladled some into a bowl and popped it in the microwave. "My dad said my mom used to make it for him when he was sick." As soon as the words left her mouth, she froze. Shoot. She hadn't even thought of that. This was the soup her mom had made for her dad: the soup her dad joked was half the reason he'd fallen in love with her. Was she really that sappy? No, no way. She was reading too much into this. She quickly hid her awkwardness by briskly grabbing a spoon. The only question was whether he would read into it.

"Oh, wow. Thank you! Mikasa's a good cook, but I'm pretty sick of rice porridge; she's basically refused to let me eat anything else until I felt better. That sounds great."

She set the bowl before him. It looked like she was safe. "Thank me after you try it."

"Fair enough," he laughed. He took a large spoonful and quieted. "…I think you've just taken the crown from my grandfather's soup." She hid her smile by pouring the rest of the soup into its new pot, something that felt suspiciously like happiness filling her. "I didn't know you could cook," Armin broke through her thoughts.

"I don't do it much since Mina likes to cook more, but generally, you learn a few things when you come from a single-parent family."

"Fair enough," he answered between sips. "I barely know the bachelor basics, but considering that I always worked food service jobs to take advantage of the food bonuses and I was over at Eren or Mikasa's so often, I'm not necessarily the norm." He put his spoon down just as she finished putting her pot in the dish drain. "That was delicious, Annie. Thank you. I just hope I can keep it away from Eren long enough to have seconds."

"I'll write him a note threatening death on him if he eats it," she suggested as she dried her hands. She ignored the satisfaction making him laugh brought. "Ready to watch that video?"

"You bet."

Armin gave the woman on the other end of the couch a sidelong glance as they watched the TV where a recording of their Rumba played. Now that he was romantically interested in Annie, dancing the Rumba together had become simultaneously more enjoyable and more frustrating. On the plus side, this new awareness made him more expressive and he was able to fully immerse himself in the romance of the story they were creating; however, if he let himself lose focus, his touches became shy and he'd bumble around as if he was an awkward adolescent dancing with a girl for the first time. At those times, his once fluid, though mildly cautious, movements stiffened, which was horrible because Annie's Rumba had always been kind of stiff. He furrowed his brow as he sipped his water. His problem was easy to fix: he just had to not get carried away with/get used to the realization that he was lucky enough to dance with the woman he had feelings for in his arms virtually every day. Annie, though, was a different matter. Why was she so rigid when it came to the dance of love? All her other dancing had magically loosened up a couple months ago, so why did she have so much trouble with this one style?

"Have you ever been in love, Annie?" he asked abruptly. He paled once he saw the shock on her face. That had obviously been way too forward. How had that gotten past his brain filter?! He was supposed to be the one who actually thought before blurting out things!

Annie's thoughts raced. "Why would he ask that? He couldn't know…could he…? No, there's no way…is there…?! Oh, for heaven's sake, Leonhart, get a grip! You're freaking him out!" She quickly schooled her face into its baseline neutrality and answered, "No, I've never been in love."

"Never?" He wasn't sure if he was surprised or just grateful that she hadn't killed him for invading her privacy. He breathed a little easier. Now that she'd accepted the topic, he could approach it at least somewhat professionally.

"Never," she confirmed. "Though you're well on your way to ruining that." She narrowed her eyes. "What's it to you?"

He leaned back and pressed a finger thoughtfully to his cheek. "Well…you're just so stiff when we rumba." His eyes met hers again. "I'm just trying to think of reasons why. You aren't like this when we waltz."

"And you think it's because I've never been in love before," she stated evenly, her voice and tone devoid of inflection.

"Experience affects expression."

"Affects, yes, is the be all and end all, no."

"You said Rumba's always been your weakest dance."

"So? I wasn't interested in gaining that kind of experience to help my Rumba. It didn't seem worth it."

"Indeed," he nodded once, "but most people can't help that one."

Yes, she was figuring that out quite nicely, thank you. "If you say so," she scoffed.

He cocked his head curiously at that. "You've had crushes before, haven't you?"

