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Chapter Text

Staring out at the vast expanse of tightly packed evergreens, you find your eyes quickly and consistently losing focus on the green and brown and instead zoning in on strands of blonde. To the right of you sits your girlfriend of two years, Annie Leonhart. You allow your eyes to shift from the feathery lengths of golden hair to her profile. With the sun leaking through the trees as the car speeds from one set of shrubbery to the next, light dapples her face: one ray momentarily highlights her brilliant blue eyes, and just as quickly, it illuminates the pink of her lips. You are entranced; each day for two years, seeing this woman has felt like noticing something new about your favorite painting.

Suddenly, the profile you have been admiring transforms to a complete face as Annie turns her head towards you, noticing how intently you have been staring at her. In a stern voice that is typical of her, she floats a simple question into the air:

"What?"

"Nothing," you say back, allowing a smirk to slowly paint your face.

Oblivious to the beginning stages of this smile, Annie tenses.

"Y/N, what is it?" She darts her head to her right and looks out of the moving window, as if she expects someone—something—to be following her.

"No, I promise it's nothing," you say, placing your hand on hers.

She jumps and recoils her hand, whipping her head towards yours. Sometimes, you forget how on edge Annie is. She seems so composed nearly all day, every day—forgetting the bundles of tensions and anxieties she holds with her is only natural, isn't it?

"I-I'm sorry. I was just looking at you. You looked really pretty in the light, and I got caught up, and forgot you were on alert," you say, trying to calm her.

You and Annie came to an unspoken deal. Annie often finds herself "on alert," as you both call it—she zones out the people around her in search of some sort of hidden threat. You have a keen sense for this state of being, as you can feel the air around her thicken with tension. Many people found Annie to be difficult to be around because of this trait, but oddly, it is something you love about her. You often go back and forth in your head about whether it was okay to love this part of her, as you despised the fact that she had been raised to be so tense and aware at all times of the day. Yet, you felt safe around her. You knew that even above wanting to protect herself, she wanted to protect you. And as comforting as this feeling was, it felt selfish to enjoy it. Sometimes, you wished that she could be aloof like you, just for one day, just so she could see the world through your eyes. You hope that this trip will do just that, even temporarily.

She looks at you intently, her eyes studying your face as if fighting to recognize who you were. Quickly, she realizes. You were Y/N, and you loved her, even in moments like these, just as she loves you. Her shoulders fall, and she sighs.

"It's fine," she says, dismissively. You can tell she is still calming herself. And just as quickly as she went "on alert," the weight of your words wash over her as she lowers her head to look at her lap, her mouth entering a shy smile. She grabs your hand and playfully squeezes it.

With a quiet chuckle, her small grin transforms to a toothy smile. You rarely see her smile with her teeth, and make sure to take a mental picture of it. Joy has never looked so good on anyone, and you want more than anything to ensure that she smiles this way for the rest of her life. She leans her head on your shoulder, and lets go of your hand to loop her arm through yours, holding it tightly. You could stay like this forever, you think to yourself. You could—

"Hey, what's going on back there? I don't want any grandchildren yet, you know!"

Two hearty chuckles. Your parents. In that moment with Annie, you zoned out everyone else, and completely forgot that you were not only being driven, but that you were being driven by your parents. It seems Annie forgot, too, as a blush of red spread across her face.

"Mom!" you said, half embarrassed and half giggling. As much as you hated the embarrassment you felt from their joke, you are your parents' child, and found the humor in the entire situation quickly.

It seems Annie did, too. Soon, the volume of her laughter overpowered yours as she covered her face with her palm. Though initially distrustful and cold to your parents, she has significantly warmed up to them over the years. Your parents were never offended by her serious nature. In fact, they welcomed it. You recall them saying "Well, we need someone to balance us out before we destroy the town, don't we?" You are grateful for them. And a part of you believes that Annie is, too. They had never done anything to intentionally harm her, and when harm inevitably did come through a mistake or misunderstanding, they were quick to explain and apologize. Though initially defensive when they began to laugh near her, it did not take long for Annie to realize that when your parents laughed, they were not laughing at her. Rather, their laughing was an invitation to her: an invitation telling her that she was safe with them, and that they were content to be with her. And though she does not always see the humor in the same situations as your parents, you have never seen her laugh more than she does than with them. And when Annie laughs, you laugh—you have never heard anything contagious, more welcoming, than that damn laugh.

Chapter Text

As much as you wanted to travel alone with Annie, your parents insisted that you and Annie take your first family trip with them. Though Annie responded with a straightforward, nearly toneless "That's fine" when you asked if she would be okay with such a trip, you knew that she was not necessarily displeased by the idea of a trip with your parents. Nervous, sure, but you were too. However nervous you were, though, was nothing compared to how excited you were.

You had been hyping up the location for this trip since you started dating Annie. You told her countless stories of the misadventures you had with your family each year during your annual vacation. The location, you told her, was none other than Lake Opack—a cabin campground encircling a medium sized freshwater lake. You and your family always stayed in the "Oak" cabin; each cabin was named after a tree, but given that your family had been staying in the same cabin each year for decades, it may as well have been the "L/N" cabin.

Once your dad pulls the car onto the gravel covered road, he hops to action.

"Okay people! Let's get this show on the road!" he proudly proclaims, popping the trunk.

Immediately, luggage spills out on top of him—suitcase after bag of food after fishing pole. Your mom instantly collapses to the ground in laughter, while you stand there in shock of the comedic timing; what comedy movie were you in?

Annie takes the situation more seriously, jumping out of the car and rushing to your father.

"Mr. L/N, are you okay?!" she asks as she frantically pulls the luggage off of him.

Your dad lets out an embarrassed chuckle. "Oh, fine, fine. Nothing that can keep down the ol' L/N-meister." He lets out another chortle at his wordplay as Annie helps him to his feet. "Alright, second time's the charm, let's get moving!" he says, grinning.

Together, all four of you form an assembly line. Annie, admittedly being stronger and more fit than you, takes up the task of helping your father unload the car. As they brought luggage out of the trunk, you lifted it up the stairs to your mother, who would unpack it inside the cabin. On paper, it sounded as if it should go smoothly. In practice, though, as floral shirts, underwear, and chocolate chip muffins plopped out of improperly zipped suitcases, it was not as seamless as you had anticipated.

After what felt like a true workout, with the sun beating down on all of you, you all take a break on the wooden deck of the cabin. Annie had taken off her favorite white hoodie and is now dressed in a white, form fitting tank top with dark green pants. Your dad, drenched in sweat and out of breath, tried to point out how he and Annie were matching as he shed one of his layers to reveal a similar undershirt. Annie nods in acknowledgement, and shoots you a glance as she suppresses a smile.

You check in with your mom as the fashionable pair catches their breath outside.

"Hey Mom, can I help with anything?" you ask.

"Oh, hi sweetie! Sure, can you start putting the food away?" she responds, looking outside at Annie and your father. Your dad seemed to be explaining how he had modified his fishing pole, and Annie was attentively listening as if it were a battle plan. You felt your heart flutter at something as simple as this; for the first time of the trip, it felt as if she were part of the family.

"Sure, no problem," you respond. As you put away the perishables, though, you notice a small brown box at the bottom of the bag.

"Mom," you start, holding up the box, "what's this?"

