The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the training grounds, its warm golden light a stark contrast to the grueling scene unfolding below. Aaron Mustang, former underground fighting champion and current trainee of the 104th Training Corps, was in the midst of what seemed like his thousandth push-up. His muscles trembled with exertion, sweat dripping from his brow to create small dark spots on the dusty ground beneath him.
From the mess hall window, a group of trainees watched with a mixture of amusement, sympathy, and exasperation. The dining room buzzed with the usual dinnertime chatter, but many eyes kept drifting to the lone figure outside, determinedly pushing himself up and down in a steady rhythm.
Jean Kirstein, leaning against the windowsill with his arms crossed, shook his head in disbelief. "So, what did Mustang do this time?" he asked, his tone a mixture of curiosity and resignation. "It seems like he's always finding new ways to piss off the instructors."
Connie Springer, perched on a nearby chair with his feet propped up on the table, let out a snort of laughter. "Oh man, you won't believe it," he said, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Apparently, Mustang thought someone was trying to steal his blanket. Turns out, they were just trying to wash it."
Jean raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Let me guess, he didn't bother to ask questions before throwing punches?"
Connie nodded, barely containing his glee at recounting the story. "Yep, went straight into fight mode. Poor Armin didn't know what hit him. Literally."
A collective groan went up from the gathered trainees. Armin Arlert, with his slight build and gentle demeanor, was possibly the least threatening person in the entire corps. The idea of him being mistaken for a thief was almost comical, if it weren't for the fact that he'd ended up on the receiving end of Aaron's formidable fighting skills.
"Mikasa was furious," Connie continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I thought she was going to tear Mustang apart. You should have seen the way she got in his face, telling him off for attacking Armin."
Jean leaned in, his interest piqued. "What did Mustang do? Please tell me he didn't try to fight Mikasa." As much as Jean often found himself at odds with Aaron, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of concern at the thought of anyone going up against Mikasa Ackerman's wrath.
Connie shook his head, a look of mock disappointment on his face. "Nah, but it was a close thing. Mustang tried to play it cool, said it was Armin's fault for not announcing himself. That just made Mikasa even angrier. For a minute there, I thought we were going to see a throwdown between the two best trainees in our class."
A murmur of excitement rippled through the group at the prospect. Aaron Mustang and Mikasa Ackerman were widely regarded as the top recruits, their skills in both combat and ODM gear usage setting them apart from the rest. The idea of them facing off was both thrilling and terrifying.
"So why didn't they fight?" Jean pressed, unable to hide his curiosity.
Connie sighed dramatically. "Eren stepped in. Grabbed Mikasa's arm and told her it wasn't worth it. Mustang looked like he was ready to go, but even he's not dumb enough to take on both Mikasa and Eren at once."
As if summoned by the mention of his name, Eren Yeager's voice rose above the general din of the mess hall. "...and that's why joining the Survey Corps is so important! We have to fight for humanity's future, to take back what the Titans stole from us!"
The passionate declaration drew mixed reactions from the gathered trainees. Some nodded in agreement, inspired by Eren's unwavering determination. Others rolled their eyes, having heard this speech or variations of it countless times before.
It was at this moment that the mess hall door swung open with a creak, revealing a decidedly disheveled Aaron Mustang. His uniform was streaked with dirt, dark hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. Despite the obvious exhaustion etched into every line of his body, there was still a defiant gleam in his emerald eyes.
As Aaron sauntered into the room, pointedly ignoring the curious stares and whispered comments, he made a beeline for the table where Christa, Ymir, Jean, and Connie were seated. He dropped onto the bench with a dramatic groan, stretching his arms out across the table.
"Well, well," Jean drawled, a smirk playing on his lips. "Look who finally decided to join us. Enjoy your little workout, Mustang?"
Aaron lifted his head just enough to shoot Jean a withering glare. "Oh yeah, it was great. Nothing like a few thousand push-ups to really get the blood flowing. You should try it sometime, Kirstein. Might help you catch up to my ODM gear scores."
Before Jean could retort, Connie chimed in with a chuckle. "Man, Mustang, you've got to learn to chill out. Not everyone's out to get you, you know. Poor Armin was just trying to do laundry!"
Aaron groaned, letting his head thump back down onto the table. "Don't remind me," he muttered. "How was I supposed to know? In the Underground, if someone's messing with your stuff, they're definitely trying to steal it."
"That's no excuse for violence," Christa said softly, her blue eyes filled with gentle reproach. "Aaron, we've talked about this. You can't keep reacting to everything like you're still in the Underground. You're a soldier now, or at least you're training to be one."
Aaron lifted his head, meeting Christa's gaze. For a moment, the hard edge in his eyes softened. "I know, I know," he sighed. "Old habits die hard, I guess. But hey, at least I'm getting a great workout, right?" He flexed his arm with a roguish wink, earning an eye roll from Ymir and a poorly concealed giggle from Christa.
"Speaking of workouts," Aaron continued, his tone shifting to one of exaggerated pain, "I think I might have pulled something during all those push-ups. Christa, my angel, any chance you could take a look at it for me?"
Ymir let out a derisive snort. "There he goes again," she grumbled. "Always running to Christa for help. Don't you have any shame, Mustang?"
Aaron flashed Ymir a cheeky grin. "Why would I be ashamed of seeking help from the kindest, most beautiful girl in the entire corps?" He turned back to Christa, his green eyes wide and pleading. "Come on, Christa. You wouldn't leave a poor, injured soldier to suffer, would you?"