"I've been attracted to people before, yes," she deadpanned. "Go, me. I have eyes and physical preferences." She shrugged. "I'd just never let it get any further than that. I had things to do—dancing, part-time jobs to help with the finances, helping around the house—being in love would interfere with and take away time from more important things."

"That's understandable. What about now?" He hoped he wasn't too obvious.

"What about now?" she threw back. "I'm not exactly made of time."

"True," Armin acknowledged thoughtfully, "I don't think I've been on a date in at least a year."

She grunted with a vicious scowl. "Good. He doesn't consider our outings dates either."

"Have you ever been kissed?" he continued to probe.

She sighed and slouched on the couch. "Yes…." Apparently today was going to be all kinds of uncomfortable. "Happy Birthday to me." It sucked, but she got it: he was just trying to help. It was a reasonable train of thought. After all, it wasn't like she could tell him that her Rumba was stiff because she was trying not to fall even more for him. Sometimes she hated her life.

Armin drew his eyebrows together in curiosity. Annie didn't strike him as someone who would kiss people casually, and if she'd always been as scary as he'd thought she was back when he first met her, the likelihood of someone just planting one on her seemed slim. "But you said you've never been in love before."

"What are we? Two girls at a sleepover?" she complained before grumbling, "I was Juliet in a community production of Romeo and Juliet in high school. She kisses Romeo a lot."

His eyes went round. "You were Juliet? That's impressive. How many people did you beat out for the part?"

"Twenty…" she mentally calculated.

"Wow."

"It's not that impressive. The best Romeo by far was a young-looking college freshman, so high school and college girls like me had a much better shot."

"So he was your first kiss?"

Annie rolled her eyes. "No, that was Bertolt."

"Bertolt?!" Armin shot to attention. "You mean you and Bertolt used to—"

"No," she stressed. "When I found out the play was Romeo and Juliet, I realized I'd end up having to kiss Romeo if I got the lead like I wanted. While I didn't care that much about my first kiss, I wanted to at least choose whom it went to. The idea of just giving it to a perfect stranger wasn't all that appealing to me, so I talked to Bertolt and Reiner. They agreed to help me out, we flipped a coin, and Bertolt became my first kiss."

"I see." He hoped she didn't notice just how relieved he was. "You weren't interested in Romeo?"

"While Doug was a good actor and pretty good-looking, we were nothing but professional. He was a theatre major looking to pad his portfolio, and I was only in the play because my dad suggested that maybe taking up a little acting on the side would help my lyrical expression. Even if there was interest, he had a girlfriend, and I don't poach."

"If you didn't like him, then how were you able to pull off a good performance?"

"It's called acting and hard work. I worked my butt off for that role."

"Since lack of hard work isn't the problem, then maybe you can incorporate those acting techniques into your dancing?"

"It's not that easy. I had a lot of help from Doug and the director. The main reasons I got the part were because I was young, knew my lines, and moved gracefully. I think the director also weirdly liked that I was a blank slate in terms of theatre experience because then he could mold me into whatever he wanted. My body language during the romantic scenes left a lot to be desired, so they had to tell me how to slope my shoulders, lean my body, and position my head to convey different things best. It was like a dance routine where I had to talk at the same time. Yes, they gave me some exercises to help me get into the mood of the scene—which I still use—but I strangely didn't have to engage all that many of my emotions because I was told how to do just about everything. That's not the way dancing works. Unlike you, I can't just pretend my partner is Mikasa to make my dancing better."

He choked on his water. "Mikasa's like a sister to me."

"I highly doubt that was always true."

"It only wasn't true for a few years, and I had a proper girlfriend in college."

"Okay, so you dance with what's-her-name Leslie in your head until you find someone new you'd rather have as your go-to for romantic inspiration. That method doesn't work for me because I don't have anyone to think of that way. Doug was a terrible dancer. Thinking of him would probably make me dance worse, and even if Bertolt was my first kiss, just no."

Considering this was their careers at stake, he probably shouldn't have been quite so happy to hear that, but he was hardly above jealousy. "Do you still remember any of the play?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Show me."