Your mother's eyes widen, and shoot another look to the deck before pushing your hands—and the box—down.

"Oh, shh!" she says as she gestures a shushing motion. She takes yet another look at the deck, where Annie was suggesting alternate modifications for the fishing rod. Your dad was now the one paying close attention. "I made it for Annie," she whispers, lifting up the lid of the box.

Inside, there is a small cake, adorned in white frosting and red icing. The icing messily spelled "Welcome 2 The Cabin!" It was clear your mom tried to write this message herself, and the effort was touching.

"Mom," you begin to ask, "did you bake this yourself?"

Your mom giggles. "Oh, please. You think I could make this?"

Looking again at the messy icing, you are about to say "yes," but your mom cuts you off.

"No, I bought it, but I did the message myself."

"Wow, it looks great though!" you tell her. You take another look at the cake, and a gentle smile forms across your face. Even past the sentimentality and thoughtfulness of the cake, it looked delicious. "Annie loves sweets," you add, looking up at your mom.

"Huh, looks like that's another similarity between you two," your mom says, chuckling. "Who has the bigger sweet tooth?"

"Good question" you respond. You recall the many movie nights between you and Annie. Specifically, you recall the abandoned, half eaten popcorn bucket and the countless plastic candy wrappers scattered everywhere. Big packages and small individual wrappers found their way in between the couch cushions, underneath the bed on the floor, and somehow, miraculously, in Annie's pillowcase. You insisted that you didn't put it there on purpose, but you think she saw right through your lie. As good as the popcorn is, you and Annie both agree that it cannot compare with sweets—sour candy, chocolate, you love and devour all of it.

However, you do remember the time you brought home a pie for your one year anniversary. After dinner, you both could only manage one piece each. When you woke up in the middle of the night to sneak another piece, though, Annie beat you to it: turning on the kitchen light, you found her hunched over the pie, blackberry filling smothering her face, with only three pieces of pie remaining, despite the fact you put away five total slices.

"I'd say Annie," you say with a slight smile.

"Never thought I'd see the day that my child was bested by someone who could eat more sweets than them," your mom teases.

"Well, that might change when we have this cake. Seriously, mom, it's making my mouth water!"

"Oh, stop it. To your father and Annie though, I made it. Got it?" she says with a mischievous smile.

You return the smile. "Got it."

Just as she shuts the box and shoves it in the fridge, your father storms into the cabin.

"Honey, you're not going to believe this. Annie just came up with a way to make the reel come in smoother and faster! She said to..." he says, wandering into a bedroom with your mother, explaining the intimate details that she absolutely did not understand. Annie walks up to you as you meet her with a smile. The sweat lightly covering her face gave her a radiant shine; she was glowing. Though she is stronger than you, you are taller than her. You bend down a little to plant a kiss on her lips as she goes on her toes to gain some extra height.

"Well, what do you think?" you ask her. You realize now that you may have overhyped the cabin; there are stains on the wooden floors, gnats and moths fluttering in and out of the windows, and dust blows wherever you move. You are nervous she might not approve of her living situation for the next few days, and prepare a variety of retorts to prove that the lake is as fun as you said it was.

Without a response, she wanders to the fridge and grabs a bottle of water. She sips it, caps it, and makes her way over to the couch. Plopping down with the water in one hand, she looks around at the interior of the cabin, then back at you.

"Looks great," she says, closing her eyes and moving to take another sip of water.

That's good enough for you. You smile, jump in the air, jog to Annie, and push the bottle of water away from her mouth as you grab her chin and plant one more kiss.

Chapter Text

By the time you, Annie, and your parents settled in and unpacked, it was mid day, and the sun was shining overhead. Being that the cabin was lacking air conditioning and you had only brought one small, portable fan, cooling off inside was difficult. However, luckily for you, Lake Opack was only a short trot down the trail.

"Hey, does anyone want to go down to the shore to cool off?" you ask.

"Great idea, Y/N! I'll grab the chairs," your dad responds, bustling off of the couch. He clambers down the stairs to the gravelly trail leading to the lake, where he had stashed four colorful beach chairs.

"Oh, let me help you, dear!" your mom adds, running after your dad, who is fumbling around trying to grab all the chairs at once. When one chair opens, another slips out from his arm, and when he goes to pick it up, another drops; it was a vicious cycle that you could not help but laugh at.

You glance at Annie, trying to get a read on her. To you, she seems... content. She was absorbed in a book that she brought with her to occupy any free time she might have. You do not recognize the title.

"Hey Doll, what are you reading?" you ask. You had decided to try and diversify your affectionate names for Annie, and had settled on "Doll," a reference to the Raggedy Ann Dolls. You're not sure if Annie is as amused by this nickname as you are, but being that you are not yet in a chokehold, you feel as if you are in the clear.

She looks up at you, and once again, you are transfixed in the moment, simply daydreaming about the girl in front of you. She looks peaceful, comfortable. She is propped up on the side of the couch, her legs outstretched and taking up the length of the couch. She had changed into shorts and a baggy, washed gray t-shirt to cope with the heat. Her hair was tied up in her signature bun, complete with a few stray strands dangling in front of her face. Your eyes sneak a peek at her legs. They were incredibly toned, so much so that you instinctually flexed your calves to try to compare. Though they were covered in a few bruises from her training, strangely, they looked soft to the touch.

"Hey, eyes are up here," she responded. Were you really that obvious in your ogling? You didn't think so, but not much gets by Annie.

You smile back at her. You are pretty observant yourself, and detected a twinge of sarcasm and playfulness in the inflection of her statement.

"Sorry, just busy admiring the details of a living, breathing piece of art," you say, reciprocating her energy. Though this line was not your best work, you like to think that you can be quick on your feet if you want to be.

Annie tilts her head down and shakes it, as if trying to shake off the slight smile that had snuck onto her face. She looks back up at you, and nods her head upward in a way that invites you to come closer. You happily oblige, and go sit down on a cushion by the edge of the couch opposite to where her body is resting, propping her legs onto your lap.

Not good enough. She sits up and grabs your arm, pulling you down to lay beside—and partly on top of—her. Though she doesn't show it often, Annie is a cuddler. She hates to show any aspect of being a "softie at heart," as you so lovingly called her before she unleashed an elbow on you, but when it is just you two, she gets her fix of physical affection. You drape your arms on top of her and plant a peck on her cheek. She smiles, and kisses your hand.

"So? What are you reading?" you repeat.

"It's a romance novel," she says, going back to the page she was reading.

"Oooo, how fitting," you tease, pulling her closer to you.

She chuckles and shakes her head. You cannot see all of her face since you are arranged mostly behind her in a spooning-but-not-quite-spooning position, but you are positive she rolled her eyes.

"Well? Shall we write... a novel of our own?" you say, unsure. Damn. You thought you were on a flirtatious roll.

"Dumbass," she responds.

You laugh, and take a deep breath in through your nose, breathing in the moment. Even if the couch is too small for the human pretzel of a position that you and Annie are in, you could not be more comfortable. You love feeling her skin on yours, even if it is just your inner bicep resting on her arm. You feel connected when you feel her warm, textured skin against your own. Her skin is not perfectly smooth, but it is by no means dry or scratchy. You think for a moment, trying to describe to yourself how it feels. You settle on weathered, worn in. She has lived in this skin; it is complete with scars, small, prickly hairs, and life. You instinctually plant your lips on her arm, giving it a kiss. Then another. And another. You move in a line, moving from her tricep, to her shoulder, down slightly to her collarbone, and finally land on her neck. You give it three quick smooches, and Annie lets out a contented sigh.

