A/N: Mh, hey? '^' This is my first Shingeki no Kyojin/Yumikuri one-shot ever. It was meant to be smut but I don't know- crap happened in the middle? This is confusing as hell, even for me.

Alternative titles : "Anaphora everywhere", "Failed Frickle Frackle", "It was cute then nope".

Also, I'm not fully comfortable with English yet so there might be mistakes. I'm totally giving out all the reasons why not to read this, but if you still decide to, then I hope you enjoy it? (And I like when people tell me what's wrong with what I write so yay feel free to criticize)~

SHE WOULD LIE

She knew, the moment she met her eyes, that they would never leave her.

It was overwhelming – with every meaning that this word could hold.

She could feel them, consistently, these cold golden eyes, washing over her, so far yet so close – like immense ethereal hands wrapping her petite figure, keeping her still, making it harder for her to move, to breathe. They would send a shiver down her spine, crack her eyes open at night, sweat sticking her blonde hair to her forehead. They were trying to force open a book that she desperately needed sealed. She would lie if she said she loved it.

She grew accustomed to them. She could feel them, consistently, these golden eyes, washing over her, so far yet so close – like immense ethereal hands wrapping her petite figure, keeping her safe. She perhaps grew addicted to them. Her heart would express a faint pinch of worry whenever she could not feel them, and she instinctively sought for them, missing their warmth, the way they looked after her. She would lie if she said she hated it.

Ymir intimidated her, that much was certain. Indeed, she was incredibly tall, and her height allowed her to easily tower over any girl in the 104th Trainees Squad. She was also a very skilled trainee, and possibly one that could have been trusted – if she had not made it her personal duty to piss everyone off. She would often shot arrogant remarks, or display a mocking smirk, looking down upon anyone passing by, eyes glinting maliciously. Golden eyes. Those golden eyes that would always seem to linger on Historia longer than she needed.

She would lie if she said she loved it – she would lie if she said she hated it.

She wanted to get closer to this mysterious girl. Indeed, she was asocial, and terrifying, and perhaps she was quite a jerk, but she was like a small, comforting fire, necessary to dismiss the cold emptiness that crawled into Historia's mind. Perhaps it was out of curiosity, or perhaps it was out of fear, that she was drawn to these eyes, to her, inevitably. She knew it could mean danger. But the menacing air surrounding Ymir seemed to dissipate the closer they got. The freckled teenager didn't appear as asocial when they laughed together after the silly stories Connie would tell. She didn't appear as terrifying when her large hand stroke her blonde hair playfully. She didn't appear to be a jerk when she cut her – oh so rare – pudding in half to offer her a share, pretending to be full already. Historia found her new friend to be overly kind to her, and often, her eyes would wander, suddenly meeting golden ones. Once, twice, twelve times, twenty times, more than she could count.

She would lie if she said she hated it – she would lie if she said she loved it.

She would involuntarily step closer to her any given chance. She would automatically run up to her during any assignment. She would instinctively sit right next to her when it was time for them to eat. She would unconsciously stand by her side when they had to wash the dishes. She would impulsively let her fingers brush her hand whenever she handed over a plate, or a glass, or basically anything. Ymir would never protest, never push her away, she would only pretend the bright shade of red that her freckles embraced never existed. And Historia would notice, and she would silently plead her heart to cease its fluttering. She knew Ymir was her only chance at being herself someday. And she also knew she was falling, hard, for her.

She would lie if she said she loved it – she would lie if she said she hated it.

And one day, they were asked to clean the storeroom. It was a simple task that was given every month, in order to prevent any animal from nesting there and possibly ruining the equipment. Many trainees complained about the futility of this assignment, calling it a "waste of precious of time", but it became common knowledge that the order came right from a "special" soldier – and no one would argue against higher ranked soldiers.

The room was quite large, though only filled with tall shelves, on which their precious military gears rested.

"What a pain. It'd be much easier if we could keep those in the dormitories," Ymir immediately shot, once she had closed the door.

"You know they wouldn't let trainees keep weapons under their beds," Historia replied immediately.

"Hmph."

"Help me with those instead of whining."

Feather duster in hand, she pointed to the higher shelves, while she bit the inside of her cheek in discomfort. She hated being so tiny.

"Sure, shorty."

Said 'shorty' puffed her cheek slightly. She turned around, stepping towards the shelves on the other end of the room…

… When her feet were suddenly kicking into the air, above the ground, and she found herself to be a lot taller than she usually was.

"What the-!"

"What? You asked for my help, now clean", Ymir exclaimed through slightly panting breathes.

Historia felt her cheeks flush slightly as she grew aware of the strong arms surrounding her thighs. She swallowed, hard.

"Ymir, no, put me down!" she yelled as she began hitting one of Ymir's arm with her feather duster.

The tall girl let a loud snigger escape from in between her teeth before she obeyed, though still smirking arrogantly at her shorter friend.