Christa hesitated, clearly torn between her natural inclination to help and her desire not to encourage Aaron's reckless behavior. "Aaron," she began, her tone a mixture of exasperation and fondness, "I warned you about doing dangerous maneuvers with the ODM gear. We've barely started learning how to use them properly."
"Dangerous maneuvers?" Jean interrupted, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. "Is that how you really got hurt? What were you trying to do, show off again?"
Aaron had the grace to look slightly sheepish. "It wasn't showing off," he muttered. "I was just... testing the limits of the equipment. You know, for training purposes."
Connie burst out laughing. "Training purposes, sure," he chortled. "Was that before or after you tried to do a triple backflip off the practice tower?"
"It was a calculated risk," Aaron protested, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the wince that crossed his face as he shifted in his seat.
Christa sighed, shaking her head in fond exasperation. "Alright," she said, her voice soft but firm. "Let's eat first, and then we can go outside and I'll take a look at your injuries. But Aaron, you have to promise me you'll be more careful from now on. We're all here to learn, not to compete over who can pull off the most dangerous stunts."
Aaron's face lit up with a genuine smile, one that seemed to transform his entire demeanor. For a moment, the hardened fighter from the Underground faded away, replaced by a young man grateful for a friend's kindness. "Thanks, Christa," he said softly. "I promise I'll try to be more careful. Scout's honor."
Ymir rolled her eyes so hard it seemed in danger of straining something. "Oh please," she grumbled. "Don't make promises you can't keep, Mustang. We all know you'll be right back to your reckless ways as soon as your bruises heal."
"Aw, Ymir," Aaron said, clutching his chest in mock hurt. "I didn't know you cared so much. Are you worried about me?"
"In your dreams," Ymir shot back, though there was a hint of amusement in her eyes. "I just don't want Christa wasting all her time patching you up when she could be focusing on her own training."
As the banter continued, the tension in the air seemed to dissipate. Even Jean, who often found himself at odds with Aaron, couldn't help but crack a smile at the former Underground fighter's antics. There was something about Aaron Mustang that, despite his rough edges and penchant for trouble, seemed to draw people in.
The conversation drifted to other topics as the group dug into their meals. Aaron, despite his earlier dramatics, ate with the voracious appetite of someone who had indeed just completed a punishing physical workout. Between bites, he regaled the others with exaggerated tales of his exploits in the Underground, each story more outlandish than the last.
As the meal drew to a close, Christa stood up, gesturing for Aaron to follow her. "Come on, then," she said. "Let's go take a look at those injuries before it gets too dark."
Aaron jumped to his feet with surprising agility for someone who had been complaining of pain just moments before. "Your wish is my command, my lady," he said with an exaggerated bow, earning another eye roll from Ymir and a chorus of groans from the others.
As Aaron and Christa made their way out of the mess hall, Ymir's voice called after them. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do, you two!"
Aaron turned back with a grin. "But Ymir," he called, "that doesn't leave us with many options!"
The last thing the group heard as the door swung shut was Christa's exasperated, "Aaron!" followed by the sound of Aaron's laughter echoing across the training grounds.
Back inside the mess hall, Jean shook his head, a bemused expression on his face. "You know," he said to no one in particular, "I can't decide if Mustang is the best thing to happen to this training corps or the worst."
Connie chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "Maybe he's a bit of both," he mused. "But you've got to admit, things are never boring with him around."
The cool evening air nipped at Aaron's skin as he followed Christa to a secluded spot behind the barracks. The training grounds were quieter now, most of the recruits having retreated to the warmth of the mess hall or their bunks. The sun had dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in deep purples and blues, with the first stars beginning to twinkle into existence.
"Alright," Christa said, her voice soft but firm. "Let's see the damage you've done to yourself this time."
Aaron grinned, his green eyes twinkling with mischief despite the fatigue evident in the set of his shoulders. With a dramatic flourish, he grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head, revealing a torso that told the story of a life lived hard and fast.
Christa's sharp intake of breath was audible in the quiet evening air. Aaron's body was a canvas of fresh cuts and blossoming bruises, layered over older scars that spoke of countless fights and near-misses. The defined muscles of his chest and abdomen, honed by years of survival in the Underground and weeks of intense training, were marred by an array of colors – angry reds, deep purples, and sickly yellows.
"Oh, Aaron," Christa sighed, her blue eyes widening as she took in the extent of his injuries. "I didn't realize it was this bad. Why didn't you say something sooner?"
Aaron shrugged, the movement causing him to wince slightly. "It's not so bad," he said, his tone casual despite the evidence to the contrary.
Christa shook her head, a mixture of exasperation and concern crossing her delicate features. "This isn't a joke, Aaron. Some of these cuts could get infected if they're not treated properly." She reached for the small medical kit she'd brought with her, her movements efficient as she began to clean and dress the worst of the wounds.
As her gentle hands worked their way across his battered skin, Aaron couldn't help but notice the way the fading light caught in Christa's golden hair, creating a halo effect that only enhanced her angelic appearance. He opened his mouth, no doubt to make some flirtatious comment, but Christa cut him off with a look.
"You know," she said, her tone conversational but with an undercurrent of reproach, "I think I've seen more of your back than I have of my own face in the mirror lately."
Aaron chuckled, the sound low and warm in the growing darkness. "Well, feel free to enjoy the show," he said with a wink. "It's not every day you get a private viewing of the Underground's finest."