"Listen, I tried," you say groggily, remembering the differences in feeling of kissing each part of her. "Want to go down to the lake? It's cooler down there," you continue.

"Sure, I'll change."

"Sounds good," you chirp back.

You stand up, and watch as Annie walks back to the room that you are both sharing. It's a quaint room, as is fitting with the cabin, and is complete with one king sized bed, a chipped dresser and mirror, and oddly, a set of bunk beds. You joked with Annie that you wanted to sleep in the top bunk; she did not see the humor as you did.

Suddenly, she turns around at the foot of the door.

"Well? Aren't you going to change?" she asks, taking you out of your reflection and sounding almost annoyed.

"Oh, oh yeah. Yeah, no, I was going—yeah, I was going to go after you," you stammer, taken off guard by her change in tone.

Annie crosses her arms as she tilts her head and raises her eyebrows. She motions her head to gesture to the room, and turns back around to walk in. Taking the hint, you laugh to yourself and follow her into the bedroom, closing the door behind you.

Chapter Text

Now changed into your bathing suit, you grab two beach towels from the bathroom: one for you and one for Annie.

"Hey!" you shout from the bathroom. "You ready? I think my parents are already down there."

You hear a plain "yes" come from the bedroom. As you exit the bathroom, you see Annie come out of the bedroom. The confident, stern air around her seems to have faded and given way to what seemed like slight nervousness, maybe even insecurity; she seemed on edge. Not in an aggressive way, but in a way that a bird might be on edge as it perches in an unfamiliar tree. She stood at the doorway, holding one of her arms with the opposite hand and looking down at the floor. She is wearing the same gray t-shirt, but you can tell from the straps hugging her bare shoulders that she is wearing a two piece swimsuit.

"You okay?" you ask her, concerned.

"Will your parents be okay with me wearing this in front of them?" she asks meekly.

Despite comprehending what she had asked, you do not quite understand the question.

"What?" you start. "Yeah, of course they will! We're swimming, after all," you say with a smile, trying to ease her nerves.

"You're sure?" she asks one more time.

The request for reassurance was unexpected. Usually, Annie is confident and self-possessed. You know her as a decisive, unrelenting force, always steadfast and determined in whatever task she executes. Yet, here, you sense something in Annie that you are not used to: vulnerability. Perhaps this vulnerability is mental; she could be feeling out of her element with your parents and the overall circumstances of the trip. Or maybe the vulnerability stems from a place of physicality, being that she is physically more exposed than she is used to. You are not sure. Regardless of the cause, though, you could tell that Annie was not happy with how she felt: you want to change that.

"I'm positive." you say, walking up to her and grabbing her hand. Trying to reassure her even more, you start up again. "I mean, we're going to have to do our annual midnight skinny dipping at some point, so," you say as seriously as you can manage.

She looks up at you, eyes wide and face flushed in red. Before she can even formulate a response, you put an end to the list of questions that she is undoubtedly asking herself in her head.

"Kidding, totally kidding," you say, bumping her with your hip. You give her a hug, which she returns—but only after giving you a soft punch in the back.

"You're not funny," she says.

"I know, I'm sorry for lying," you respond. Still holding her, you whisper in her ear one last message: "It's actually more of a 2 AM skinny dip."

Before she can wrestle you to the ground—as you know she is going to try—you break the embrace and rush towards the stairs, exiting the cabin. She runs after you, with a determined, steely look on her face. There she is: Annie Leonhart.

Your plan had worked. You knew that if you could rile her up, she would slip out of her funk. And now, seeing her sprint towards you on mounds of dirt, bark, and pine needles, you knew that she had forgotten all about her nerves.

You are aware that all of these jokes and bits of banter are juvenile. You know that many of your one liners are cheesy, cliché, and, well, by now, probably overdone. Even still, you continue your verbal poking and prodding at her. You found that the playfulness you bring to the relationship balances well with her consistent and relatively unchanging sternness. Though this type of silly communication is already second nature to you and simply part of who you are as a person, you tend to lean into it even more when you are around Annie. Not in some desperate attempt for attention, especially given that it seldom elicits any sort of grand reaction in the first place, but because something about Annie encourages you to be your true self around her, goofiness and all. Her very energy makes being playful—makes being you—comfortable.

She catches up to you, and gently pushes you. You stumble a bit, but regain your balance. She laughs, and you laugh with her.

"Are we friends again?" you ask, sticking out a hand for a handshake.

"Shut up," she responds, grabbing your hand and propping herself up on her toes to plant a kiss on your lips.

Hand in swinging hand, you walk down to the lake, careful not to slip on any gravel. The lake itself is below the circle of cabins; to get down, you have to traverse some poorly made trails among the towering evergreen trees. It was already certainly cooler, though. Only a few feet away from the cabin, and the temperature feels as if it has dropped nearly ten degrees. Between the shade of the trees and the chilled breeze, you almost wish you had brought a sweatshirt down with you.

Soon enough, you see your parents, who have set up all four chairs.

"Well, look who decided to show up!" jokes your dad.

"The lovebirds have arrived!" your mom proclaims to no one in particular.

You laugh, and squeeze Annie's hand—your signal for "I'm happy you're here." She squeezes back.

"Well," you say, looking at Annie, then your parents. "Shall we?"

With a symphony of agreements from the three of them, your dad unbuttons and removes his shirt, your mom slips out of her sundress, and Annie slides off her t-shirt. You shed your covering too, joining the swimsuit-clad group.

"On three," your mother says.

"One... two... THREE!"

All four of you race down to the lake, letting out screams of joy as the cold water splashes your warm bodies. As the water droplets fly to the air, the world around you slows down. You see your dad grab your mom by the waist in an attempt to pull her into the water, you see a group of startled ducks fly away, you see Annie. And, as you watch her, truly watch her, you see her open mouth transform from shock from the cold to a genuine, unbridled, unrestrained laugh.

Chapter Text

You realize that you have never really seen Annie in the water. You were used to watching her jog, sure, and were more than familiar with her maneuvering through cities and forests alike with her ODM gear, but swimming? It's an entirely new beast.

Unsurprisingly, she excelled. You shouldn't have expected any less given her marvelous physical capabilities, but she was like a machine the way she swam. At one point, you challenged her to a race along the length of the shoreline of the lake. It wasn't too far, a few hundred feet, maybe. Keeping in mind that you had not seen her swim aside from some wading and gentle splashing, you thought that you could hold your own against her. Obviously, she took her fitness seriously, but your mother was a lifelong swimmer and you have swum with her since you were a child. You thought you could hold your own, or at the very least, could maybe grab her ankle to sabotage her. You weren't racing out of honor, you were racing to win!

She. Kicked. Your. Ass. As soon as the last syllable of "go" left your mouth, she was almost a full twenty feet ahead of you. And by the time you reached the end of the race—unable to grab her ankle since she was never once within your grasp—she was waiting for you with a taunting wave and a smug "What took you so long?" You bet her a kiss that you could beat her in a double or nothing round; as you explained to her, you were simply caught off guard the first time and got off to a slow start. You should have known the result—you knew damn well you weren't just "caught off guard" the first time—but who was the real winner? After all, you just kissed Annie Leonhart.

