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Armin was already on his third cup of coffee when Annie entered the kitchen, sleep-ruffled and bleary-eyed. She sat across from him, dragging the chair noisily on the floor tiles. Seemingly unperturbed by the loud screech, she grabbed a butter knife and started spreading Nutella on the slice of bread Armin had already toasted for her. He’d calculated it perfectly, just three minutes after he knew her alarm would ring, giving Annie just enough time to perform that adorable full-body stretch of hers, the one that reached even her little toes, and pad to the breakfast table in sock-clad feet.
He didn’t usually wake up so early—with enough time to prepare a three-course meal and everything—but today was a special day. He tapped his pen to his clipboard excitedly, impatient to share with her.
Annie shot him a questioning look, her face stuffed full of chocolate with crumbs sticking on her chin. “Whah?” she said through her chipmunk cheeks.
Armin didn’t need further encouragement. “So… this is our first year together and—”
“It’s our anniversary?” she asked, eyes wide, panic creeping onto her features.
“No, no,” he hastened to correct the misunderstanding. “Not until November.” A few short days after his birthday actually—the best gift life had given him. Annie visibly relaxed. He cleared his throat to try again. “What I meant to say is that there are certain… holidays that we’ll be spending together for the first time.” This earned him a nose-scrunch. Yeah, maybe he wasn’t speaking plainly enough.
“Halloween!” he exclaimed, doing jazz-hands and sending his pen flying to the other side of the room. It clattered as it landed on the tiles. Armin curled his fingers into secure fists, suddenly embarrassed.
Annie sighed. “How was I supposed to get that? It’s not even October yet.”
He tossed his clipboard at the table and stood to go fetch his pen—he needed it to gesture intelligently at things. “Um, we’ll need to figure out what we’ll dress up as. To get everything we need on time,” he added at her incomprehensive expression.
“What could we possibly need?”
“I don’t know! What if we need to buy a wig or get body paint or commission a costume!”
The corners of her lips drooped more and more downwards at his growing list of suggestions, until they settled into an adorable—though sullen—pout. “Can’t we just get whatever?”
Disappointment churned in his gut, but he tried to hide it. He plastered on a huge smile, lips trembling with the effort. “Sure, Annie. Anything you want,” he said as if he hadn’t spent the past five years wishing he had a partner on time for Halloween. It never seemed to work out. He’d always start dating someone right after the festival and break up before they reached September. October was a cursed month for him.
Not this year, though. This year the calendar marked September 30, and he and Annie were still going strong. Even if she didn’t want to participate in a couple’s costume with him. It was fine. It would be fine. He didn’t mind really. It was okay. It wasn’t as if his friends all showed up at parties perfectly matched in cloyingly sweet costumes that represented anything from popular culture characters to tasteful puns. He wasn’t bothered in the slightest. He didn’t mind. At all.
A quiet hiss echoed in the kitchen. Armin eyed the kettle warily only to realize that it was Annie releasing a breath through clenched teeth. “Fine,” she murmured. “What do you have in mind?”
In no time, Armin snatched up his pen and clipboard and settled down to show her his ideas. “So I was thinking something low-effort because I figured you wouldn’t like the fuss.” She shook her head as if to confirm it, although he was already well aware. “But still something cute and romantic.”
She stared back blankly at his expectant pause.
“Okay.” Maybe he should give her some examples. “How do you feel about Peter Pan and Wendy Darling?”
“No,” she dismissed flatly.
Well, that was fast. “Why not?”
“I’m not running around in a nightgown,” she murmured, reaching for her tea and slurping loudly. “And I prefer Tinker Bell anyway.”
He opened his mouth.
“I’m not running around with half my ass out either.”
He snapped his mouth shut again.
“Okay, maybe something else then.” He checked the next item on his list. “Mario and Peach?”
This time she straight up sneered. Armin tried very hard not to get offended. “I don’t like Peach.”
“What’s wrong with Princess Peach?!” he squawked, offended after all.
Annie narrowed her eyes while searching for an answer. After a while, she shook her head. “Her voice is too squeaky.”
Armin sputtered. “That’s no reason to dislike a character!”
“It is for me. Can’t I go as Rosalina?”
“But Rosalina doesn’t have a boyfriend!”
She shrugged. “You can go as Luma.”
He actually considered it for a second. It wasn’t a bad idea. He wanted something more romantic for their first couple’s costume, though. “We’ll find something else,” he said at last.
They went through the list.
“Gomez and Morticia?”
“I’m not wearing a wig.”
“Mickey and Minnie.”
“Hah, only if you go as Minnie. I refuse to put on polka dots.”
“Barbie and Ken?”
“Everyone will go as Barbie and Ken this year.”
“Harley and the Joker.”
“I hate that couple. Also, outdated.”
Well, she wasn’t wrong there.
“Bonnie and Clyde?”
“Ugh, don’t get me started…”
Slowly but surely, Annie rejected every single item written on his list. Which was quite the feat, because Armin had filled an entire page, forwards and backwards. He stared in dismay at his crossed out scribbles, his mouth falling open in awe of Annie’s ability to find a flaw in any plan. This girl would drive him crazy; good thing he loved her so much.