Christa rolled her eyes, but Aaron caught the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. Her hands continued their work, gentle yet sure as they applied salve to his bruises and bandages to his cuts. For a moment, they lapsed into a comfortable silence, broken only by the distant sounds of the camp and the occasional hiss of pain from Aaron.
"Aaron," Christa said finally, her voice soft and tinged with curiosity, "why do you keep doing such risky things? You're already one of the top recruits. You don't need to push yourself so hard."
Aaron was quiet for a moment, his usual bravado fading as he considered her question. When he spoke, his voice was uncharacteristically serious. "It's different for me, Christa. Unlike the rest of you, I don't have three years to train. I've got three months, maybe less."
Christa's hands stilled on his back. "What do you mean?"
Aaron turned slightly, meeting her confused gaze. "Captain Levi," he explained. "He's coming for me. He'll be taking me to join the Survey Corps, and I need to be ready. I can't afford to waste a single day."
Understanding dawned in Christa's eyes, quickly followed by a flash of something else – concern, perhaps, or fear. "But why?" she pressed. "Why are you so determined to push yourself to these extremes?"
Aaron's gaze drifted to the distant horizon, where the last vestiges of daylight were fading. "It's not for me," he said softly. "It's for my sister. Rosy. She's all I have in this world, and I promised her a better life. I don't care about humanity or even myself, not really. Not like Eren with his stupid, suicidal, yet somehow noble crusade against the Titans. Or Jean with his calm ambition to join the Military Police. For me, it's simpler. I just want Rosy to live in peace, to have the life she deserves."
Christa's hands resumed their work, her touch even gentler than before. "That's... that's actually quite noble, Aaron," she said, her voice filled with warmth.
Aaron snorted, shaking his head. "Noble? Nah, it's selfish if anything. But I don't care. Rosy's all that matters."
A comfortable silence fell between them as Christa finished tending to Aaron's wounds. The night had fully settled in now, the training grounds illuminated only by the soft glow of lanterns from nearby buildings and the ethereal light of the moon and stars above.
As Christa began packing away her medical supplies, Aaron turned to face her fully. "What about you?" he asked, his emerald eyes searching her face. "Why did you enlist, Christa? What drives you?"
Christa's hands faltered for a moment before she regained her composure. "Oh, you know," she said, her voice light but with an undercurrent of tension that hadn't been there before. "I wanted to do the right thing. To help people."
Aaron's eyes narrowed slightly, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You're lying," he said, his tone not accusatory but rather intrigued.
Christa's head snapped up, her blue eyes wide with surprise. "What? No, I—"
"I'm good at reading people, Christa," Aaron interrupted gently. "It's a skill you pick up quick in the Underground if you want to survive. And right now? You're hiding something."
A flicker of emotion – fear? resignation? – passed across Christa's face before she schooled her features into a neutral expression. "Really, Aaron," she said, a forced lightness in her voice, "can't you ever just be quiet for a minute?"
Despite her attempt at deflection, Aaron could see the tension in the set of her shoulders, the way her hands fidgeted with the straps of the medical kit. He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "You know, I bet you've got some tragic past hidden behind those angel eyes of yours."
Christa stilled, her gaze locked with Aaron's. For a moment, it seemed as if she might deny it, might continue the charade of the perfect, selfless recruit. But then her shoulders slumped slightly, a small, rueful smile playing on her lips. "Something like that," she admitted softly.
Aaron's eyebrows shot up, surprised by her candor. "Really? Wow, I was just guessing. Didn't expect to be right."
Christa let out a small laugh, the sound both amused and slightly nervous. "Well, don't get used to it. I'm not about to spill all my secrets just because you've got good instincts."
A mischievous glint appeared in Aaron's eyes. "Oh yeah? What if I took you out to a fancy dinner? Would that loosen your lips?"
Christa rolled her eyes, but Aaron caught the hint of a blush coloring her cheeks in the dim light. "In your dreams, Mustang. Where would you even find a fancy restaurant around here?"
"Hey, I'm resourceful," Aaron protested with a grin. "Give me a tablecloth and a candle, and I'll turn the mess hall into the fanciest joint this side of Wall Rose."
Their eyes met, and for a moment, the rest of the world seemed to fade away. The cool night air, the distant sounds of the camp, even the constant underlying threat of the Titans – all of it receded, leaving just the two of them in a bubble of comfortable silence.
The moment was shattered by the sudden, violent opening of a nearby door. Ymir's voice cut through the night air like a whip. "Don't even think about it, Mustang!"
Aaron's hands shot up in a gesture of surrender, his face the picture of exaggerated innocence. "I swear, I'm completely innocent here!"
Ymir stalked towards them, her eyes narrowed suspiciously as they darted between Aaron and Christa. "Yeah, right," she scoffed. "Like I believe that for a second. What are you two doing out here in the dark?"
"Relax, Ymir," Aaron said, his tone light but with an undercurrent of annoyance. "Christa was just patching me up. It's not my fault we have such amazing chemistry."
Before Ymir could retort, another figure emerged from the shadows. Mikasa Ackerman, her dark eyes glinting dangerously in the moonlight, fixed Aaron with a steely glare. "Mustang," she said, her voice cold. "Don't think I've forgotten about what you did to Armin."
Aaron's easy grin faltered slightly. "Look, Mikasa, I'd love nothing more than to dance with you, but I promised the lovely Christa here that I'd behave myself."
As if summoned by the mention of his name, Eren appeared behind Mikasa, with a nervous-looking Armin in tow. "Mikasa, come on," Eren said, his voice tinged with exasperation. "Let it go. It was just a misunderstanding."