Humiliating defeat aside, you were seriously impressed. So impressed, that after catching your breath and sunbathing on the shore with her for about an half an hour, you aired out a new idea.

"Hey Annie, I have a question," you say, craning your neck to face her. She was lying stomach down, tanning her back.

She angles her head to look back at you. "What is it?"

"How big do you think the lake is?"

"Not sure. Looks about half a mile or a mile the full length across."

You wait a moment to see if she catches where you're about to go. She does not.

"I never knew you were such a strong swimmer."

"I've been swimming since I was a toddler," she responds, sounding borderline uninterested.

"Do you think..." you begin, trying to rouse her attention.

Staring at you, she raises her eyebrows and gives a slight wobble of the head, waiting for you to finish.

"Do you think you could swim the entire length and back?" you ask. Even you did not know the answer, but if you had to guess, you would say she would make it about half way through the lake before she had to call it quits.

"Easily," Annie said, without missing a beat. She angled her head away from you, going back to her tanning.

"Easily?" you thought to yourself. What the hell is this girl, a barracuda? It was more of a hypothetical question than anything, but something about the way she answered so casually and without thought, as if someone had just asked what she had for breakfast, made you want to see it for yourself. You call bullshit, even with how well she can swim.

You get up from laying on your stomach and stretch. You make your way over to the opposite side of Annie—the direction she is now facing—and drop to your knees, obstructing her view.

"Prove it," you taunt.

She looks up at you, noticing the smug air surrounding you. She gets up, dusting gravel and sand off of her belly and legs.

"Sure," she responds.

"Wait, seriously? Annie, you don't have to," you say, shocked. You are not sure what you expected, but her response still sounded foreign to you. Noticing your comment had no effect on her, you try again. "I don't think you can," you say, hopping to your feet. You try not to let your concern show, but you have an awful poker face.

"I can," she says back, stretching her arms upward.

"No, but, you saw how long it is. I don't want you to drown or anything."

"Well, good," she starts. She strides towards you and rests her palm on your cheek. She puts on a sweet smile. "Just don't get in my way and I won't."

You get chills along your back. As scary as her confidence is, you know that whatever she just did should not have been as attractive as it was.

Still getting your bearings, Annie walks down to the shore, past your parents.

"Going for another dip, Annie?" your mother asks.

"No," she says, "I'm going to swim across the lake."

Your mother's jaw drops, and your father takes off his sunglasses.

"Did I hear that right?" he asks.

"Annie, you can't be serious," your mother says.

Annie does not like being challenged, and you can sense her competitive nature beginning to fill her body as she tenses up.

"I am," she responds simply. "I can."

You are finally out of shock, and trot towards Annie, who is now retying her hair, her eyes focused on the other side of the lake.

"Okay, I know I can't stop you because I see that look in your eye that you get before you do something crazy, but hear me out."

She takes her eyes off of the shore on the opposite end of the lake and looks at you.

"Yeah?" she mumbles, holding a bobby pin in her mouth and continuing to tie up her hair.

"Because I know my parents won't be able to convince you not to go either—"

"Your mom doesn't think I can do it," she says, cutting you off. Her eyes are filled with a fire; not of anger, not of frustration, but of determination.

"You don't have to prove anything to anyone, Annie," you say gently, placing your hand on her shoulder.

She sighs, as if she is relieved to hear your message but is signaling that you are still missing something. "I know I don't. But I really, really want to, Y/N."

The way she says your name almost sounds as if she were pleading with you.

"Okay," you say, thoughtfully. You know she is too prideful to wear a life jacket straight off the bat. Knowing her, she would say that wearing one would be cheating, and would eliminate the challenge. "What I was going to say, though, was what if I followed next to you in a rowboat?"

She stayed silent for a second. Even your parents were invested in the conversation and were waiting for her response, as if the conversation were an intense match of tennis. The ball was in her court. You hoped your suggestion did not sound insulting; you were just genuinely concerned for Annie. As strong as she is, the open water of the lake is dangerous. You've seen it yourself; it was only a few years ago that your grandfather nearly drowned after falling out of his rowboat because of its frigidness of the water and its aggressive current. And today, the wind picked up and formed a current just as strong, if not stronger, which would force her to swim even harder than she did during your race.

You kick yourself for even suggesting such a dumb idea. If she said no to the rowboat, you would either run along the shore to keep pace with her and jump in after her if she needed, or try to swim next to her, even if it meant drowning with her. You hoped it wouldn't be the latter option.

Her lips part. Here comes the return; you are ready to rally for as long as it takes. "You just can't stay away from me, can you, Y/N?" She shoots you a mischievous smirk.

"Annie Leonhart," you say, a smile forming across your own face. "Was that a joke that just left your mouth?"

She scoffed, shooting air out of her nose. "Better than 'writing a novel of our own,'" she said, mocking your earlier failed attempt at wordplay.

You grab her shoulders with both hands, then gently pat one cheek, and pull the other.

"Who are you, and what did you do with my girlfriend?"

"Go get the rowboat," she commands. Joke time was over, apparently.

Chapter Text

As you board the rusted, metal rowboat, you grab a few extra life jackets, just in case. You were not taking any chances. You also invited your parents to come with you on the boat to watch Annie on her swim. They both agreed—your dad out of excitement for the entertainment, and your mother out of concern. You cannot decide which side you fall on.

"Alright Doll, you ready?" you ask apprehensively, oars in hand. You know that you need to kick it into high gear to even stand a chance at keeping up with her.

"Ready," she responds, cracking her neck.

"Okay, on three. One, two, THREE!"

Annie dives into the water, and you pump the paddles into the water as hard as you can. Damnit! She's already ahead of you. You continue pumping, trying to gain momentum. After only a few minutes, your arms are burning, your neck stiff with tension. It is at this point that you wish that you had committed to joining Annie's morning workouts. If you had just put in a little extra work, she would not seem so far away. You would not even need to entertain the idea of her getting too tired, or the idea of her looking up for you only for you to not be there, or the idea of her head slipping below the surface of the water, eyes frantic, or her—no. You are not doing this right now. She is going to be fine, and you are going to watch her be fine from only a foot away from her. You will reach her.

Filled with a newfound sense of grit and passion, you push past the pain in your arms and the fire spreading in your lungs. You will reach Annie, even if she doesn't need you. You will always be by her side, even if she doesn't know it. Always. With your eyes only set on the shore growing further and further away, you force your arms to go back and forth, back and forth. You repeat it in your head like a mantra: "back... and forth. back... and forth." After a few more rows, you hit a stride. You are soaring through the water, and gaining on Annie. Though she is still ahead of you, you are nearing the halfway point of the lake: the point you thought she might need help at. Speeding up, you notice you are catching up with her. Is she slowing down?

"Annie, you all good?" you ask, more curious than concerned. She did not seem to be struggling for air, nor did she seem to be cramping up. So why was she slowing down, and why were you about to pass her?

Her head breaks the water from her freestyle stroke, and suddenly, she starts treading water, staying in one place. Shit! As you reach for a life jacket and begin to take off your shirt, though, you hear a laugh. Your head jerks to where you last saw Annie, and you still see her. Except, she's floating on her back. Between her giggles, which are now echoing all around the lake, she speaks:

"This lake is amazing!" she exclaims. "Hope I didn't scare you; just wanted to enjoy this spot more—it's so much cooler in the middle," she says, closing her eyes and soaking in the sun.