"What?"

"I want to see some of these acting skills you claim to have. Maybe there'll be something in there we can use."

She arched an eyebrow and rattled off flatly:

"'What's here? a cup, closed in my true love's hand?
Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end:
O churl! drunk all, and left no friendly drop
To help me after? I will kiss thy lips;
Haply some poison yet doth hang on them,
To make die with a restorative.'

"'Thy lips are warm.'

"'Lead, boy: which way'

"'Yea, a noise? then I'll be brief. O happy dagger!
This is thy sheath;
there rust, and let me die.'"

"Impressive recitation, but hardly what I'd call acting. Do you have the whole thing memorized still?"

She looked away with pink cheeks. "Maybe."

"You really are a Romeo and Juliet girl," he chuckled.

"If you tell anyone, I will punch you."

His face lit up with his laugh and it bothered her a little how easily he could see through her. "Your secret's safe with me," he promised. "No punching necessary. But why the death scene?"

"It's what I think of when we do our waltz."

He laughed. "Well, that explains why our interpretations have such different feels. You should fix that."

"Why? It's the best scene in the whole thing and the best fit for the song."

"Oh, is it?" he teased.

"Don't you think the song sounds sad?"

"I guess, but a dance needs give and take. The death scene is basically two monologues side by side."

"Then why not the balcony scene? Isn't that the most famous and supposedly romantic scene?"

"Eh, Juliet talks too much."

She smacked his shoulder, not caring that he was supposed to be a temporary invalid.

"Ow!"

"Oh? Did that hurt?" She hid a smirk.

He narrowed his eyes. "You're going to pay for that."

"Really now?" her look seemed to say.

He shot her a challenging smirk before looking down and clasping her hands. Annie's heart stopped for a second when his eyes met hers again with a sweet intent ardor in them. "'If…if I…profane with my unworthiest hand / This holy shrine,'" he intoned hesitantly, drawing their clasped hands toward his chest, "'the gentle fine is this: / My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand'." He gazed into her surprised eyes and brushed her knuckles against his lips. "'To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.'"

"You act?" she blurted in surprise.

"If you can call what I just did acting," he laughed self-consciously. "Will you join me?" His smile was tentative and sweet.

That smile ought to be outlawed. She could never stop her heart from tripping a little whenever it surfaced. It wasn't fair; he wasn't supposed to still be able to affect her like this. She'd always managed to get over her previous crushes within three weeks, but now she was two months in with no end in sight.

Annie closed her eyes for a moment and when she opened them again, Armin's breath caught. Her eyes were dewy and her cheek flush, her attraction tempered by shyness. "'Good pilgrim,'" she murmured in hushed tones, "'you do wrong your hand too much, / Which mannerly devotion shows in this;'." She drew their clasped hands between them, her eyes following their hands as if she were too shy to bring herself to meet his gaze. "'For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch,'." Her eyes finally met his again. "'And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss."

"Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?" he breathed in a rush, his eyes unable to leave her face.

"'Ay, pilgrim,'" the words dropped as if she were in a trance, "'lips that they must use in prayer.'"

His eyes flicked down to her lips and he pulled her nearer, his voice entreating, "'O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do; / They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.'"

She pulled back out of danger. "'Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake.'"

"Then move not," he whispered, her eyes dilating as his face drew nearer, his breath ghosting over her lips, "while my prayer's effect I take."

"Is that the scene you think of when we do our Waltz?" she rushed out. He paused and drew back to a safe distance, a thoughtful look on his face. She breathed again. That was way too close.

"I guess so." He smiled. "That scene has give and take, and the fact that you know from the start that the romance is doomed gives it a melancholy feel."

She nodded. "I'll think of that scene from now on."

"Good." He grinned mischievously at her. "Want to continue the scene? Maybe we can unlock something that'll help with the rumba." He hoped he didn't sound too hopeful.