Aaron's eyes flickered to Armin, and for a moment, a flash of genuine remorse crossed his features. "Hey, Armin," he said, his voice uncharacteristically subdued. "I, uh... I'm sorry about earlier. I overreacted. It won't happen again."
A stunned silence fell over the group. Eren's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Wow," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. "I didn't think you actually knew how to apologize, Aaron."
Aaron laughed, the sound breaking the tension that had settled over them. "What can I say? I'm full of surprises."
As the group began to disperse, their voices fading into the night, Aaron turned back to Christa. Leaning in close, he whispered, "Meet me by the stables at 9 PM. Don't be late."
Christa's eyes widened in surprise, but before she could respond, Aaron had already stepped back, flashing her a wink before sauntering off into the darkness.
....
The moon hung low in the sky, a luminous orb casting a silvery glow over the training grounds. The night air was crisp and cool, carrying with it the faint scent of pine and the promise of adventure. At precisely 9 PM, two figures converged on the stables, their movements furtive and excitement palpable.
Christa arrived first, wrapped in a coffee-colored cloak, the hood pulled low over her golden hair. She stood in the shadows, her heart racing with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. This was reckless, foolish even, but something about Aaron Mustang made her want to take risks she'd never considered before.
Moments later, Aaron appeared, his usual trainee uniform replaced by civilian clothes that seemed to transform him from a soldier-in-training to a roguish young man out for a night on the town. His green eyes sparkled with mischief as he approached Christa, a grin playing on his lips.
"You came," he said, his voice a low, pleased rumble. "I was half afraid you'd decide to be sensible and stand me up."
Christa lowered her hood, revealing a face flushed with excitement. "I considered it," she admitted, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "But I decided a little adventure might be good for me. So, what's the plan, Mustang?"
Aaron's grin widened, taking on a conspiratorial edge. "We, my dear Christa, are going on a little field trip to Trost. It's the closest city, and I happen to know a place that serves the best food this side of Wall Sina."
Christa's eyes widened, a mix of thrill and apprehension flashing across her delicate features. "Trost? But that's... we could get into so much trouble, Aaron. If we're caught-"
"Then we'll deal with it," Aaron interrupted smoothly, his confidence unwavering. "Trust me, it's not the first time I've snuck out for a bit of fun."
A flash of something – jealousy? curiosity? – passed over Christa's face. "Oh? And how many other girls have you taken on these little excursions?"
Aaron's expression softened, his gaze holding Christa's with an intensity that made her breath catch. "You're the first," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "I may be many things, Christa, but a womanizer isn't one of them."
For a moment, they stood in silence, the weight of Aaron's words hanging between them. Then, with a flourish that broke the tension, Aaron turned towards the stables. "Now, if you'll excuse me for a moment, I need to... acquire our transportation."
Before Christa could protest, Aaron had slipped into the stables. She heard a muffled curse, the startled whinny of a horse, and then Aaron was leading a magnificent chestnut stallion out into the moonlight.
"Aaron!" Christa hissed, her eyes wide with shock. "Did you just steal a horse?"
Aaron patted the horse's neck, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "Borrowed, Christa. We're borrowing it. And I promise, he'll be back in his stall before anyone notices he's gone."
Christa opened her mouth, no doubt to lecture Aaron on the impropriety and danger of their actions, but the words died in her throat as she met his gaze. There was something in those green eyes – a spark of life, of freedom – that called to a part of her she'd long kept buried.
With a fluid motion born of years of practice, Aaron swung himself onto the horse's back. He extended a hand to Christa, his expression a mixture of challenge and invitation. "What do you say, angel? Ready for an adventure?"
For a heartbeat, Christa hesitated. Every logical part of her mind screamed that this was a terrible idea, that she should turn around and go back to her bunk. But as she looked up at Aaron, backlit by the moon and offering her a taste of freedom she'd never known, logic crumbled in the face of desire.
She reached up, clasping Aaron's hand. With his help, she swung up onto the horse behind him, her arms instinctively wrapping around his waist. The warmth of his body against hers sent a thrill through her that had nothing to do with the night's chill.
"Hold on tight," Aaron said, his voice low and tinged with excitement. With a gentle nudge of his heels, the horse sprang into motion, and they were off.
The world became a blur of moonlit shadows and wind-whipped hair as they galloped away from the training grounds. Christa clung to Aaron, her face pressed against his back to shield herself from the rush of air. She could feel the strong muscles of his torso working as he guided the horse, could hear the rapid beat of his heart matching the thundering of hooves.
As they rode, the tight ball of anxiety that had lived in Christa's chest for as long as she could remember began to unravel. With each passing moment, each mile put between them and the responsibilities and expectations that weighed on her, she felt lighter. A laugh bubbled up from deep within her, a sound of pure, unbridled joy that was quickly snatched away by the wind.
For an hour they rode, the landscape changing around them from the familiar training grounds to rolling hills and eventually the outskirts of Trost District. The city rose before them, a jumble of buildings and narrow streets illuminated by the soft glow of lanterns.
Aaron guided the horse to a secluded spot just outside the city walls, dismounting with practiced ease before helping Christa down. Her legs wobbled slightly as they hit solid ground, unused to such a long ride.
"You okay there, angel?" Aaron asked, his hand lingering on her waist to steady her.
Christa nodded, unable to keep the smile from her face. "That was... exhilarating," she admitted, her cheeks flushed with excitement and the cool night air.
Aaron grinned, clearly pleased by her reaction. "Just wait," he said, taking her hand. "The night's only just beginning."