You are silent for a moment. Did she swallow water? Is it getting to her brain? Did she just say she stopped after nearly half a mile of consistent swimming because the water felt good?

"Wait, what?" you ask. "So you're not tired? You don't need help or anything?"

She stops laughing, and dives beneath the surface again, taking off. After a few seconds, you see her hand break the surface of the water nearly thirty feet away before it plunges back down again. And, a few moments after losing sight of her, your boat rocks. You look behind you.

"Nope," responds a water soaked Annie, who is now holding onto the side of the boat. She is barely out of breath.

You don't even know what to say. She's toying with you, you know, but surely she has to be a little tired, right? Your parents do not know how to respond either, but without explanation, your dad starts clapping.

"Oh, ho, ho, incredible! Y/N, did you see that?!" your father cheers, clearly enjoying the entertainment he was expecting.

Your mom begins clapping too, taking a deep breath. She was clearly just as worried—probably more so—than you. You decide to join, too, and begin clapping with your parents.

Annie, taking in the applause, grins a knowing smile and looks at you. You smile back at her, and make your way to the side of the boat. You grab her cold, wet hand and squeeze it. She squeezes it back, grabs it with both hands, and plants a chilled kiss on it.

"Alright," you say, shrugging. "You're right. You can do it." You concede.

Instead of hopping back into the boat, though, she lets go of your hand. Before you can ask why, she speaks.

"Not done yet. Try to keep up this time."

She pushes off of the boat and smiles at your parents, taking off for the shore. Chuckling to yourself, you shake your head. You're convinced that if she told you she could fly, you would believe her. Your mom is less convinced.

"Go! Go! Y/N, what are you doing? Hurry up! She's getting too far from us! Oh my God, what if—Y/N, Jesus, hurry!" your mom yells.

You laugh, trusting fully in Annie's abilities. While you still row quickly, you allow your muscles to rest slightly and instead coast when you can, capitalizing on whatever momentum you built to sneak some glances at the mountains encompassing the lake. Annie was right; the middle of the lake provides a totally different view of the nature surrounding you, and the breeze bouncing off of the water is incredibly refreshing. Sure enough, by the time you get to the shore, she is already on land, stretching and retying her hair. And once again, before you can congratulate her, she speaks.

"Alright, one more length."

She dives into the water, and books it for the opposite end of the lake. You are still out of breath from rowing, even if you did take it easy this time around—you've already asked yourself this question too many times today, but how the hell does she do it?

You repeat that question to yourself the entire rowing length back. She remains ahead of you, but seemingly slows down so that she is always within eyeshot of the boat. Looking at your mom, you figure that she intentionally slowed down to put your mother's heart at ease. Well played, Annie.

Just like last time, by the time you reach the shore, Annie is already there, sitting on a rock and waiting for you. The second the bottom of the boat scratches the gravelly shore, you jump out, leaving your parents to get out by themselves. They can handle it. You quickly walk towards Annie, but unlike last time, she is not the one that will be interrupting you. Instead, before she can let out some cocky taunt that you know she has prepared, you lift her up, cup your hands together underneath her bottom, and kiss her. She lets her arms relax and fall over your shoulders, returning the kiss. And, even though she is cold, wet, and a little slimy from the weeds that were peeking through the surface of the lake, there is no other place you would rather be than pressed against her, body to body, lips to lips, and heart to heart.

Chapter Text

Author's Note:

Hello! It's been a while! Thank you to those of you that checked in on me, and that stuck around for the next parts of this story. I'm so sorry that it took so long! I just started university a few weeks ago, and it has been far more busy than I had anticipated. In addition to my undergraduate work, I am working a job on campus. Between these two commitments, writing for pleasure has unfortunately gone on the back burner. This is not to say that this story is ending though; far from it! I've had tons of time to brainstorm, and have drafts sitting around, just waiting to be polished and finished. I just wanted to give a fair warning, though, that updates may be a bit slower than before. I am hoping that school calms down now that the first few weeks are over, but I wanted to issue that warning regardless. Thank you all for your continued support so far; knowing that people are actually reading my work fills my heart with warmth, and I am truly so, so grateful. I'll continue to update you all on my life if anything crazy happens! But for now, enjoy this next chapter—maybe prepare a nice meal for yourself for even more immersion into the story ;) Until next time!

-LovebugBite

After Annie’s impressive swimming show, you are drained, emotionally and physically. You are not the only one; once your embrace with Annie ended, your parents were already half way up to the cabin. They joke that they get “stable urge,” a term they coined after they went horseback riding. Apparently, horses can sense when they are close to their stables after a long ride, and begin speeding up so they can reach the stables quicker and quicker. When your parents explained it to you, you mentioned to Annie that she should tell Jean that he has stable urge whenever he gets antsy to do something. She did not find it as amusing as you did; maybe Eren would appreciate it more.

Following your parents not long after their return to the cabin, you change into some dry clothes. By now, the sun was starting to set, and the temperature began to drop with it. You throw on a baggy crewneck sweatshirt and a pair of shorts, and you loan Annie one of your flannel shirts.

She never admits it, but you suspect that she packs lightly on purpose so that she can wear your shirts. Knowing Annie, it is completely unlike her to even have a semblance of disorganization anywhere in her life, let alone for something like her first camping trip with you and your parents. You’re not complaining, of course; you love giving Annie your clothes. Beside the fact that she looks great in oversized clothes, usually by the time she returns whatever article of clothing that she borrowed—which is usually not for a week, or a month, or even a year in the case of a tan hoodie that mysteriously went missing around your one year anniversary—her scent rubs off on it. She smells of the outside world. That is, she does not smell of a populated world of nightlife, electricity, or intensity. Rather, she smells of eucalyptus, subtle hints of blooming gardenia, and the unmistakable scent of freshly cut pine. You love this earthy smell; even the raw ingredients that individually comprise her scent cannot compare, because without her, they are nearly indistinguishable from the world around them. But with Annie, her very essence supplements these scents with a certain je ne sais quoi; she simply and wholly smells like Annie.

After a few hours of down time filled with books, naps, and games of Scrabble, you sit down for dinner. You are not sure what it is, but you insist that food tastes better up here. You told Annie about this phenomenon on the way up, and while she seemed open to the idea, you could tell that she was also not entirely convinced. You had a feeling she would discover that you were correct in only a few minutes.

Dinner smelled divine. Your mother is an excellent cook, and she loves comfort food in particular. Tonight, you were having a mushy meal of mashed potatoes, baked beans, carrots, and a side of salad. Your dad also barbecued up some steak—his “signature meal” that he insisted Annie had to try, since she has yet to taste his cooking. And, of course, for dessert you knew that there would be a delicious cake with a personalized message to Annie. You remind yourself that to Annie and your father, this cake was homemade by your mom.

“Alright everyone,” your mom starts, wiping her brow with a cloth, “get it while it’s hot! It cools down quick up here.”

“Annie, how do you like your steak?” your dad asks. “I cooked a few extra so there’s options.”