She shook her head no. Kissing Armin was not an option. "While I've been willing to let you drag me far outside of my comfort zone to try and improve our chemistry, I don't think it would be prudent to blur the boundaries between our professional and personal lives further with a forced make-out session," she stated primly, ignoring the twinge she felt at the split-second chastised wince that crossed his features. "We're Armin and Annie not Romeo and Juliet. We don't feel that kind of passion for one another." She frowned and rubbed her forehead. "I'm sorry you got stuck with me as a partner for the Rumba, Armin. You don't deserve this."

"Don't be sorry, Annie." He grabbed her hands. "I love dancing with you! Really," he murmured as she met his gaze. "Yes, it would be nice if you didn't have some kind of emotional block against this dance, but it'll be that much sweeter when you finally get it down."

"That may not happen in time for the benefit."

"I know. Even if it doesn't, though, I wouldn't trade these months with you for anything."

She looked away and scoffed, "You're just saying that."

"No, I'm not," he insisted.

She swallowed unsteadily and willed herself to stop trembling. He made her so nervous.

"I'm so honored to be your partner for this, Annie." Waves of warmth washed over his ocean eyes. "I've grown so much as a dancer by being in this with you."

"I have too," she admitted quietly, her eyes telling him all the things her voice could not.

"Wait here," he ordered gently before pushing himself off the couch and disappearing into his room and coming back with a small, handmade book. "Happy Birthday, Annie." He smiled bashfully.

"Who told you?"

"For insurance purposes, my sources will remain anonymous," he responded with a wink.

She rolled her eyes. "Must've been the beanpole. Remind me to slip cayenne into his protein shakes." She frowned. "You didn't have to get me anything."

"I wanted to. Besides, you got me something—"

"Three months late."

"My birthday was right after we had that first dinner together. You couldn't have known."

"But—"

"Please?"

She couldn't refuse him; she'd never really been able to. "Thank you." She laughed when she read the cover: Annie's Birthday Coupon Book.

Armin rubbed his neck in embarrassment. "I, umm, I'm sorry it's not much—starving artist and all that—but, well, I, umm, I hope you like it."

Carefully, she opened the book. "One Sunday of staying in instead of being dragged around New York City being a tourist," she read aloud, smiling at the drawing on the side of her lying on a couch watching TV. "One free meal at a restaurant of your choice" was written on the next three pages with various doodles of the two of them eating different things. "One casserole dish of Mikasa's mac & cheese (to be delivered within three days of receipt by Armin)" had a sketch of a bowl of macaroni and cheese. "One home-cooked meal so you can make fun of Armin's cooking ability" displayed a comical scene of spaghetti spattered everywhere. Other coupons included cleaning help, passes that would keep Ymir from bugging her, an offer to help with menial tasks at the dojo, letting her choose their warm-up song mix for a week, and technical help for her computer.

She closed the book. It was obvious Armin had put a lot of thought into making it. She met his gaze and smiled that glimpse of sunlight smile that melted her eyes into the clear spring sky. "Thank you, Armin. This is really thoughtful."

"Will you dance with me?" he breathed, enchanted.

Confusion crinkled the corners of her lips. "We haven't finished going over the videos yet."

"No, not the routine, I just…want to dance with you. Like we would if we were at prom or something."

"Prom?" Derision dripped from the word. "Aren't we a little old for that?"

"Well, if not prom, then some other function where you just dance for the sake of dancing. Tell me you've at least been to something like that. You weren't that much of a lone wolf, were you?"

"I went to senior prom," she mumbled.

"Reiner and Bertolt drag you?"

"Who else?"

"Kicking and screaming?" he teased.

She sniffed. "I have more dignity than that."

"Did you go as friends or did you have a date?"

"I technically went with Bertolt, but I spent most of the time dancing by myself." Her voice was laced with amusement. "Turns out boys that can dance are a hot commodity. He and Reiner saved the last dance for me, though." Her eyes went faraway as she thought fondly of that ridiculous three-way dance.

He smiled warmly and stood, holding out his hand. "Dance with me like that."

"You're supposed to be resting," she objected, even as she inexplicably let him draw her to her feet, eyes steadily on his. "And if you're well enough to dance, we should be practicing in the studio."