Together, they made their way into the city, Aaron leading them through a maze of back alleys and side streets with the confidence of someone intimately familiar with urban navigation. Christa found herself marveling at this side of Aaron – so different from the brash recruit she knew from training, yet somehow perfectly in character.
Finally, they arrived at a small, unassuming building tucked away on a quiet street. A weathered sign hung above the door, proclaiming it to be "Maria's Kitchen."
"Here we are," Aaron announced, pushing open the door and ushering Christa inside. "I know it's not the fanciest place, but trust me, the food here is to die for."
The interior of the restaurant was warm and inviting, with rough wooden tables, flickering candles, and the mouthwatering aroma of home-cooked food filling the air. A few patrons looked up as they entered, but quickly returned to their meals, paying the young couple no mind.
As they settled into a cozy corner table, Christa couldn't help but feel a bubble of warmth in her chest. This felt... normal. Like they were just two young people out for a date, not soldiers-in-training sneaking out past curfew.
"So," Christa said, her voice tinged with amusement, "how exactly are we paying for this little excursion? I didn't exactly bring my wallet when I snuck out of the barracks."
Aaron's grin took on a mischievous edge. "Oh, don't worry about that. It's all going on Captain Levi's tab."
Christa's eyes widened in shock. "What? Aaron, you can't be serious. Does he know about this?"
"Not exactly," Aaron admitted, having the grace to look slightly sheepish. "But hey, he's the one who recruited me. Surely that comes with some perks, right?"
Before Christa could voice her concerns, a matronly woman approached their table, her weathered face creasing into a warm smile. "Aaron Mustang," she said, her voice fond and exasperated in equal measure. "I should have known it was you when I saw that chestnut stallion tied up outside. Up to your old tricks again, I see."
Aaron stood, embracing the woman with genuine affection. "Maria! You're looking as beautiful as ever. How's business?"
Maria swatted him playfully on the arm. "Flatterer. Business is just fine, not that you'd know, given how long it's been since you've graced us with your presence." Her gaze shifted to Christa, curiosity sparkling in her kind eyes. "And who's this lovely young lady? Don't tell me you've finally found someone willing to put up with your nonsense."
Christa felt her cheeks heat up, but before she could stammer out a response, Aaron jumped in smoothly. "This is Christa," he said, his voice warm with an emotion Christa couldn't quite place. "She's... special."
The simple words sent a flutter through Christa's heart. She met Maria's gaze, offering a shy smile. "It's nice to meet you," she said softly.
Maria's expression softened as she looked between the two young people. "Well, any friend of Aaron's is welcome here," she said. "Now, what can I get for you two lovebirds?"
As Maria took their orders and bustled away, Christa found herself relaxing into the warm atmosphere of the restaurant. The tension and worry that had been her constant companions for so long seemed to melt away, replaced by a sense of contentment she'd rarely experienced.
Throughout the meal, Aaron regaled her with stories of his exploits in the Underground, his green eyes sparkling with a mix of nostalgia and mischief. Christa found herself laughing more than she had in years, drawn in by Aaron's infectious energy and charm.
As they finished their dessert – a decadent apple pie that Christa swore was the best thing she'd ever tasted – she leaned back in her chair, feeling pleasantly full and more relaxed than she could remember being in a long time.
"You know," she said, a hint of teasing in her voice, "when I joined the Training Corps, I never imagined I'd end up sneaking out for midnight rendezvous with a charming delinquent."
Aaron clutched his chest in mock offense. "Delinquent? Me? I'll have you know I'm a paragon of virtue and respectability."
Christa's laughter rang out, clear and bright in the cozy restaurant. "Oh yes, I'm sure. Stealing horses and putting meals on unsuspecting superior officers' tabs. The very picture of a upstanding citizen."
As their laughter subsided, a comfortable silence fell between them. Christa found her gaze drawn to Aaron's face, studying the play of candlelight across his features. There was a softness there, a vulnerability that he rarely showed in the harsh light of day.
"Thank you for this, Aaron," she said softly. "I didn't realize how much I needed... this. A moment to just be normal."
Aaron's expression grew serious, his green eyes meeting hers with an intensity that made her breath catch. "You deserve normal moments, Christa," he said, his voice low and sincere. "You deserve happiness and laughter and nights out under the stars. Don't ever let anyone tell you differently."
The weight of his words settled over Christa, stirring emotions she'd long kept buried. For a moment, she was tempted to tell him everything – about her past, her true identity, the burdens she carried. But the moment passed, and she held her secrets close, not quite ready to shatter the beautiful illusion of normalcy they'd created.
As they left the restaurant, the cool night air a refreshing contrast to the warm interior, Christa felt a sense of reluctance. She wasn't ready for this night to end, wasn't ready to return to the realities of their lives as trainees.
They walked in companionable silence towards where they'd left the horse, their hands brushing occasionally in a way that sent sparks of electricity up Christa's arm. The streets of Trost were quiet at this late hour, the moon their only witness as they made their way through the sleeping city.
As they approached the spot where they had left the horse, Christa's steps slowed, her reluctance to end the night evident in every movement. Aaron seemed to sense her hesitation, his own pace matching hers as if to prolong their time together.
The chestnut stallion nickered softly as they approached, pawing at the ground impatiently. Aaron reached out to stroke its neck, murmuring soothing words that Christa couldn't quite catch. In that moment, backlit by the moon and gentling the powerful animal, Aaron looked less like the brash recruit she knew and more like a figure from some half-remembered fairy tale.