“Oh, anything is fine, Mr. L/N,” Annie says, modestly. Looking at her face when she sees the pile of food, dripping in sauce and juice, you believe her. You see her swallow as she looks the stack up and down, nearly entranced by the plate in front of her. You laugh quietly to yourself, wondering when the last time was that she looked at you like that.

“No, no, no,” your dad says, shaking his head. “You’ve gotta have a preference for steak! And it’s gotta be done right, which I can guarantee it is,” he finishes, winking.

“Well,” Annie responds, still sizing up each cut of meat, “one cooked medium sounds great to me, Mr. L/N.” She pauses for a moment. “... if you have one,” she adds quickly, looking up at your father. She looks like a kid in a candy store: wide eyed, expectant, and hopeful, but not overly sure that she will be able to get what she wants.

“If I have one!” your dad loudly chuckles. “Of course I do!” He grabs a steak from the middle of the stack, which looks to be the second largest on the plate. “Here you go, best in the house,” he says with a smile, plopping it onto her plate. “Other than this rare cut for me,” he adds as he scoops up the largest steak onto his place.

Annie looks as if she is nearing tears at this point. Who knew she would be so moved by a piece of food? She looks at you, boasting a subtle smile. In this moment, you can tell that she is genuinely happy. This smile is not simply born out of politeness or civility, but out of authentic contentment. Gazing at her face, you notice that she got some color already, just from the few hours at the lake. There is a strip of red painting the lines of her cheekbones and traveling along the arch of her nose. She looks healthy, filled to the brim with sun, joy, and life. You send a warm smile back to her.

After your parents serve themselves, you grab the first cut of meat that you see. You are not picky about how it is cooked. You are not personally a fan of anything too raw, but your dad somehow manages to make everything taste great, whether it is rare or well done. You sit down outside at the wooden table next to Annie and across from your parents. No one has touched their food yet.

“Oh, c’mon, you guys haven't started yet?” you ask, furrowing your brow.

“Course not,” your dad replies, “We were waiting for you!”

“You didn’t have to do that,” you chuckle.

“Well, we weren’t going to if you were going to be much longer” your mom teases. “Alright everyone, dig in!”

You cut into your steak, excited to see how it was cooked; it feels like you’re opening a gift under the Christmas tree. Your mouth waters as you suck back some saliva, your knife gliding through the meat. A gentle, nearly pastel pink appears in front of you, surrounded by a crispy brown on its top and bottom. “Medium,” you think to yourself. Looks perfect to you. You take your first bite, and it nearly melts in your mouth. Salty marinade coats your tongue as you chew, and you stuff the corners of your cheeks with two more bites. Your cheeks ache now—half from the burning temperature of your dinner, and half from smiling from the taste of it.

You are so hungry that you do not even stop to tease your dad as he lets out a groan and an “Oh yeah, I’ve still got it.” He says the same line verbatim every time he cooks, and it is always funny to you; it is, for lack of a better description, such a Dad thing to say. Curious, you look over at Annie to see if she is enjoying her meal.

“Well,” you say, covering your mouth with your hand. You’re still chewing, but are too curious to wait until you finish. “What do you think, Annie?”

You turn your head to your girlfriend, and notice the plate first—you can see the white bottom of the paper plate, colored in an abstract mix of potatoes, steak sauce, and salad dressing. You are slightly puzzled; you did not think that Annie went light on her serving, so how could you already see the plate? You look up, and receive an answer.

Annie’s cheeks are stuffed to the brim with food. You briefly imagine her as one of the chipmunks you saw earlier today, filling its cheeks with any scraps it could find. She looks up at you, and tries to contort her face into her shy smile. The edges of her lips try their hardest to shift upwards, but with a full mouth, it does not quite form a smile. More of a curved line.

She looks silly, but so beautiful; so human. This was the girl you fell in love with. Beneath her harsh, sharp exterior is a jelly soft core. She has vulnerabilities, she has quirks, she has passions, she has fears, she has life. And you love it all. You grab her hand beneath the table and squeeze. She squeezes back—your signal. You try your best to mime a smile, since your mouth is still full too. You get the sense that you look just as ridiculous as Annie.

She finishes chewing, and swallows. “Mr. L/N, Mrs. L/N,” she starts. Your parents glance up from their food, looking puzzled. She quickly and slightly bows her head, and starts back up. “This food…” she says, seeming almost unable to find the words to finish her sentence. “...is so delicious. Thank you so much. I am so grateful!” she says, picking up the volume towards the end of her sentiment. Her face is still facing downwards towards the table, the top of head facing your parents.

“Oh, c’mon now Annie,” your father says, a smile beaming across his face. “There's no need for the theatrics! We’re just happy that you’re eating with us!”

“That’s right,” your mother adds. “We should be the ones thanking you! We’re happy you’re here with us—”

“And even happier that you’re enjoying the steak!” your father interrupts, laughing. You never told Annie that complimenting your dad’s food was the way to his heart, but it seems she didn’t need to be told.

Annie raises her head, and smiles at your parents. The color from the sun disguises the fact that she is blushing—you are sure your parents do not notice, but looking at her from the side, her profile reveals a warm pink and spreading past her cheeks ever so slightly.

“Besides,” your dad begins as he looks at your mother, then back at Annie. “You’re practically part of the family now, so you better get used to my cooking!” He flashes a toothy grin at Annie.

Annie responds with a stifled chuckle and an equally toothy smile. She grabs your hand and squeezes, seemingly harder than she ever has before. You try to squeeze back even harder as you look at her; she is already looking at you. You are happy that she is here, too.

Chapter Text

After filling your bellies with delicious steak–cooked to perfection as your father promised–you and Annie crawled into bed. You secretly hoped that the food would leave her feeling energized, social; sometimes, at night, despite loving her early morning runs, Annie would become talkative. Something about the dark air outside, about the coolness of a silent night, comforted her. It held her in a light embrace–the way a thin, well loved blanket might gently fall on someone’s shoulders–and made her feel safe and small enough to open herself up. The first times she did, you just listened. It was a shock to hear Annie discuss the things that she did during these late nights: her childhood, how she feels about her job in the Military Police, how she wonders what the rest of her life will be spent doing. It all felt so heavy that you did not know what to do except hold the space open for her; even without responding, you could see something in her eyes that told you that she needed to purge herself of these thoughts and that she was grateful she could do it with you by her side. She found and finds great comfort in your company, even if that is all you do: hold the space.

Tonight, there was no such talk. There was a plop into bed, the crisp ruffling of fresh bedsheets as they were pulled up to her collarbones, and within minutes–seconds, even–her light snoring. Before meeting her, you hated snoring. It was an interruption to the silence you needed to sleep. But with Annie, her breaths signified something much greater. It signified a partnership, it signified her presence, and it signified the radical merging of your lives. You never tell Annie she snores, of course. The last time you hinted at anything that was not a robotic trance sleep, she shot you a glare that signaled she did not care to know that she was just as human as you.
Within seconds, you are fast asleep. You dream of cabins, and endless trees, and distant snow capped mountains, and Annie swimming, and leftover steak. You wake up to it all, and even better, to a glimpse of Annie’s hay blonde hair as she quietly sneaks out of the door for her run. The way her head turned out of the door, you can tell that she snuck a quick glimpse of you before she left. Feeling that part of your cheek is slightly heavy with something–barely noticeable, fading quickly into the air–you realize that Annie left you a kiss on the cheek before she left. You stroke your cheek one last time, savoring the thought of Annie’s lips, before fading back off into sleep.

