Annie Leonhardt x Reader

Cold Hands, Cold Heart - Part 1

Of course, you had grown used to the silence between you as well. You had learned that the best way to get through to her was to let her come to you. No amount of pleading or guessing tempted her to reveal anything she didn't want to share with you. Annie was not known for speeches, but the emotions in her eyes were clear when you looked into them, albeit clouded and often splintered just like the ice she tried to surround her heart with.

If she didn't want you there, you wouldn't be there. You wouldn't have been there with her so many times before.

It's quiet for a good long while, and you breathe so shallowly that you hardly feel your chest moving at all in some entirely unnecessary attempt not to disturb her further. Your heartbeat quickens as you gaze reverently at the sliver of moonlight outlining her side profile. The illuminated strands that fall across her face glow almost silver.

The silence is suddenly broken, and for a moment, it makes your heart stop beating entirely.

"Did you only stay because of me?" Annie asks. She absently tugs her sock up to cover her exposed ankle, and in the silence that follows you struggle to calm yourself.

You shrug, trying to act casual. "Yes and no."

"Oh?"

Your heartbeat quickens again, and you know it sounds like bullshit even before it comes out.

"Yes, I knew you weren't going to go out into a snowstorm in the middle of the night. But no, I didn't stay just because you did."

"So why did you stay?" Annie's eyebrow arches.

You shrug again, and avert your eyes.

You definitely stayed only because it meant you would be alone with Annie, but there was no way you were going to admit that to her. It was no surprise when everyone but her silently got out of bed and changed into their coats — and you would have likely succumbed to the peer pressure of wanting to be seen as a decent person if there wasn't something else on your hormone-addled, infatuated teenage mind.

"Maybe I'm selfish," you wonder aloud, and do not clarify the nature of the selfishness. Your heart beats in your throat as she moves her hand to rest just centimeters beside your leg.

Annie nods, and shifts so that she's sitting crossed-legged, and has shifted half a foot closer to you.

"Me too," she says, her eyelashes casting shadows across her cheeks as she looks down.

You let your own hand rest next to hers near your leg, but you can't gather the courage to let them touch. You look away, and you can sense her do the same moments later.

Annie's fingers stretch across your hand, and the contrast of your relatively warm skin is marked by the ice of her fingertips.

"Your hands are freezing," you gasp, and suddenly gain the courage to grasp both of the freezing appendages in your own hands. You cup your hands and let out a warm exhale out over her skin. You gently rub the backs of her hands and her long, slender fingers. She's not wearing her ring, but there's a slight indentation on her finger where it normally sits.

"Do you always get so cold?" you ask, concerned.

Annie shakes her head, and you could swear you saw the faintest ghost of a smile. "It never got so cold in my hometown," she explains. Her fingers twitch as the stiffness begins to ebb away as warmth returns to her fingers. "This kind of cold is new to me."

You smile. "I forget you're from the south. It's crazy that the winters are so much milder in Wall Maria. Someday maybe you can take me there and I'll see what all the fuss is about."