"You know," Christa said, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between them, "I never thought I'd find myself sneaking out with a... well, I suppose 'delinquent' isn't the right word."
Aaron turned to her, an amused smirk playing on his lips. "Oh? And what word would you use, angel?"
Christa pretended to consider for a moment, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "Hmm... how about 'lovable rogue'? Or maybe 'charming troublemaker'?"
Aaron's laughter rang out in the quiet night, a sound of pure, unrestrained joy that made Christa's heart skip a beat. "I'll take it," he said, his green eyes twinkling with mirth. "Certainly beats 'Underground rat' or 'street thug', which is what I usually get."
As their laughter subsided, Aaron's expression grew more serious. He took a step closer to Christa, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from his body. "You know," he said softly, "your eyes..."
Christa felt her breath catch in her throat. "What about my eyes?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Aaron's gaze held hers, intense and searching. "They're beautiful," he said simply. "Like the sky on a clear summer day. I could get lost in them."
A blush crept across Christa's cheeks, warming her face in the cool night air. "I... thank you," she stammered, unused to such direct compliments. Gathering her courage, she added, "Your eyes are quite something too, you know. They seem to glow with their own inner light, independent of everything around them. It's... captivating."
Now it was Aaron's turn to blush, a faint red tinge coloring his cheeks. For a moment, the cocky Underground fighter was gone, replaced by a young man touched by genuine emotion. "I... thanks," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck in an uncharacteristically shy gesture.
The moment stretched between them, charged with unspoken emotions and possibilities. Christa found herself leaning in slightly, drawn by some invisible force. Aaron's eyes flickered to her lips, then back to her eyes, a question in his gaze.
Before either of them could act on the tension building between them, the distant sound of a bell tolling broke the spell. Reality came crashing back – they were still trainees, out past curfew, miles from where they should be.
With a sigh that was equal parts regret and resignation, Aaron stepped back, gesturing to the horse. "We should probably head back," he said, his voice tinged with reluctance. "Don't want to push our luck too far."
Christa nodded, trying to ignore the pang of disappointment in her chest. As Aaron helped her onto the horse before swinging up behind her, she couldn't help but feel that something significant had just slipped through her fingers.
The return journey was quieter, a comfortable silence settling between them as the horse's hooves ate up the miles. Christa leaned back against Aaron's chest, allowing herself to enjoy the warmth of his body and the sense of security his presence provided.
As they rode, Christa's mind wandered back to their conversation at dinner, to the secrets she still held close. A part of her longed to unburden herself, to share the truth with this boy who had shown her a glimpse of what freedom could feel like.
"Aaron," she said suddenly, her voice nearly lost in the rush of wind. "I... there's something I need to tell you."
She felt Aaron shift behind her, his arms tightening slightly around her waist as he guided the horse. "What is it?" he asked, his voice close to her ear.
Christa took a deep breath, steeling herself. "My name... Christa isn't my real name."
For a moment, the only sound was the steady rhythm of the horse's hooves and the whisper of the wind. Then Aaron spoke, his voice calm and free of judgment. "Oh? And what is your real name?"
"Historia," she said, the word feeling strange on her tongue after so long. "My name is Historia."
She felt Aaron nod, his chin brushing against her hair. "Historia," he repeated, as if tasting the word. "That's a beautiful name. Unusual, but beautiful."
Christa – no, Historia – felt a weight lift from her shoulders. She had expected... what? Shock? Anger at being lied to? But Aaron's calm acceptance was like a balm to her frayed nerves.
"You're not going to ask why I lied? Or who I really am?" she asked, unable to keep the surprise from her voice.
Aaron was quiet for a moment, considering his words. "I figure you'll tell me the rest when you're ready," he said finally. "We all have our secrets, Historia. I'm just honored that you trusted me with this one."
Tears pricked at the corners of Historia's eyes, a wave of emotion threatening to overwhelm her. She had spent so long hiding, so long pretending to be someone she wasn't, that Aaron's simple acceptance felt like the greatest gift she'd ever received.
"Thank you," she whispered, the words inadequate to express the depth of her gratitude.
Aaron's arms tightened around her in a brief hug. "No need to thank me," he said softly. "But hey, if you're feeling generous, maybe we could make these little escapes a regular thing?"
Historia couldn't help but laugh, the sound bright and genuine in the night air. "You're incorrigible, you know that?"
"So I've been told," Aaron replied, and Historia could hear the grin in his voice. "But admit it, you like it."
As the training grounds came into view, Historia felt a mix of relief and regret. Their adventure was coming to an end, the real world with all its complexities and dangers waiting to reclaim them. But as Aaron guided the horse back to the stables with practiced ease, she realized that something had fundamentally shifted between them.
They dismounted in silence, Aaron taking care of the horse while Historia kept watch. As they prepared to part ways and sneak back to their respective barracks, Aaron caught Historia's hand.
"Hey," he said softly, his green eyes serious in the moonlight. "Thank you for trusting me tonight. With the sneaking out, with your name... with everything."
Historia felt a warm glow in her chest, a feeling of connection she'd rarely experienced. "Thank you for showing me what freedom feels like," she replied, squeezing his hand gently.
For a moment, they stood there, hands linked, neither wanting to be the first to let go. Then, with a rueful smile, Aaron stepped back. "Sweet dreams, Historia," he said, her true name a caress on his lips. "Try not to miss me too much before morning formation."
Historia rolled her eyes, but couldn't keep the smile from her face. "Goodnight, Aaron," she said softly. "Try not to get into any more trouble before sunrise."
