Work Text:
His heart drummed in his ears. The lump in his throat enlarged into a coarse rock, impossible to swallow. His throat tight on his windpipes he could barely breathe.
He tried to compile the tips he read a few days earlier; deeply breathing and a smile.
He failed miserably at both.
“Armin?”
He brushed his suit.
“Armin?”
He shifted his weight from one feet to the other.
“Armin!”
“Yes!” Armin jumped, searching around him, catching a few glances from the small crowd.
“Why are you not responding?”
Armin turned around and-
“Oh, Connie, I’m sorry, I’m just- you know, I was just-” Armin shook his head, waiting for Connie to somehow decipher the concoction of words he threw at him.
“It’s ok,” Connie chuckled, running his hand up and down Armin’s back, “it’s your wedding, it’s ok to be nervous.”
Armin thought about it for a moment, clicking his sharp crispy shoes on the wooden floor: “I’m not… I’m not nervous…”
“Excited?” Connie retorted, raising an expecting eyebrow at Armin.
At that, Armin blushed.
“Oh come on,” Connie laughed, nudging Armin, “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
Armin turned around, combing his hair down with his palms, his eyes scrutinizing the invited. Less than twenty people seated in rows, the joyous anticipating guests shifted in their seats, smiling at Armin and waving. The humble place densed with close friends and family. As ambassadors, their compulsory position obliged them to have another big, huge wedding, inviting the allied nations and every political face ever. A just-for-show kind of celebration, glazed in fake smiles and formalities. Armin and Annie had an innate dislike for these occasions. But they would have to do it either way. For now, they would live every moment of this homely, small wedding.
They didn’t go venue hunting. Historia offered her own warehouse (that was attached to her farm house) to hold their wedding; they couldn’t say no to that.
The warehouse transformed into a cozy, traditional hall, rows of velvety pink chairs aligned in straight lines, breaking in the middle to form a path overlayed with a shiny white carpet, leading up to where Armin was waiting. White flowers decorating the humble place, with golden fabric draped in soft curves. It gave off the family atmosphere Armin and Annie strived for.
They couldn’t have it any better.
Gabi and Falco settled in the last row, Falco shamelessly and most likely unaware of himself openly-swooning over Gabi, both in summer outfits, Gabi’s dress flowered from the top to the bottom, Falco clad in a brown modern suit. Gabi was either oblivious to Falco’s hypnotized state, or she acted oblivious. Armin decided it was the latter.
Jean was sitting beside Pieck, facing away from each other. Armin sighed, they probably got into another fight. Since they started dating two years ago, their relationship had been on and off all the time.
Armin moved on, but the movement of Pieck’s hand took his attention. Slowly, she slithered her hand next to Jean’s, touching it slightly… a moment passed, before Jean sighed, intertwining their fingers.
Armin couldn’t stop the smile pulling at his lips.
A few seats next to them sat Reiner, his mom by his side, passionately whispering something in his ear. Reiner looked so out of it.
When Reiner noticed Armin’s eyes, he smiled, paying him a small wave, with a gesture to his ring finger.
Ah
His mother’s whispers were nothing but pestering him about when he’ll get married. Armin laughed, shaking his head.
Armin’s eyes halted on the first seat at the far right, where his childhood friend sat, clad in a crimson red dress, her hair touching her shoulder, a dust of make up adorning her face. Mikasa smiled at Armin, a proud smile. The proud-mom-smile she wore whenever he did anything she was proud of.
She was proud of everything he did, every single thing he did since they were only nine.
He waved at her, she nodded in response.
He could never forget Mikasa’s reaction when he told her he would propose to Annie.
The tears, the hugs.
Happiness overflowed out of her.
But soon enough, they both crumbled on the floor, hugging each other, sobbing, lamenting whispers escaping them. Eren’s name slipped every now and then.
Armin swallowed, looking at his feet. The bitter sweet roughness of that night would remain in his mind for as long as he lived.
Someone joined the seat beside Mikasa.
It was Hitch.
Gorgeous.
Armin thought. She did look so pretty, her hair slightly curled, in an off the shoulder navy dress that overflowed in a soft skirt.
She waved at him, he smiled and nodded.
Then she winked, raising her thumbs.
Armin furrowed his eyebrows. He didn’t understand, but nodded anyway.
Connie was having enough of Armin’s ignoring game; he cleared his throat and said: “Hey, by the way, how did you ask Mr. Leonhart for his blessings?”
“Oh, uh, well…” Armin started, flashbacks of that day at the forefront of his mind.
Even though they had been engaged for over a year, Armin still remembers that day as if it was yesterday.
Well…
“Well, he said that if I don’t treat Annie well, he will take my life with his own hands,” Armin said, shrugging his shoulders, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.
“What?”
“Yeah, I mean, it was easier than I thought, if I’m being honest with you.”
“Oh God.”
“No it’s not that shocking, besides, he supported me and Annie from the beginning,” Armin replied.
“I can’t believe it,” Connie’s eyes fixated on a spot behind Armin.
“Well, I don’t know what you exactly think of Mr. Leonhart, but-”
Connie clicked his tongue, pointing behind Armin.
Armin turned around and-
It was her.
“Annie…” he whispered.
Standing there, arms tangled by her father's.