Waking up to the smell of sizzling batter and the hushed cursing of your mother, you peek out and see a dark brown, nearing black circle on the stovetop pan.

“This damn gas powered stove always has more bang than my buck can handle,” your mom complains, seemingly to the air.

“Don’t worry about it,” says a cool voice that you recognize from the first spoken syllable. It is enough to rouse you out of bed as you straighten your crooked t-shirt and pat your thighs, double checking that you are still wearing pants. You wander out of the room and see Annie and your mother looking over the stove. Annie’s hair is tied up in her typical bun and she is wearing a thin white t-shirt. It clings to the muscles of her back, the cotton fabric grasping onto her skin briefly as a result of the sweat; she clearly just returned from her run. She has donned a pair of light gray sweats, matching with your mother, who pairs the sweats with a fuzzy, plaid patterned robe. It hits you how cold the cabin is in the early morning–the night’s dropping temperature holding onto the old wood of the cabin the way Annie’s torso clings to her shirt–but before you can retreat back to the room for a sweatshirt, the creak of the floors give you away, and Annie’s head jerks to its side to find your eyes. Damn floor construction.

“Hey,” she starts, not a hint of a smile on her face, “look who’s finally up and at ‘em.”

“Oh Annie,” your mother laughs, grabbing her shoulder, “you’re terrible!” Your mother gets a kick out of everything, which apparently helps her catch onto Annie’s dry sense of humor much easier than you can. Annie lets a smirk slip from the side of her mouth before letting out a breathy chuckle through her nostrils.

“We were just working on breakfast.” Annie says, turning her face back to the pan. “Bacon, ham, or sausage?”

“Oh man, I don’t even know if I can. I’m still stuffed from last night’s steak,” you confess.

“Y/N, it’s important to start your day with protein,” Annie says, tossing bacon, ham, and sausage onto the grill. “It builds muscle, keeps you strong.”

“She’s right you know!” says a deep voice from outside the window of the cabin’s kitchen. You crane your neck to widen your view of the deck outside and see your father reading the local paper: the Mountaineer Messenger, a publication that is so “small town” that the Sheriff blotter only ever reports cases of ding-dong-ditches and missing pets, most of which are found within the day. “That’s how you get these babies!” Your dad rolls up the sleeve of his gray shirt and brings the back of his wrist to his chin, flexing his bicep. “Boom! Show ‘em, Annie!”

Annie shakes her head not out of refusal, but embarrassment, and the happy kind of embarrassment. You can tell she likes this kind of acknowledgement, but does not want to indulge your father. You remind yourself to thank her later on, maybe with words, maybe with a cheeky kiss.

“Fine,” you say, moving the conversation on before your father can continue it. “I’ll take some bacon, please.”

“Nice choice,” Annie says, flipping the meat to its other side. The fat of the meat splattered against the hot metal, refilling the cabin with its aroma. “And you like yours on the crispier side, don’t you?”

You don’t know what it is, but this miniscule act of being seen by Annie Leonhart gives you butterflies. She is acknowledging you, telling the world that she has opened herself enough to remember you. It is not a secret that you know all about her, and not even a secret that she knows your quirks and preferences, but this quick reminder that she knows you enough to know your breakfast preferences? It’s enough to pull the sides of your face into a warm smile.

“Yes, please, that’s right,” you beam.

“Well, I would help, but Annie, it seems like you have it under control, and I don’t want to get in your way,” your mother says. “Are you sure I can’t be of any help? I feel bad, since you’re our guest.”

“I don’t mind at all, Mrs. L/N,” Annie says. “I can always call my sous chef over, if I do need help.” She flicks her bangs out of her face with the whip of her neck and shoots you a look. Still keeping eye contact, she continues, teasing “You may need to wake up quick, Y/N, if you want to earn your keep for the day.”

“HA!” your father’s voice booms from outside. “That’s right, make us work for our breakfast! That’s what my father used to say back when I was growing up,” you father says into the kitchen window.

“Oh, no, not you two,” Annie says as she turns away from the stove and dons an apron, tying it around her back. “Just Y/N,” she finishes, smirking again at you with her blue eyes; now that you’re really looking at them, they’re nearly the same color as the lake’s water.

You smile back at her with a closed mouth and a roll of the eyes. “Yes, chef,” you say, making your way over to her.

Chapter Text

After breakfast with Annie and your parents, everyone split off for their free time. In the case of your parents, that meant lounging time down by the lake. In Annie's case, it meant a walk around the lake, then a quick dip. In your case, it meant a nice, slow morning to yourself.

You're a creature of habit when it comes for preparing for the day ahead, and after helping you parents with the dishes–they wouldn't let Annie help since she had cooked the meal in the first place–you decide to resume your morning rituals.

First, you get everything ready: your facial cleanser, your body wash and soap, and your shampoo. Next, you grab a clean towel from the bathroom; its white, slightly abrasive fabric protrusions are dry and rough against the skin of your hands and smell lightly of the bleach that was used to clean them. You can retrieve new linens every Wednesday from the central lodge on the campsite, which is a nice luxury that you certainly appreciate in the grunginess of the outdoors. Finally, you pick up your phone and navigate to your preferred music app. There is no reception out here, which is part of its rustic appeal, so you scroll through the downloaded music that you had prepared ahead of time for the drive and for moments like these when you had the cabin and shower to yourself.

Meandering to the bathroom wearing only the towel wrapped around your body, you feel the cold, dark wood against your bare feet. It feels like flat pieces of chilled stone pressing ever so briefly against your soles, sending a new shockwave up your body for the first few steps until they grow accustomed to the temperature of the surface. Once you reach the bathroom, you hang up your clothes on a hook and drape your towel over the edge of a clothing rack. The bathroom is cozy in size, but big enough. It has all the essentials: a working toilet, sink, shower, and even a hand carved, wooden medicine cabinet next to the mirror. Stretching your arms to either side of you, you realize that only about two and a half you's could fit in here if they all outstretched their arms in the same way that you are doing now.

Annie's bathing suit is hanging lazily along the framing of the shower that supports the plastic lined curtain. You smile, remembering how scared you had been when she bravely plunged into the lake, and how giddy you felt when you saw her bob her head out of the water, breathing and full of life. You had warned her to bring multiple swimsuits up to the lake since there was no drying machine in the cabin. She took this heads up seriously and packed three different swimsuits: two one pieces, and one two piece set. With the stern confidence that was typical of her, she said that she will be swimming in the lake every day, and expects that each suit will be dry by the time it is time to cycle to a new one.

That assuredness is something you admire and love about Annie. She had never been to the cabin before, never swam in the lake, never participated in the family routines and rituals that you had only ever told her about, but even so, she would speak about them as if she had lived through them dozens of times. This sort of move would have rubbed you the wrong way if it was Jean or Eren saying it. Eren's delivery would have surely implied that he knows more than you, and Jean's would almost certainly express an overconfidence that almost felt phony, as if he was trying to impress some crowd that was watching him from afar. But with Annie, it just felt right. She said it in a way that communicated not that she knew all about the trip, but that she knew all about herself. She knew that she would want to take advantage of the open body of water and she knew that she would want to be prepared for multiple scenarios. Never once had this attitude imposed on you, threatened you. Instead, it reassured you. You felt that Annie could handle anything that came her way, which relaxed you to your core.