As they parted ways, each slipping silently back to their bunks, Historia felt a sense of possibility that had been absent from her life for so long. She didn't know what the future held – for her, for Aaron, for any of them in this world under siege. But for the first time in years, she found herself looking forward to tomorrow, eager to see what new adventures it might bring.
.....
The sun hung high in the cloudless sky, its relentless heat beating down on the training grounds. It was mid-afternoon, and a group of trainees found themselves engaged in the mundane but necessary task of moving supplies. Sweat glistened on their brows as they hefted heavy crates, their muscles straining under the weight.
Christa, her golden hair tied back in a practical ponytail, struggled slightly with a particularly large box. Beside her, Ymir moved with efficient grace, her taller frame giving her an advantage in maneuvering the awkward loads. Jean grumbled under his breath as he shifted his grip on a crate, while Eren tackled the task with his usual intense determination.
As they worked, a familiar figure sauntered into view. Aaron Mustang, looking far too cheerful for someone who should have been sharing in their labor, approached the group with a mischievous glint in his emerald eyes.
"Well, well," he called out, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. "Looks like you could use a hand there, angel."
Before Christa could respond, Aaron had smoothly lifted the heavy crate from her arms, balancing it effortlessly on his shoulder. She couldn't help but feel a mixture of relief and exasperation at his gallant gesture.
"Thanks, Aaron," she said, a small smile tugging at her lips despite her best efforts to maintain a stern expression. "But you know, we're all supposed to be working together on this."
Aaron winked at her, his grin widening. "Oh, I am working. I'm just being selective about who I help."
Jean, witnessing this exchange, let out an indignant huff. "Hey, Mustang! How about lending a hand over here too? Or is your chivalry limited to pretty blondes?"
Aaron turned to Jean, his expression one of exaggerated consideration. "You know what, Kirstein? You're absolutely right. The moment you transform into a lovely young lady, I'll be more than happy to assist you."
Jean's face reddened, whether from anger or embarrassment was hard to tell. "You're impossible, you know that?"
Before Aaron could retort, Ymir interjected, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oh? And what about me, Mustang? Last I checked, I fit the 'girl' criteria."
Aaron's gaze swept over Ymir, his lips quirking into a teasing smirk. "Ah, but you see, Ymir dear, I specified 'lovely' young lady. And while you may be many things, lovely isn't exactly-"
His words were cut off abruptly as Ymir's foot connected solidly with his shin. Aaron yelped, nearly dropping the crate he was holding as he hopped on one foot.
"Ow! Dammit, Ymir! Is that any way to treat a comrade?" he complained, though the twinkle in his eye suggested he wasn't truly upset.
Eren, who had been watching this exchange with a mixture of amusement and exasperation, seized the momentary lull to approach Aaron. "Hey, Aaron," he said, his voice tinged with a hint of hesitation. "I was wondering if you might be able to give me some fighting tips sometime. You're the best hand-to-hand combatant in our class, and I could use some pointers."
Aaron's face lit up at the request, his earlier discomfort forgotten. "Eren, my man! I'd be honored to impart my wisdom. You see, the key to becoming a true fighting machine is to master the noble art of boxing."
As Aaron launched into an impassioned speech about the virtues of boxing, the others couldn't help but notice the transformation that came over him. His eyes shone with genuine enthusiasm, his hands gesticulating wildly as he described the perfect jab, the devastating hook, the artful footwork. It was as if the very subject breathed new life into him.
"...and when you land that perfect uppercut, feeling the impact travel up your arm, there's nothing quite like it in the world!" Aaron concluded, his face flushed with excitement.
Christa, watching this display with fond amusement, couldn't resist a gentle tease. "My goodness, Aaron. Should we leave you alone with this 'boxing' of yours? You seem quite smitten."
Aaron turned to her, a mock-serious expression on his face. "Now, now, angel. No need to be jealous. Boxing may be my first love, but there's plenty of room in my heart for other pursuits."
Ymir rolled her eyes so hard it seemed in danger of causing injury. "For heaven's sake, Mustang. It's just punching people. No need to wax poetic about it."
"Just punching people?" Aaron gasped, clutching his chest in exaggerated offense. "Ymir, you wound me! Boxing is an art form, a dance of strategy and skill. It's about reading your opponent, anticipating their moves, finding the perfect moment to strike. The raw power of Annie's throws or Mikasa's superhuman strength is impressive, sure, but there's a beauty in the simplicity and effectiveness of a well-placed punch."
As Aaron continued to extol the virtues of his favorite fighting style, Christa noticed a small cut on his hand, likely from his enthusiastic gesticulating. "Aaron," she interrupted gently, "you've hurt yourself. Here, let me take a look at that."
Aaron's diatribe came to an abrupt halt as he glanced down at his hand. "Oh, would you look at that. I didn't even notice. Your healing touch would be much appreciated, angel."
Before Christa could move to examine the cut, Ymir thrust her own hand forward. "Hey, I got scraped earlier too. Christa, could you check mine out as well?"
Aaron's eyes narrowed as he looked between Ymir and Christa. "Now hold on just a minute," he said, his voice taking on a possessive edge. "Find your own angel, Ymir. This one's spoken for."
Ymir's lips curled into a challenging smirk. "Oh yeah? Well, I knew her first, Mustang. If anyone has dibs, it's me."
As the two began to bicker, Christa felt a headache forming behind her eyes. "Both of you, stop it," she said firmly. "I'm not some prize to be fought over. I can tend to both of your injuries, assuming you can behave yourselves for five minutes."
