in a sheep's skin

He shifted from foot to foot, trying to decipher what might be wrong. He didn’t really know too much about girls, considering he wasn’t a girl and he knew very few. His mother never really taught him too much about it either. They were an enigma to him, and Annie even more so than the rest.

"I do."

He says nothing, simply choosing silence to speak for him. It was hard, trying to be her friend, let alone someone he’d have to be a comrade in arms with. That wasn’t exactly his choice, he was thrown into this situation and there wasn’t really a way out.

Of course there was no way out of their lives, if anything they were locked into a future of pain, suffering, and yet more pain. A sunrise on the end of their lives, at least, of her life, felt like something far and unlikely.

#GET AWAY FROM ME YOU SWEATY TREE

Bertholdt eyes her, more of a side-eye given where she is walking and where he isn’t walking. He doesn’t bother to actually get any closer, just walking at what someone might call a “leisurely” pace if they were being generous.

"Be more careful with your words, then," she spat, almost frowning. Annie kept her gaze from him, hollow eyes trained ahead on the backs of those who would call her comrade. How she pitied them sometimes-- how she pitied herself.

He purses his lips, looking down at the significantly shorter blond soldier. Quickly, he pulls up the cloak she’s hiding herself in closer to her ears. Usually he just would have avoided contact with her, in fear of getting pushed away or something similar, but it was fairly cold. Exceptions could be made.

Annie's about to move up, to continue walking, but Bertholdt's hands are suddenly near her face and he tightens the hood around her ears. Eyebrows knit together, as her hands hold onto the hems of her cloak the other's hands were on moments ago, holding it tighter around her head.

A deep breath, leaves crunching beneath feet. The forest is silent in the midst of his breathing and his footsteps. It’s almost surreal. None of the group actually says a word, not until one of the group stops. Bertholdt turns around, to see who was the one who stopped walking.

The air was crisp, burning her nostrils in that way that nobody really likes, her sleeve pressed against her lips and nose to preserve warmth. Annie wasn't a slacker by any means, in fact in these expeditions she was generally the most hard working. But even the most determined of people deserved a moment to stop in their hard work.