"You're no fun, shorty."

Historia punched her arm playfully – she could still hear the loud echo of her heartbeats against her temples.

It only served to amuse the freckled girl. Still grinning, she arched an eyebrow provocatively, as she stepped forward, dominating over Historia with all her height. Slowly, she raised one finger, pressing it against the fabric covering Historia's stomach. It was merely a jab, and she certainly did not expect the squeak that stridently resonated through the room. Arms clenching around her stomach, Historia looked up, almost shameful, barely containing her voice.

"Ohhh, of course cute little Christa would be ticklish!" Ymir said as her face brightened up, once again beaming with mischief.

"No. No. No. Don't you d-"

She quickly raised her arms in a defensive posture, but it was too late – Ymir got her, her fingers dancing rapidly against her sides, making her body twist and turn in all the imaginable ways. She tried to prevent another squeak from escaping her mouth but her efforts were proven futile as her voice noisily echoed once again, longer this time.

"Y-Ymir, st-"

Her knees failed trying to support her body any longer and she fell, back resting against the floor, legs curled up against her stomach, trying to protect any inch of her higher body, but Ymir was already kneeling down beside her, tickling. Through her own voice, Historia could scarcely hear the sound of Ymir's chuckle, but she knew it was there, faint, but there.

Eventually, Ymir stopped. Her right hand was spread flat on the floor, a few inches away from Historia's cheek, while her left hand pushed against one of the younger girl's leg, still folded against her stomach. Her other leg was trapped under the tall girl's weight. They had never been so physical in the past, feeling Ymir so close to her was a foreign and intriguing sensation. Both of them were heavily gasping for air after this unexpected demonstration of force, and she could see her freckled face only an arm-length above hers – her golden eyes, she could feel them, washing over her, sending a shiver down her spine and a warm feeling through her chest.

Ymir was there. Warm. Breathing. Smiling. At her. Watching her. Close.

Ymir blinked, inhaling quickly, she gulped loudly, painfully, before she bent down, slowly, never breaking eye contact with Historia. They were close. So close. So warm.

Silently, their lips met.

Soft.

Warm.

She would lie if she said she hated it.

Her lips curled slightly, embracing Ymir's, her right hand going through brown locks while her left one held onto her jaw, bringing their mouths together. She shut her eyes as she parted her lips and nervously invited the foreign tongue for a slow dance. But those golden eyes were still watching her, closely, gently. Though she couldn't see it, she sensed it.

She felt Ymir's warm fingertips caress her right cheek, ever so lightly, sliding down, ever so slowly, grabbing her chin tenderly, holding her face a few long seconds before their lips parted. A cold emptiness clung to her mouth, but as she opened her eyes, she met gold again. She could feel her breath. Warm again. Ymir moved slightly to the side, pecking at the corner of her lips, while her fingers that rested on her chin continued their way down, brushing against her neck, over her chest. She felt her shirt move, up, and Ymir's warm hand only just pressing against her flat yet strong stomach.

It didn't feel so warm anymore.

She felt multiple knots forming, one in her throat, one in her stomach, one even lower. Cold. It was cold. She felt a burden on her stomach, but it wasn't a hand. It wasn't Ymir. She couldn't figure it out, but she knew. The burden stayed, while the hand moved up, the fingertips touching the bottom of her bra. The knots tightened.

She would lie if she said she loved it.

She closed her eyes, and released a breath, though she couldn't recall why she held it in the first place. She felt her arms shake, hardly noticeable, but she suddenly realized her left hand wasn't lost in Ymir's hair anymore, but lying miserably, folded, near her own face. She couldn't recall. Her mind felt blank, and she could barely feel a mouth pressing to her forehead and on her wild strand of blonde hair, leaving a few kisses, crawling down to join her lips again. The hand on her stomach moved up, softly cupping her right breast, as slowly as humanly possible. At the contact, Historia felt a throbbing, needy ache forming lower, the knot shrinking again, and a feeling she already knew surged a little bit lower, and she instinctively pressed her own thighs together.

She would lie if she said she hated it – she would lie if she said she loved it.

Her heart hurt, and for a split second she was grateful the hand rested on her right breast. Why? Her lips were set free, but her breath wavered, for a brief second, and she tried to regain control over herself. Closing her eyes, she inhaled, as quietly as she could, careful not to alarm Ymir. Why? Her thoughts seemed to disconnect again as the oxygen penetrated her lungs. She could hardly feel her fingers anymore, shivering once more. She tried to lighten the knots as she exhaled, focusing solemnly on the soothing sound the air leaving her body made. She repeated a few times. Breathe in. Breathe out. She shut the rest of the world off. It felt comforting. It felt… familiar?

She would lie.