The squabble was interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. The group turned to see a familiar, intimidating figure striding towards them. Captain Levi Ackerman, his face set in its usual stern expression, came to a stop before them.
Aaron's eyes widened in surprise. "Captain? What are you doing here?"
Levi's steely gaze fixed on Aaron. "I'm here for you, Mustang. It's time to go."
A ripple of shock went through the group. Aaron's brow furrowed in confusion. "Go? But you said three months. It's barely been two."
"That was the original plan," Levi replied, his tone leaving no room for argument. "But it seems someone has been making unauthorized purchases on my account. It's time you started earning your keep."
Aaron had the grace to look sheepish, though a hint of his usual mischief still danced in his eyes. "Ah, about that... I can explain-"
Levi held up a hand, cutting him off. "Save it. We're leaving now. Go gather your things."
For a moment, Aaron stood frozen, the reality of the situation slowly sinking in. Then, with a resigned sigh, he nodded. "Can I at least have a few minutes to say goodbye?"
Levi considered for a moment, then gave a curt nod. "Five minutes. I'll be waiting by the gate."
As Levi strode away, Aaron turned to face his fellow trainees. The usual bravado had fallen away, replaced by a vulnerability that few of them had ever seen in him before.
"Well," he said, attempting a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, "I guess this is it."
Christa stepped forward, her blue eyes wide with concern. "Aaron, I... Do you want me to come with you while you pack?"
Aaron nodded, gratitude evident in his expression. As they walked towards the barracks, a heavy silence fell between them. It was Christa who finally broke it.
"I can't believe you're leaving already," she said softly. "It feels like you just got here."
Aaron chuckled, though the sound lacked its usual mirth. "Yeah, well, you know me. Never been one for long goodbyes. Besides, it's not like this is the end. We'll see each other again."
They reached Aaron's bunk, and he began to quickly gather his meager possessions. As he stuffed clothes into a bag, Christa noticed his hands trembling slightly.
"Are you scared?" she asked gently.
Aaron paused, his back to her. For a long moment, he was silent. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. "Terrified. But not for myself. It's Rosy... I promised her I'd come back. What if..."
He trailed off, unable to finish the thought. Christa stepped forward, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You'll come back, Aaron. You're too stubborn not to. And Rosy will be waiting for you, getting stronger every day thanks to the care she's receiving."
Aaron turned to face her, his green eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "Thanks, angel," he said softly. "I don't know what I'd do without you."
For a moment, they stood there, the air between them charged with unspoken emotions. Then, with a deep breath, Aaron shouldered his bag. "We should head back. Don't want to keep the Captain waiting."
As they walked back to where the others were gathered, Aaron's usual confidence seemed to return with each step. By the time they reached the group, the cocky grin was back in place, though Christa could still see the vulnerability lurking beneath the surface.
Jean, Eren, Connie, and Ymir were waiting for them. Even Jean, who often butted heads with Aaron, looked somewhat somber at the prospect of his departure.
"So, this is it, huh?" Connie said, breaking the awkward silence. "You're really joining the Survey Corps."
Aaron nodded, his grin taking on a challenging edge. "That's right. Someone's got to show those Titans what real fighting looks like. I expect to see all of you there in three years, you hear?"
Jean scoffed, though there was no real heat in it. "Not a chance, Mustang. Some of us prefer our limbs attached to our bodies."
"Ah, Kirstein," Aaron said, clapping Jean on the shoulder. "Always the voice of cowardice. Try not to let the Military Police soften you up too much, alright?"
Before Jean could retort, Eren stepped forward, his eyes blazing with determination. "I'll be there, Aaron. In three years, I'll join the Survey Corps and help take back our world from the Titans."
Aaron's expression softened slightly as he looked at Eren. "I know you will, Yeager. Just try not to get yourself killed before then, alright? And remember what I said about boxing. It'll serve you well."
Turning to Ymir, Aaron's grin turned mischievous. "Take care of our angel here, alright? But not too good a care. I expect her to have missed me terribly by the time you all graduate."
Ymir rolled her eyes, but there was a hint of fondness in her exasperation. "Just try not to get eaten, Mustang. It'd be a shame to lose our class clown."
Finally, Aaron turned to Christa. For a moment, his carefully maintained bravado cracked, revealing the depth of emotion beneath. "Christa... Historia," he said softly, using her true name. "Stay safe, alright? And don't let anyone dim that light of yours."
Christa felt tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. "You too, Aaron. Come back to us in one piece."
Aaron leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Count on it, angel," he whispered.
With a final wave to the group, Aaron turned and strode towards the gate where Levi was waiting. As he walked away, his voice carried back to them on the breeze.
"Three years, guys! I better see you all in the Survey Corps. Even you, Kirstein! Don't let me down!"
As Aaron's figure grew smaller in the distance, the remaining trainees stood in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. The training grounds suddenly felt emptier, as if a vital spark had been taken away.
Christa felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Ymir looking at her with uncharacteristic gentleness. "He'll be alright," Ymir said softly. "That idiot's too stubborn to die."
Christa nodded, wiping away a stray tear. "I know," she said, her voice filled with a determination that surprised even her. "And in three years, we'll be right there with him."
As the group slowly dispersed, returning to their tasks, the sun began its descent towards the horizon. The world seemed to hold its breath, poised on the cusp of change. In the fading light, Christa made a silent promise – to herself, to Aaron, to all of them. They would survive. They would grow stronger. And when the time came, they would face whatever challenges lay ahead, together.
The journey had only just begun.