"We will be practicing," he assured her, holding her hands lightly, "just in a different way. Consider it an experiment."

"An experiment," she repeated skeptically.

"Trust me?"

Her lips thinned and she eyed him suspiciously. Anyone who could make her knees weak with just a look obviously couldn't be trusted. "Tell me what you're planning first." Wait? What? Ugh. Traitorous mouth. They needed to review their videos, not mess around.

"I thought maybe we could try dancing like people who don't know how to dance would. To them, dancing is a way to be close and enjoy time together; it's not an art. It's an expression of romance or a way to have fun and loosen up." His smile was cautiously inviting with a flirtatious edge. "It can't hurt to try something different since we can't do any rigorous dancing today."

She mentally cursed. "Who could refuse that face? It isn't fair." She turned away with a dissatisfied grunt. "We'd better do some actual dancing and not just that stupid swaying garbage people call dancing."

"A little credit," he scoffed, almost looking offended. "Most people can do some basic steps. Let me just set up the video camera and some music, and we'll be set."

Her eyebrows rose when she heard the familiar opening vamp of "Just the Way You Look Tonight."

"What? I like this song," he defended, snapping his way over to her.

"You have a very odd idea of the kind of music they play at prom. Are you sure you went to yours?" she heckled.

"I went; it's not my fault that the deejay at this fake prom has vastly superior taste in music," he quipped as he reached for her hands.

Annie rolled her eyes. "Whatever."

Armin just beamed and twirled her. "And that laugh that wrinkles your nose." He tapped her nose cheekily, golden waves of warmth washing over his ocean blues. "It touches my foolish heart."

"Oh, he sings," she mocked, not quite able to suppress the flush in her cheeks or the flutter in her stomach. She'd have to be on her guard. "Should I swoon?"

"Your choice," he laughed, eyes sparkling in affection. "Lovely…don't you ever change / Keep that breathless charm / Won't you please arrange it? / 'Cause I love you / A-just the way you look, tonight." He dipped her with a grin. "Just pretend we're two high schoolers at a dance. You're not you, and I'm not me. We're not professional dancers here, so just feel the music and dance."

Three songs later, Annie still wasn't getting into the spirit of the exercise, but Armin wasn't one to give up easily. Just as Annie opened her mouth to put an end to their time wasting, the "Love Theme from Romeo and Juliet" came on. He'd planned this; she could see it on his face. His stubbornness was so obnoxious sometimes. It would serve him right if she told him they'd entertained his nonsense long enough. It wasn't like they didn't have other things to do; he should really rest too. But…it was the theme, and…and it'd been ages since she'd danced to this, and it was such a hauntingly exquisite piece of music…. She sighed and gave in. It was just three more minutes. With a deep court curtsy, she inclined her head, and he pulled her into the dance.

After that, he continued to hit her with guilty pleasure after guilty pleasure. It was like he could read her mind. It would've scared her if she hadn't given in and just started dancing with him at some point. It reminded her of those days when her mother was sick and she'd ask Annie to perform for her. Annie would dance anything and everything just to see her mother smile like that since her days were so full of suffering. But now, there wasn't any sadness; there wasn't any pain, just Armin, the music, and the dance that brought them all together.

When Jon McLaughlin's "So Close" came on, the amusement on her face dropped. "No."

"Can you think of any school dance or wedding that didn't have at least one slow dance song?" Armin clucked his tongue like a schoolmaster tutting over a pupil's grades. "We haven't even done one yet. I'd say we're long overdue."

"Am I supposed to care?"

"What's wrong?" he challenged. "Don't know how to dance to one?"

"No, I don't, considering that what people do to songs like these isn't dancing," Annie retorted.

"Ah, but we're supposed to be average teenagers at an average school dance, right now. So to your average person it is dancing," he countered with a wolfish grin. When he saw she wasn't weakening, he decided to play dirty. This experiment would be a failure if he couldn't get her to slow dance with him. "Please?" he whispered, his eyes quiet and voice heartbreaking.