A simple dress, a peasant dress; puffy sleeves with ruffled edges that beautified her updo hair. Pastel pink contouring the dress’s folds, adding a variant of flowery accents to it. A tight brown bodice hugged her waist, making the flowy skirt finely pleated into cascading silky waves. Something about it reminded Armin of a field of pink flowers in a spring afternoon.
The slight blush on her cheeks, her bangs framing her face, boldening her beauty.
The memory of gazing at a crystal in a cold basement from a few years ago struck Armin.
But the cold was replaced by warmth.
A warmth that traveled from Armin's toes to the tip of his nose, a feeling he never experienced before. He wanted to scream, jump in his spot, like a toddler in a candy store, but he also wanted to hug himself, cage himself in a corner, and cry.
When Annie looked in his eyes, the world stopped spinning, time froze, air halted.
The waves in the ocean quietened, the forests' rustles ceased, and the wind subsided.
For a moment, peace engulfed the world, the chaotic place wrapped in a fragile silence.
To witness the blossoming love in the youthful hearts.
The warmth reached Armin's eyes, his sight blurring.
His lungs caught fire, and despite feeling suddenly hot, his hands were freezing cold.
A thousand thoughts swarmed his mind in the short period of Annie walking up to him. It took approximately a minute, perhaps two, but for Armin, it felt like eternity. A labyrinthine he was very willingly getting lost in.
When she reached him, at the altar, not a single breath left him. His sight was blurry and eyes burning. His whole body shook with every sob he tried to suppress.
Someone held his hand, Armin looked down, and through his blurry eyes, he saw Mr. Leonhart’s gripping his hand, his hold a bit tight.
Mr. Leonhart took Armin’s hand, raising it. In his other hand, he held his daughter’s hand.
He guided Annie’s hand to Armin’s, placing them on each other, before clasping them in his strong grasp, holding them for a while. He looked at Annie, nodded at her with a smile, before he turned his gaze to Armin.
Mr. Leonhart leaned towards Armin, whispering in his ear: “I would kill you.”
Armin laughed, though his mouth opened but no voice came out.
Mr. Leonhart descended, walking to his seat, dabbing at his eyes.
At that moment, Armin’s world muted into a deafening, incomprehensible line. He took Annie’s hands in his. His eyes went up, from their intertwined hands, up to her collarbone; she wore a simple necklace, a small, silver circular metal hanging from it.
To anyone who wasn’t familiar with Annie, it looked like a normal necklace.
But it wasn’t.
It was her ring.
Her infamous ring.
Armin’s wandering eyes reached Annie’s.
Blue meeting blue.
And that was the last trigger.
Sobs escaped Armin’s lips. He cried, tears flowing and cascading on his cheeks. He didn’t want to cry, it made his eyesight blurry and he wanted to see Annie clearly. He brought his elbow to his eyes, wiping his tears, only for new ones to flood.
He tried to stop them, gritting his teeth, biting at the inside of his cheeks, squeezing his eyes shut.
He couldn’t, all his attempts leading to more sobs and tears.
Warm hands on his face made him flutter his eyes open. With a handkerchief, Annie softly dabbed at his cheeks, a smile small on her lips. Her eyes were glistening as well.
Armin focused on her eyes, and slowly, took deep breaths.
Sobs subsided, and tears stopped streaming down his face, clearing his vision.
She cupped his face in her hands, and brought him down, capturing his lips on her own, a quick kiss, lingering for a bit. Armin kissed her back, closing his eyes briefly, before she pulled away. She pulled far enough to look into his eyes, but close enough to feel his breath on her face.
“Ahem ahem.”
Both almost jumped at the sound, turning their heads. The priest stood there, a smile on his lips.
Only then did Armin and Annie realize that the small crowd was giggling.
“You jumped off a few steps there,” the priest said, nudging his head towards them, eliciting extra chuckles from the crowd.
Armin pressed his lips, looking at Annie. She was already looking at him, her lips pressed as well. They exploded in a fit of laughter, before they calmed down, and the ceremony went on.
From the priest’s concise sentences, Armin presumed that the priest knew that Annie and him couldn’t wait to get married.
Rings slipped in their fingers, in their left hands, so smoothly, as if they were always meant to be.
Armin’s heart beating faster as they tiptoed closer to the ending of the wedding.
“And now,” the priest announced, taking a step back, “you, Armin Arlert, may now kiss the bride!”
They held each other's eyes, before Armin wrapped his arm around Annie’s waist, pulling her closer to him, and kissed her.
They kissed many, many times before.
But that kiss felt different.
Their first kiss as husband and wife.
Armin pressed his lips against Annie’s, feeling her heartbeat against his own wild one.
Cheers and claps erupted from the crowd, quiet sobs mixing with them.
They pulled apart, fighting against the magnetic force drawing them together.
Armin held Annie’s hands in his, running his finger on the ring, glistening in the light.
Annie was his, and he was hers.
“My husband,” she whispered, her voice an inch from breaking into tears.
An involuntary smile pulled at Armin’s lips, before he leaned towards Annie, resting his forehead on hers: “My wife.”
She shook her head, rubbing their foreheads together.
“My wife,” he said again, “my wife,” his voice getting louder, before he turned to the crowd, lifting up their intertwined hands victoriously in the air, screaming out: “my wife!!”
Laughs and more claps burst, guests standing up in the process.
As the bride took the groom’s arm, the newly married couple made their way, taking a new step in their lives, together, forever and ever.