Bringing your mind back to the room in front of you instead of a mélange of memories with Annie, you feel a cold breeze dance on your naked skin as you crack open a window. Its frosty trail leaves a path of goosebumps in its wake and sends a shiver along the back of your neck, triggering a quick full body chill. "Eugh!" you murmur as your body convulses. Enough is enough, you need some hot water. Now.

You reach inside the shower and turn the faucet to the left with a squeak, ensuring that the metal knob is twisted in the direction of red, rather than blue. It heats up quick, which allows you to step into the open space without wasting any more time. The hot water against your cold body--coated in sweat and grime from the lake--feels rejuvenating and rich. You tilt your head back and let it trickle all down your body, the water following the direction of your falling hair. First it hits your scalp, then it makes its way to your shoulders, followed by your back, then your buttocks, then finally, your legs. You wet your face with the water and flick the water out of your eyes before you reach for your phone, which you had set on the toilet outside of the shower.

Your fingers still wet, you shake them in the air, freeing small drops of water to the floor, which allows you to swipe and tap with much more ease. In your "liked songs," you press shuffle, and the speakers emulate the voice of a whiny, almost shrieking male voice before the instrumentals kick in:

"You've got me stuck to where I'm sitting, looking at your eyes

And I know I'm so pathetic, I wouldn't move to save my life."

A bleak start to a song, without question, but you know instantly what song it is and smile: "Lonely Eyes" by The Front Bottoms. For you, it is one of the best "yearning songs" that you have ever heard. Although honestly, you did not care for it much prior to meeting Annie. At which point, suddenly, miraculously as if by some divine transfiguration, all the lyrics were about her.

You listened to this song nonstop for weeks on end as you crushed on Annie. Every line, from describing the singer's object of affection's eyes to their friends, reminded you of her. You used to spy on her from the other end of the mess hall, just watching her move about the world, these lyrics bouncing in your ears on repeat.

"And they tell me that you're lonely, it's no surprise

When you walk around all day wearing those lonely, lonely

Lonely eyes"

You start singing along, remembering the first time that you worked up the courage to talk to Annie. You prepared for multiple routes of conversation, multiple angles of attack, multiple exit strategies. And after you gathered the courage, you walked over to her table, positioned right in the middle of the hall. As you approached it, you ran through all of your conversations you practiced with your mirror the night before. And just as you are about to open your mouth...  you lose your all of your nerve, electing to walk straight past Annie as if you were never going to stop in the first place.

"Well, I try to tell you jokes, I'm afraid you'd cry

And if you need a little sunshine, you could borrow some of mine"

You remember another time when the song's lyrics bounced around your head. It was when you saw her training in the gym; she had been boxing a punching bag, left hook after right uppercut after downward duck. Suddenly, though, she stopped. You worried that you had been found out and that she had somehow detected your stare. Just as you were about to look away, feign an interested look at a passing civilian or creaky board, she did something uncharacteristic: she leaned her head against the bag and closed her eyes. To you, this was the most vulnerability Annie had shown up to this point; it was the most human action that she had performed in your presence, even if she did not know you were there. She opened her eyes and looked up, looking at the scouts and athletes around her. There was something in her expression then. It was a sort of forlorn fascination, a subdued, achy wonder that had penetrated her eyes and was lurking in her irises. You wanted nothing more than to go in the gym right then and comfort her somehow; you would figure out how once you were there. And maybe you would have, but before you had the chance to entertain this fantasy, she looked in your direction and caught your eye. "Shit!" you thought to yourself, "did she see me?" Deciding you did not want to stay to find out, you assimilated into the passing crowd, your earbud cord snagging on the doorknob before you freed it.

""It's okay if you're unhappy," I would say before I leave her

"Just take a look around, there's no one here that's happy either""

Not taking time to reminisce, but instead deciding to appreciate the fact that Annie was right here with you, that she slept in the same bed as you last night, that she was swimming around Lake Opack right now, you belt the chorus:

"Lonely girl, you are my world

And I could be anything you need

And if for some reason, you don't feel like talkin'

I could just sit and enjoy your company

Your company"

You continue singing the next verse as you lather your hair, chanting the lyrics under your breath as you think about Reiner, Bertholdt, Eren, and Mikasa, the way they would treat Annie when you first learned who she was.

"Well, the days keep going by, and it doesn't get much better

You could be threatening to jump, and all your friends would just scream, "Let her!"

They count on you to leave 'cause it's always been that way

But on the one day they close early, that's the one you want to stay"

It upset you to think about, but you're able to calm yourself when you remember that only a week ago, all six of you had gotten lunch together and laughed until milk squirted out of Bertholdt's nose. Eren nearly cried from laughter while he tried to steep up the mess with a napkin and Reiner held Bertholdt by his shoulders, making sure he was okay. Annie was mortified by the attention you were all drawing, but you found the entire situation hilarious, too. You continue singing, louder this time, when you drop the soap trying to clean your back.

"Damn it," you murmur into the air. You reach down to grab the slipper block, but when you do, you see two pale pairs of feet, attached to a sprouting pair of light peach legs. Surprised, embarrassingly, you let out a small shriek.

"Hello to you, too," Annie says bluntly.

You stand up straight and look at her. Her hair is tied back in her usual bun, but the color of her hair has darkened from dampness. She is dripping water onto the floor, drops slipping down off of her neck, her arms, her navy one piece swimsuit. It hugs her figure nicely, complimenting her toned body. You can feel your cheeks go red, but tell yourself that the hot steam from the shower masquerades any blushing that you might be feeling.

"Annie," you manage. "I didn't hear you come in."

"Of course you didn't," she responds. "I'm assuming you couldn't hear anything over your singing."

Oh God. Had she heard that? You went silent, struggling to find words that could come out of your mouth. You would have taken anything–an explanation, an apology, her name, but nothing came.

"I think the entire campground heard your performance," she said, cutting off any potential response you could have spat out.

Mortified. That was the only word to describe how you felt. Until, with a sly grin, she keeps talking.

"I'm kidding," Annie smiles, this time flashing some tooth. "You really were embarrassed there for a second, weren't you, Y/N?"

You still can't speak. Your girlfriend, Annie Leonhart, muscular and glistening, is standing in front of you in nothing but a one piece swimsuit, teasing you. Not only that, but you are only now coming to the realization that you did not, in fact, put on a musical performance for the entire lake.

"Hey, you alive?" she questions.

"B-barely," you stammer out. Real smooth. "How was the lake?" Nice work, that's even smoother: she's pooling lake water under her onto the bathroom floor, you're asking about her swimming experience, and you're naked.

Oh my God. You're naked. You were so flustered by Annie's surprise arrival that you didn't even register it.

"Shit!" you exclaim, huddling behind the curtains. She doesn't laugh, but you can tell she's close to it. You peek your head out and see her smiling.

"It was great, but I'm cold and ready to clean off," she says, still smiling at you.

"Oh, right, yeah, no, I can get out, just give me a minute," you say as you fumble for your supplies. The Front Bottom are finishing their final chorus at this point, singing longingly about how a lonely girl is the singer's world.

"No, no need," Annie says. "Can I just join you?"

You don't know what to say, yet again, but force your mouth to form the words "Sure thing."

"Great," she starts. "I can get your back."