He fisted his hair in frustration. “Let me summarize. You want a costume that won’t be too cold nor too hot, that won’t require you wearing a wig, preferably with no heels, relevant, but not overdone either, that also fits your own arbitrary standards of what is considered romantic, even though I’ve suggested pretty much every single romantic pairing I can think of?”
Annie shifted in her seat, shamefaced, but nodded.
“All right,” he said. “I have one more suggestion, and if you turn down that one too, I swear to god Annie, we’ll go as trash can and trash bag!”
Annie’s cheeks tinged pink. She nodded.
Armin blew air through his nose. “Okay. Westley and Buttercup from The Princess Bride. Take it or leave it.”
Annie’s eyes flashed. A sly smile played on her lips. She lowered her head demurely, in a gesture that was so unlike her, he knew she was doing it to tease him. Then, with mischief written all over her face, she murmured: “As you wish.”
For a second, he couldn’t believe it. Then, manic relieved laughter burst from his belly. Armin laughed and laughed until tears of mirth rolled down his cheeks. “Oh, you!” He pointed an admonishing finger at her. “You don’t get to say that!”
And then he dashed to her side and started tickling her. “After— all— the— trouble— you put me through!” he stuttered out through happy giggles.
Annie twisted and squealed, trying to avoid his attacking fingers. But she was too slow. He had her right where he wanted her. Soon, they both fell to the floor, rolling around and poking each other’s sides. Armin jabbed at her ribs, where he knew she was sensitive, and she went for under his chin. He yelped and drew back, hands shooting down to tease behind her knee. She let out a high pitched whine and tried to kick him. Armin expertly avoided it, but while he was distracted, she started blowing air at his nape making his skin prickle. Their fight ended in a stalemate as both collapsed on their backs, breathless and panting, still beaming from ear to ear.
As they lay there, staring at the ceiling, Annie nudged him with her foot. “You know I love you, right? I don’t care if we go as trash can and trash bag, as long as we’re together.”
Armin’s heart melted. These words would be lovely from anyone, but coming from Annie, who didn’t articulate her emotions often, they were positively delightful. He passed his arm behind her head and pulled her into a hug. “I love you too,” he said with their faces inches apart. He kissed the tip of her nose. “Although,” he amended, “I’d have an easier time believing the second part if you hadn’t spent the last twenty minutes rejecting my ideas.”
Her bottom lip stuck out in a sulk. He smooched it quickly, giving it a little bite for good measure. “But your comfort is important to me, so I’m glad you didn’t agree on the first thing I suggested just for my sake.”
“Do I look like a pushover to you?” she asked with the quirk of an eyebrow.
A pushover she was not, but she had a tendency of being extremely lenient when she felt neutral towards something, rarely expressing her opinion on what she would actually enjoy. He couldn’t tell her this, though. She couldn’t know he had her figured out just yet. She’d take it as a challenge and try to read him right back and Armin wasn’t ready to know how deep she could cut. Baby steps. It was only their first year together, after all.
He smiled and shook his head. “Of course not, Your Highness.”
Annie scoffed. “Will you be in-character for the rest of the month?”
He hummed in mock thoughtfulness. “Maybe.”
“Ugh, fine.” She rose to her feet and held a hand out to help him up as well. “As long as you don’t use the sword to slap my ass or something I’m okay with it.”
He didn’t respond to this, but his eyes gleamed with excitement. Oh, Armin was going to enjoy this costume very much indeed.
While he didn’t actually get to smack his girlfriend’s juicy bottom with the flat side of the blade—he tried, but she saw his intentions from a mile away and threatened to change out of her costume if he dared—Armin did, in fact, have an excellent time as Westley. The happy coincidence of Jean, Connie and Sasha showing up as the Three Musketeers, with a grumbling Niccolo as d’Artagnan, certainly helped matters as well. The four of them engaged in friendly sparring, running around Mikasa’s living room and annoying the rest of the guests in the process.
At some point, a loincloth-clad Eren—he and Mikasa had gone as Tarzan and Jane; Eren’s idea, Armin was sure—stole Niccolo’s sword and joined in on the impromptu melee fight, which prompted Mikasa to wrestle the fake rapier out of his hand and duel each one of them, one after the other. They all lost, but it was a fun time.
Annie spent most of the night standing by the buffet table shit-talking people with Hitch, but eventually she got drunk enough to dance, voluminous red sleeves flying everywhere. The fabric caught Reiner in the face, first accidentally, and then on purpose when he complained a little too much for Annie’s taste.
Several hours later, she fell next to him on the couch, sweaty and exhausted. She crouched closer, settling into the crook of his neck. “I’m dead on my feet,” she muttered.
Armin didn’t miss a beat. “Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while.”
She pulled back to glare at him. “You better not delay taking me home.”
He laughed and kissed her hair. “Not at all, my love.”
Annie squeezed his arm and sighed contently. “This was fun after all.” She gestured down at her getup. “The whole couple’s costume thing. It was cute.” Then she shot him a look, her voice turning soft, a mimicry of sweetness. “I will never doubt again,” she quoted.
Delighted that she was playing along, he held her tight and nuzzled her cheek, marveling at this wonderful girl who gave him hell and paid him back in drops of heaven. “There will never be a need.”