She stared him down for a long moment before striding forward and wrapping her arms around his neck. "I hate you," she mumbled into his collarbone. That pleading look needed to be outlawed right along with his smile.

He just swallowed thickly and hesitantly circled his arms lightly but securely around her frame. His heart rate spiked and his hands felt clammy. She was so close. Suddenly, this didn't seem like such a good idea; he was going to have a heart attack.

"Are we going to just stand here?"

He flushed and started to move. "I, uh, s-sorry. I've never done this before." He cleared his throat uncomfortably and muttered under his breath, "Not that there's a lot to know about swaying, I guess."

Trying to ignore the way his breath grazed her ear, she said the first thing that came to mind. "You've really never slow danced? Not even with Leslie?" She mentally kicked herself. She had no right to be jealous.

He shook his head. "She didn't like slow songs."

"Lucky her," she muttered to hide her embarrassment.

"This…this isn't so bad, is it?"

The snarky retort died on her lips the moment she made the mistake of looking up at him and realized just how near he was. Too close. Too close. Too close. They'd been closer before, but then, she had the routine to think about. Now, all there was to fill her mind was how hard her heart was beating, how blue his eyes were, and how warm it felt in his arms. Too close. They were far too close. "Says you," she mumbled without any real heat.

"I just took a shower, so I can't possibly smell. I'm not that ugly, am I?" He feigned hurt.

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, shut up. You know you're cute."

"Cute." He made a face. "I wish just once someone would call me handsome or cool. In all my twenty-some-odd years of living I've only ever heard people say I'm cute or adorable."

"It's not attractive to fish for compliments," Annie chided before looking away and mumbling, "You are a better dancer than my prom date was, though."

"I'm so glad to know I'm better at dancing than a seventeen-year-old."

"You're better-looking too."

"R-really?" His face turned pink. Bertolt was tall with strong features and broad shoulders; did she really think he was better-looking?

"Yeah, Bertolt had a really bad case of acne in high school."

"Annie!"

She snorted softly before shaking her head and looking at him seriously. "Do you know what Mina and her friends call you?"

Armin shook his head.

"Prince Charming. So buck up, you're plenty handsome."

"And what do you think?" he dared to ask.

"Please don't ask me that." She paused for a long moment before answering neutrally, "I suppose I agree; your completely overdone chivalry is part of what made us friends after all."

His lips twitched. "Completely overdone?"

Her face burned red against his neck. "Yup, completely."

He chuckled into her hair and closed his eyes as he hummed along with the song. Her hair was soft with a light floral scent. "So close to reaching / That famous happy end / And almost believing / This was not pretend"

Only the simplicity of the movements kept his body moving when his brain stopped at those words. Pretend: the word mocked him. He'd been playing pretend all this time, hadn't he? His life wasn't in New York. This had always just been a temporary thing. Soon, he would be back on the road.

Annie's voice broke through his thoughts. "Armin?" A puzzled frown marred her features as she peered up at him.

"Sorry," he mumbled sluggishly as if the air around him had become molasses. "I think…I overdid it. I should probably take a nap so we can practice properly tomorrow."

She accepted the reasoning with a swift nod. "I'll see myself out." She paused for a minute on her way out the door. "Thank you again for the present." Her eyes were like the glimmer of the sunlight on the sea, and in a blink she was gone.

He let out a slow, pensive breath and thought back on the song. "We're so close to reaching / That famous happy end / And almost believing / This one's not pretend" He woodenly flopped onto the couch and covered his face. "Let's go on dreaming / For we know we are / So close, so close" In a little over a month, this partnership would be over, and more than likely, he'd be gone. "And still so far"

I am so sorry that this chapter is so long. A talented author could definitely write a complex standalone short story in the number of words I used here. Now that the feelings are mutual, the main purpose of this chapter was to introduce the conflict that will carry through the rest of the story; if you didn't catch it, it'll be more apparent next chapter.

Also, I actually have the next couple of chapters already mostly written out, so hopefully, I'll be able to have those out in the next month or two to anyone still following this story. Thank you for your patience!