An emotion that she could not identify rushed through every single one of her limbs, and her eyes forced themselves open on their own. Why?
Just as she started to feel nauseous, the cold completely overtook her, freezing her bones, and it took her some time – too long – to notice Ymir wasn't so close anymore.

Huh?

She felt sore. Still, she used her elbows to lift herself up, and she saw Ymir, not so far, back resting against one of the four walls surrounding them. Her mouth was hidden behind her hand, and her eyes – golden eyes – watched over her carefully, yet bashfully. Historia sent her a questioning gaze, and the tall girl only answered by tapping the empty space beside her. Gulping loudly, Historia complied. She dragged her body, which felt incredibly heavy, next to her. She was still shaking considerably, and established a safe distant between their bodies. Why? She wanted to touch her. She craved for her touch, her warmth.

Why did she feel so cold then?

She loved Ymir. She knew it. She knew it, that feeling, starting from her heart, swimming through her arms and legs, to the tip of her fingers and toes, she knew it, how her knees grew weak, how those damn butterflies kept flapping their tiny wings inside her stomach, how her brains always seemed to focus on her and her only. How warm she felt every single time she thought of her. She knew it. Her body knew it.

So why wasn't she feeling it now? Why?

Two strong arms wrapped around her, encircling her tiny frame, holding close. Closer. She felt a warm hand, Ymir's hand, push her head against a warm shoulder, Ymir's shoulder. Her legs folded against her breasts almost instinctively, and she snuggled up into Ymir, who rested her cheek against her sweaty forehead. It was… soothing. She closed her eyes, listening to the heart beating close to her ear. The chest that she used as a pillow moved.

"You're an idiot," Ymir exclaimed suddenly.

She opened her eyes again, lifting her chin up, though she still couldn't meet Ymir's eyes, only able to stare at her neck and jaw. She wished she could see her freckles, at least. It felt like forever since she had last seen them – truly, it had been merely thirty minutes. But she missed them. She missed her golden eyes too. The urge to cry suddenly presented itself. An idiot? She knew she was an idiot. She didn't know why but that, at least, she knew.

"You would have let me."

"Huh?"

She had never heard such a tone coming from Ymir's mouth. It was strict. Perhaps accusing. A bit broken, definitely. But it also felt soft, somehow, as if she were scared the mere sound of her voice would break the small girl.

"You would have let me. Touch you."

At the mention of the memory, she was afraid, although only for a brief second, that the cold would come back. But the arms surrounding her were still warm, still strong, still holding her tightly yet so gently.

"Y-You wanted it…" Historia managed to let the words out. She sounded like she had not had a glass of water in days, but was distinct enough. "So… I… I-"

"-Didn't have to. You didn't want it. You should've told me, that you didn't like it- want it, either way. You should've told me, right away, to piss off."

"No, it's not… like that… I-I don't even know why." She laughed, in a short breath, nervously, as she kept fighting back the tears. "I'm so, so sorry…"

"Don't you fucking dare apologize."

She felt two arms pushing against her shoulders, creating a small distance between them.

She saw them. Those golden eyes. They were looking at her again. Gentle. Warm. Historia noticed a single tear leaving one of those eyes and pressed a finger to it, instinctively, wiping it away. She stared at her own fingers, caressing Ymir's cheek slowly. She couldn't look up and meet her eyes. She would cry. She knew it.

But two hands cupped either side of her face, and she looked up anyway. She saw Ymir take a long, long breath.

"Don't apologize. Don't force yourself. Don't fake it. Don't do anything you wouldn't want to. You have the right to refuse. I'm serious, you can tell me to piss off."

"I didn't want to… lose you."

Ymir scoffed, though the faint sound of a repressed cry could be perceived. "As if. You won't get rid of me that easily."

She took another deep breath, blinking rapidly, before she pulled Historia into her arms once again, taking extra care that every inch of her arms were in contact with the petite teenager. She then raised her broken, defeated voice again, devoid of any sign of harshness.

"I just… don't ever want to see you like that. Ever again. I don't wanna hurt you, okay."

The last part was rushed, only muffled into Historia's hair, but she heard it anyway. She swallowed, briefly realizing the knot earlier had disappeared, and she broke free from Ymir's embrace to look at her – as she thought, her freckles laid on scarlet cheeks. Without much thinking, she pressed her lips against hers. It was a short, chaste kiss, but it was enough to sparkle the little flame inside Historia again. She knew that feeling.

She nodded. "Okay."

Ymir nodded back, as if a silent agreement was made, and Historia offered a small smile before she got up, still trembling a bit.

"We should go. The others will wonder why we're taking so long."

"Uh, what about cleaning?" Ymir asked reluctantly as she got up as well.

"As if this place needs cleaning."

She smoothed her shirt, and stepped towards the door.

She was well-aware that Ymir was looking at her, an eyebrow and the corner of her lips both raised – with those warm, golden eyes.

She would not have to lie.

It was overwhelming.